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I could write volumes on the cold; an allegory of our steel resolve. But what's another dead metaphor in a cemetery full of crusading extroverts? So I'mma dig my heels in the dirt until oil runs down my shirt, and I'mma let the tops of trees turn to ash on a stale breeze, 'cause I could scorch the fucking earth if I thought that's what it deserved just by laying my hand to the ground and letting every ghost inside me out. No sermon or cultural observation, no personal attack or socio­political statement. Just selfish self­-medication with a pen and a piece of paper, a captive audience and an unreliable narrator. If Ford Maddox Ford could see me now, he'd say, "Go fuck yourself, you fucking Freud. You're a regular John Marcher. You've got years left to destroy or not destroy."

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from Black Coffee, Bad Habits, released February 3, 2015

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Choke Up Boston

Four best buds from Boston, MA.

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