Super Brain

by Ben Sommer

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1.
Young Turks 04:03
YOUNG TURKS young turks forty-odd feet of kerosine fuel fires the hot young turks muscled athletes jocked up on caffeine fires the well-hung jerks pansy wholewheat a pacifists treat fires the fat houseworker my turk of a mule packing coca paste could not equel the yule log fuel fire of the hot young turks young turks stank like camels hung like chinchillas burly young gorillas hair-net latinos drag racing their camaros [guitar solo] young turks forty-odd feet of kerosine fuel fires the hot young turks courtly quad teats of seventeen school girls in their taut clung shirts pussy-wipped pete raised on wolverine stool sired in a low-slung yurt swarthy vice-squad secretes nitrosamine drool fired in the dot com bubble burst salty cod treats swimming in the cesspools expired when caught, hung, and burnt warty roughshod feet in mujahedeen school fundamentalistani turkmenistani sporty soccer cleat of propylene ghouls rikitikitavi fatty on my feet stiffy in my bleep roiling out a burp printing out a spreadsheet of philistine boolean algebra of whatnot and whatnot
2.
3.
Baby Mother 02:21
4.
Consumerism 01:01
CONSUMERISM shopping
5.
Militarism 00:54
MILITARISM don’t mess with Texas
6.
Fist 02:12
FIST fist, the fist, the fist glorious fist this fist, my fist mountains of mist conceal what I'm holding in my fist a gift, for you you're catching the drift a fist, for you no whipping boy, me I ball up my fist and bust your lip that lip, your lip I can't explain how my train of thoughts deteriorates into hate and I want to say: "hey, come my way" when I really mean: "you sucker, come get puckered" cause here comes your friend, fist fist, the fist, the fist I gave you the gist my story is this: the grist for this mill is bloodied and scabbed, a face full of fist, of fist, yeah the fist, ‘cest moi’, its me I’m wrapped around with fingers eine Fause ist eine Klugel des Fleisches brütend in eine ‘pirouet’ I can’t explain… (etc.) that’s it, you mother, kapeesh? go sleep with the fish and dream of my fist fist, and a fist, and a fist up your ass!
7.
De Profundis 04:20
DE PROFUNDIS De profundis clamavi ad te
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10.
DEO GRACIAS ANGLIA Owre kynge went forth to Nor-man-dy With grace and myght of chy-val-ry; Ther God for hym wrought merv-'lus-ly, where-fore Eng-londe may calle and cry: Deo gracias Anglia Deo gracias Anglia Redde pro victoria He sette a sege, for soothe for say, To Har-flu toune with ry'l a-ray That toun he wan and made a-fray That Fraunce shal rywe til Domes-day; Deo gracias Anglia Now gra-cious God he keep oure kynge, His pe-ple and alle his wel-wyll-ynge, Yes give hym goode lyfe and gode end-yng; That we with merth mow save-ly synge: Deo gracias Anglia
11.

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released November 4, 2011

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Ben Sommer Boston, Massachusetts

I am a composer, performer, and writer. I’m also a pent-up curmudgeon. I vent on political and economic matters in both my writing and my music. bensommer.com/bio

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