Quivering Things

by Supreme Fiction

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released July 3, 2014

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Supreme Fiction Durham, North Carolina

Supreme Fiction makes music about communists, existential crises, zombies, and lovesickness (and, of course, zombie lovesickness). The Carrboro and Durham-based five-piece creates melodic, energetic pop awash in sugary hooks and group harmonies, shot through with nervous surrealism, and tempered with submerged melancholy. ... more

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Track Name: I Want to Watch Twin Peaks with You
Wasn't something supposed to be ok? Wasn’t something supposed to be ok? Tell me something -- is it night or day? When we get high you are nice to me. Come on by and sit next to me. Affix your eye to a moving screen, and you'll prove to me there are perfect things. I want to watch Twin Peaks with you.

The spruces sigh and the cypress pleads; the rivers cry through the pipes of reeds; the needles pine: they are shivering things. They are evergreen. They are broadcasting. I don't know how to speak to you. I want to watch Twin Peaks with you.

If I could dive, I would dive into a pool of light and go blind with you -- until my eyes and extremities, they are quivering things. I'm a living thing when I'm within ten feet of you. I wanna watch Twin Peaks with you.
Track Name: Lindsay Weir
I think that you were like Lindsay from that old show I liked. I think that you incite a frenzy that sends me running right into your sights. You’d shoot out the lights. The sting was pretty slight.

What did you do when you grew up?

We catch up, get a beer. You tell me things that I don’t want to hear. All those good grades, scholarships, awards and accolades -- the brilliant career of Lindsay Weir has disappeared.

What did you do when you grew up?

I think that you were like Lindsay from that old show I liked. And I was that guy with the crazy, bleared look in his eye. I just got stoned and tried to phone home, but no spaceship appeared.

I remember when you hung around you looked so lost, determined just to go another round at any cost. Now if you’ve run aground, it’s cause you should have flown by jet, cause I have always known that you would be a winning bet. Now let me make this clear -- don’t look at me like some lost pet. You’ve got the atmosphere, and anywhere you want to get yourself to yet.

And me, I’ve got this big drumset.
Track Name: Monster Island
When I was young, well, I guess I was like anyone. I hid and I hung and I dreamed I was Godzilla’s son. Now I am older; I know help is not on the way from Monster Island’s sacred boulders -- at least, not today. But I stayed anyway.

Pull onto the shoulder. I don’t know what bridge we have crossed. A couple wrong turns in the country at night, and I’m lost. I am lost. And if you say you can’t see me tonight, I’ll take you at your word. Something descends in the evening tonight that never has occurred as a word.

When all’s said and told, I am grateful that you looked away when I sprouted new scales, then a tail, and then burst into flames. So they say, but you stayed anyway. And if I said that I knew you tonight, don’t take me at my word. There was a wind blowing through you tonight, and nothing that I heard was a word.
Track Name: Hanging Judge
"Well, in these trying times, a man's stability of mind is bound to take a lurch," the public defender chimed as his repeat offender slime a perfect suit besmirched.

I reknotted my tie. I looked the dead man in the eye, tried not to sound rehearsed. I said, "I am the hanging judge and I know how to hold a grudge and this is not a church."

I sesamed Ali. The forty thieves, taxadermied, are mounted on my wall. And back in Russia, when I dueled a thousand gentlemen, not one ever outran a cannonball. Many a lying child was lost to kinfolk crying wild, though far and wide they searched. I am the hanging judge and I have not been known to budge or fidget on my perch.

I was presiding when the prosecution's evidence and case went up in smoke. I hung the jury and I hung the witness on the stand. The prosecutor choked in a great pool of blood that from his jugular did flood (I had run out of rope). I wore a private smirk, admiring my handiwork. My gavel, it was soaked.

They came for me at dawn. I had my favorite slippers on. They dragged me from my home. Some of them carried rocks and some had blunderbusses cocked. They broke most of my bones. As they paraded me, the townfolk clawed and flayed at me. They peeled me like a birch. But I said, "I am the hanging judge and I know how to hold a grudge and this is just my church."
Track Name: Beatrice of Montaillou Recants Her Repentance
The first priest to undress me was Father Pierre with a grin. He said he had to divest me of all my vestments to confess the sin. Though I was raised to be gentle and ever seek the sublime, he told me to grip the lintel as he paddled my bare behind.

He said, "There's a light in the seams. Oh lord I get so excited -- I don't know what it means, but I would stay with you in Montaillou tonight."

"Manicheism or the masses? Though you are swelling with child, come lay with me in long grasses and dwell with me in the wild. Imprisoned in these cuirasses, the spirit solely endures until it wholly surpasses what no catechism could cure. In all this meaningless matter, what could it matter to smile -- clawing your way up the ladder, coming to grips with the great human pile?"

So he said, such a gleam in the steward's eye as he beckoned to me, "Madam, I do not want to leave your room tonight. No, I want to lay with you in Montaillou tonight."

When I was a child I heard the body of Christ withered long before our time. All the pigeons and the church parishioners, they pecked at something less divine. Lips were stained only with wine -- it left a thirst that no amount of kneeling could contain. I went walking through the rain.

I had my servings and pleasures -- I was a castellan's wife -- but always doled out or measured within an inch of my life till I laid eyes on the vicar, the year I turned forty-two. And though my heart it beat quicker, I said to him, "Lucky you." And when we fled to the country they carried us from our home, before a court of my betters where I was made to atone. Now, all but laden with fetters, bereft of riches, alone, through every stitch in the letters which in this fabric were sewn,
there's a light.

In the seams, oh Lord, I get so excited. I don’t know what it means, but I would say to you in Montaillou tonight: I would never stay with you in Montaillou tonight.