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by Brimaxian (Brian M. Weidemann)

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about

Although the album's concept and bulk of the lyrics were composed around 2007, the time that the previous album Scantily Clad Singularity was released, a major hiatus would keep this project on the backburner until the summer of 2015, when Brian made the vow to complete it.

A few complete remixes, plenty of lyrical tweaks and overhauls, and this thing is a masterwork compared to its pitiful initial potential of eight years ago. It takes a lot of work to single-handedly craft an LP from nothing. Brian has now done it ten times.

credits

released November 27, 2015

All songs written, composed, performed, and recorded by Brian M. Weidemann.

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about

Brimaxian (Brian M. Weidemann) Santa Ana, California

A persistently versatile mix of guitars, keys, synth strings, and more, in the rock, acoustic, and alternative genres. Dense, poetic wordplay sung by a semi-amateur baritone. Wry wit, hot guitar licks, and the occasional augmented sixth chord.

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Track Name: Bandit
I still don't believe in beginnings.
There's always more or less to add, how you want to frame the painting.
I'll start sketching until the blank space is fulfilling.
The more blanks I draw, the more context left remaining.
Is it the details or the detours worth the debt explaining?
I'd keep it simple, stupid, and sparse, sentimental;
Perhaps a foreclosed compliment preceded by a hidden kiss.
It sounds so sweet that way, but taste is much more bitter.
Should I now run and hide, or chase and swing, or hit and miss?
We're sad and fractured. Why is satisfaction worth all this?

You stole my heart when you knew I couldn't hand it.
I'd kiss you goodbye, but you'd make out like this bandit.
Your sleight-of-upper-hand, I'm at a loss that you'd demand it.
We're better off disbanded.

So you want to hate me and move on
As if I'm another diversion in your own self-righteous story.
So go on, tune me out, crank up your Ani,
Be pissed out of principle, then put on your Tori—
As if somebody else's lyrics make the better allegory.
I'm nowhere in the wrong here, but I may stand upon the ledge,
And you're right there with me, trembling, looking downward from above.
I won't say that we're blind, claiming each other has fallen,
But you turn the other cheek, with a deaf ear, and then try to shove.
Now I can write this song without invoking this word: Love.

You stole my heart when you knew I couldn't hand it.
I'd kiss you goodbye, but you'd make out like this bandit.
You claimed the ground under my fall, and yet I tried to stand it.
I'm upside down, in the red, but we're disbanded.
My longing's now in short supply despite what you'd demanded.
We're better off disbanded.

You made out like this bandit.

©2015 Brian M. Weidemann
Track Name: You Don't Get To Like Me Now
So many years,
I was single and searching and so seduced by your smiles.
Drank many beers,
I was flirting and falling and following you down the aisle.
Some would use more tact than I,
But you’d remember the fact that I
Was obsessed. I was lovesick, willing, able; and courting you put me through trials.

I was devout.
I was leaving you love-notes. You took them but not with the hints.
I asked you out.
You were dodging, excusing, and using me, teasing; but since
You deftly played the just-friends card,
A hefty bet, you busted, barred
By the odds. Now another Princess Charming has won this jackpot. I'm her prince.

Ever after, happily, I would be with my cares behind …
But then you caught up to your senses, and changed your mind.

You don't get to like me.
Unfair, unbalanced, to put it lightly,
You don't get to like me.
My heart sings out with someone new, and so you change your tune.
You've got the gall, and I just don't get you at all.
No justice in this world, anyhow.
You don't get to like me now.

You've come around,
And you're cute and you're sweet and you have not changed one bit,
Except you've found
That I'm cute and I'm sweet and now I'm just so perfect. But shit!
They say the timing is everything.
I'll take the nickel for every fling
With the girls too slow on uptake, stopped on dimes, whom I surpassed too quick on wit.

Ever after, happily, I've found the girl I've finally kissed.
Ignoring all the other superficials seeing what they'd missed.

They don't get to like me.
Unfair, unbalanced, to put it lightly,
They don't get to like me.
My heart sings out with someone true, and then they change their tune.
They've got the gall, and I just won't get them at all.
No justice in this world, any how.
They don't get to like me now.

©2015 Brian M. Weidemann
Track Name: Newton's 3rd
I have seen you come and go.
Milk has spilt and blood will overflow.
This glass is getting low.
Which action can we take?
Sadly, friction holds you back.
No victory without the heart attack.
Ballistic weapons stack
The odds on your mistake.

I've come down with a bad case of some inertia, carry on, but watch the fall.
The first and second symptoms pass but the tertiary one will keep me bouncing off the wall.
Just because it's chaos doesn't mean that it's a free-for-all
And I'm inclined to cue the band. This dance is like a billiards ball.

You can't stop what's on its way.
Must you take off, choose the negligée.
That slinky thing will take
The stares. We've hit the ground.
Sink the shot, you end the game.
But you won't reap the fortune or the fame.
It's grim, you'll bear the shame.
It goes and comes around.

Satisfaction is your fate.
Good things come to those who masturbate.
I'd groan but it's too late
To change our destiny.
Moving on to push away,
The more you leave, the more I have to stay.
I'll push and now you may
Give all your best to me.

I've come down with a bad case of some inertia, carry on, but watch the fall.
The first and second symptoms pass but the tertiary one will keep me bouncing off the wall.
Just because it’s priceless doesn’t mean that it’s a free-for-all
And I assume the cost is steep. Momentum steals you when you stall.
We must kickback from every shot, regardless which ones we could call.
Alas, we’re smashed together; is there any sign of alcohol?
Bottoms up, but upside down, we’re gone again, away we crawl.
The spread expands, the length contracts, we contradict and pinch and sprawl.

©2015 Brian M. Weidemann
Track Name: Disappear
With every day that passes, I think less and less about her,
And I'm more and more ecstatic that she's gone.
I never hoped to have her, and I found that I could doubt her.
And I'm over her. The times were Once Upon.

She probably won't forgive me and it's not as if I'm asking.
She should vanish, up in smoke for all I care.
The little I would give her, it was never for the lasting.
I came first and never thought that it was fair

'Cause I deserved much better and she took without the giving.
Now she thinks that I'm the guilty party here?
About damned time she wallowed, I think. I will go on living
Like I'm waking from a dream. She'll disappear.

©2015 Brian M. Weidemann
Track Name: Lovesick Bellyache
She rode into town one day
And set up shop, a fine display.
She called out to the passers-by.
I threw up when she caught my eye.
I was lovesick, and craved affairs;
And she, prepared to hawk her wares
By claiming she had just the thing,
Tauntingly began to dance and sing.

And thus began my lovesick bellyache.
I groan and moan and pine.
I was there for her to take,
And hoodwinked while I flirt and whine.

Like I was born the day before.
There's one born every minute more.
She got me with her quips and charms:
The sleight-of-hand-in-hand, and arms
When I was suckered with a hug.
Her fine elixir was the drug.
In throes of passion, her attack
Left me broke and conned. I can't fight back.

And now I've got the lovesick bellyache,
But I feel it up my spine.
I was there for her to take.
A luring pitch can undermine.

I'm swindled. She can sway
And I don't have a say.
I'm the one who spits and chokes.
The gags are mine, but hers are jokes.
The cure-all's fake, 'cause I still ache and yearn.
It's breaking but the heart can feel the burn.

It's hysterical when she ripped my heart out, because after she got hotter.
So I broke my funny bone; now it never itches.
Is it the laughter or the slaughter
Leaving me in stitches?

I'm cramped. It's this darned lovesick bellyache …
I bought her pick-up line.
I was there for her to take.
I missed the fine-print on her sign.

©2015 Brian M. Weidemann
Track Name: The Evidence
I make you scratch your head.
You've got an itch to spread.
Why are you sore instead
of aching when you go to bed?
I don't know what I meant.
Still it’s magnificent.
My head cannot prevent
the swelling when my rules are bent.

Mindless pablum, no surprise.
I'll try this problem out for size
And spin the meaning, turn a phrase,
And pin the word-play 'til it stays.

I woke you up tonight
So you could shed some light.
Your heavy burden might
keep you from sleeping, if I'm right.
You count. I'm left for dead—
A numbered quadruped.
If you don't mind, I'll shred
the evidence. You skipped ahead.

I have booked you in advance,
Yet overlooked you in a tran-
Scendentally enlightened state.
This mentally excites our date.

We humor one more day.
Sun shines and I'm blasé.
It dawns on me, cliché
has shone the light the beams betray.
I grin and bare with you.
Exposed in public view
We both get burned into
our memories, and vows renew.

Moods can slump and moons can rise
And fear is lumping truths with lies.
Try both to hide and leak your facts,
Be mindful how your brain reacts.

I make you scratch your head.
You've got an itch to spread.

©2015 Brian M. Weidemann
Track Name: Here's To Thinking
I swiped a phrase from a page in a book, I borrowed a lyric from a song,
Then I drew a paradoxical thought.
I tried to drop the coffee addiction, I grew my hair out long,
I flipped the bird, but did I mean it? I did not.
I read the label wryly, I layered the gibberish on too thick,
I wrote to many girls to get them off my chest,
Then I collapsed, but barely, in on myself, but now I'm sick;
We patronize the mainstream. Shame on us, but they know best.

And here's to thinking things are possible, whether or not they should be.
And here's to hoping that the efforts may be understood. We
Have this vast, remarkable tendency to let our minds run wild
But we let them shun the scientist, as they find more wonder in the mind of a child.
Enough regressing! The pressure's so depressing;
Time we start addressing the letters. Who’s confessing?

And here's to thinking that we analyze the leading crowd.
And here's to hoping that we think instead of hope out loud.

I've written sentiments I wish I hadn't, I've been too proud at times,
I have refined, rephrased, recycled, when I did not know how.
And those who've cared to listen, to understand my head through these lines,
Their efforts weren't for nothing—we both are wiser now.
Indulge an age-old hobby, like artists in the past have done.
A fine career move may be bolder than notorious disgrace.
There's no such thing as forward, just different directions for moving on.
The linear mindset thinking needs dimension. Now let's fill that space.

And here's to thinking things are possible, whether or not they should be.
And here's to hoping that the efforts may be understood. We
Have a deep, depressing capacity for our potential to be defiled.
Why are they scared of what science insists? Instead, they seek the numb touch of blind faith from a deaf child?
Enough regression! There's no threat, no aggression.
If I commit confession, can't I make an impression?

(Cheers to drinking to loosen up for diving bravely into unknowns,
Not for sinking down below our sorrows, pain, regrets, and credit loans.)

And here's to thinking that we hear applause before we've bowed.
And here's to hoping that we think instead of hope out loud.

©2015 Brian M. Weidemann
Track Name: Lost My Pulse
Bottom feeders, and the bottom line,
Underachievers now undermine,
It's critical mass-market meltdown.
My bold ball-point can't be too fine.

Noisy neighbors share a wall.
Throw a stone, they've got the gall.
Lives in concert, no concern.
Who's going to pick up the bill for this free-for-all?

They can't step back, no interest in a separate path.
We have to bask, can't help but ask,
Why can't the babe throw his own bath?
Succumb or go, the principles over the undertow,
The function or the flow.
I'm declined for the demographic if I demonstrate the math.

Whitewash, wide appeal, wide load,
High-tail it down the low road.
Never started a niche from scratch.
It's rash, the steps erode.
No savior to dispatch,
And they fall. Faith can explode.
The flame has met its match.
The muse got burned, but it never showed.

Fashion, culture, style, grace,
Changing times, a timeless race.
They lapped me while they lap it up.
Yet it's my blood, so I've lost my pulse and pace.

It's not a heart that's beating. Who could keep their footing,
Or their finger on the rhythms? Compression or compassion, the rates are off-putting.
Inching forward, striding back, the reckless self-reverers
Never notice—always view themselves in vanity, in mirrors.

They can't step back, no interest in a separate path.
Remove the mask and face the task,
Just throw the babe; there was no bath.
Succumb or go, the principles over the undertow,
The function or the flow.
I'm declined for the demographic. They have demonized the math.

©2015 Brian M. Weidemann
Track Name: The Message (Political or Otherwise)
The music scene is all played through,
An all-out war of love and fairness.
I never bought an album due
To some dumb band's social awareness,
Political or otherwise.
I wouldn't buy my own disguise.
The makeup isn't you.
I independently declare this.

So write a book, compose a poem, wave a picket sign,
Or taint another stock progression with your stick-it-to-'em line.
If you could fly, would you need bearing, where you're aiming toward?
Still sore and soaring, soul is baring, you just strike the power cords.

The message has foregone the beep.
The call to arms threw in the towel.
I dried you off, you fell in deep,
Your movement never passed the bowel,
Political or otherwise.
Your demons lack the exorcise.
They sow but fail to reap
Their “crop” (but with a different vowel).

Your soapbox has graffiti. Will your tattoos wash away?
Still, all your dirty laundry fills the room, and hampers, and betrays.
Don't skirt the issue, so blind, you'll get panties in a twist.
Give chance a piece of your mind. I'll bet luck and faith can't co-exist.

©2015 Brian M. Weidemann
Track Name: I'll Keep This Short
I’m sure I’ve seen this scene before.
That heart of mine you took and tore,
Ironic, it’s not metaphor;
This time you threw the pair … of tear-shaped, crimsin pages on the floor.

I’ll keep this short—
I bid “so long” without the length.
It’s stultified support—
I bore the weight without the strength.

With sheer delight you slice away,
The snippy moves, the games you play.
You’ve cut me off tonight, I say
I’ll give a damn by dawn. … Tomorrow is another bland cliché.

I’ll keep this short.

With feelings I never freed,
I bite my tongue; yours would tease.
Tears I cry, blood I bleed,
And other tautological tautologies.

You took your leave without the bow;
Your absence takes the stage somehow.
So distress looked good on you. Cow-
-ardice is flattering, … and your non-presence works the room right now.

I’ll keep this short—
I bid “so long” without the length.
It’s a truncated court—
I broke the rule without the strength.

I’ll keep this short—
I wasn’t tall enough to stoop.
You tripped on your retort,
Cut yourself down with one fell swoop.

I’ll keep this short—
Your anger only rubbed me wrong.
You want the full report—
You got your wish; I’ve said “so long.”

©2015 Brian M. Weidemann
Track Name: Sold My Soul
I've free-willed my conscience down to a science
And artfully sculpted rigid defiance.
No room for debate, I can't throw my own weight.
So who's in control and who's in compliance?

Selfishly unethical, the shelf-life mimics mythical;
The faithless healer ointment's fresh out of the can.
Allegory, parable; the moral's only terrible.
For once I got the point I stuck it to the man.
Best if used by when it hasn't yet expired.
Lest abused, instead, in which case uninspired.
Although it soothes, nonsensical, it's never better than.

I've thrown in the towel, drowning my sorrow.
I claim all the dry sarcasm I borrow.
My ears are still wet, as my neck sees the threat.
Today I will hang. I'll give up tomorrow.

Selfish, reprehensible, my shelf-life ends on principle;
The faithless sell appointments any way they can.
Allegory, axiom; the moral code is taxing them.
For once they formed a point they stuck it in the man.
At its best before the time that it’s been dated
Bound, confessed, engaged, committed, drawn, and slated.
Unheard at any decibel, it's never louder than.

I've summoned the meaning out from its hiding,
But both of us cower, idly abiding.
I buy its tall tale but, in short, it must fail
Since no noose is good, and that's not the tiding.

Guilty, I must pull my weight.
My fault has fed a famished fate.
For gallows sold my soul away
At discount price, from clearance rate, on double-coupon day!

Selfishly inspiring, the shelf’s life isn’t hiring;
The faithful nab anointments while I get the can.
Allegory, prophecy; the moral scoreboard offers me
No chance to earn a point. I stuck it out, for man.
Sure to spoil once the smallest hand stops ticking.
Never loyal, held my tongue, I’ll take the licking.
I face the pep squad firing. It’s never truer than.

©2015 Brian M. Weidemann