Thrown from Broken Equipment by BODEGA

Watch the thrown. Watch the thrown.

And I was thrown here by chance.
And I was targeted by new age ads.
Spent most of my days in a trance.
But I have two feet now to under-stand.

My molecules change yet I remain.
I weave and unweave my image.
The king and the prince.
Ghost. Protagonist.
Idealist. Perverter.
Cuckold. Bull.
Film triptychs. Nudes.
Multitudes.
Artist statement: Hear what’s passed in you.
And find in the world without actuality.
And find that the world is without.

My brain is a train and it’s due for a collision.
There’s a body on the track. I’m due for a decision.
My brain is a train and it’s due for a collision
With my body on the track and I’m due for a decision

We’re thrown. Not here by chance.
And I’m surrounded by bureaucrats.
And I was cold called by two democrats
Who said ‘senators thrown.’
Still failing the class.

Yet inside me : Bermuda Triangle.
Jester. Gambler. Idiot. Troll.
Graceful. Grateful. Patient. Stoic.
Puritan. Conservist. Arson -Well.
Exaggerist. Both hippie and punk.
Fiercely loyal. Will jump ship.
A bundle of impressions.
Impressionable.
See what I say is not what I think
but a reaction to the itch on my back.
A reaction to the six of this pack.
A reaction to the kick on this track.
A reaction to celebrity master class.

And I was thrown here by chance.
And I’m compounded of three authored acts.
At this moment loathing at the glass.
At this moment and always I am wearing a mask.
And I was thrown here by chance.
Shipwrecked. Court side. In a trance.
I was targeted by big rock ads.
Gave both of my soles just to play in the band.

Thrown. Here by chance.
Shipwrecked. Court side. In a trance.
Thrown by a glare inside of a glance
That said none of this fear appeared by chance.
Thrown. Here by chance.
What’s left is loathing. Caught in a dance.
And I’m thrown. Still not stuck in a plan.
See none of what’s here appeared by chance.

• Indie rock
• Punk
• Trickster core
• post-punk
• New York