This album is recorded, and has been in the mixdown/mastering phase for longer than I care to admit.

I did most of the recording at Wire Sounds (RIP), the South Boston electronic music studio run by Max Lord. Instruments I used included the ARP 2600, Korg MS-20, and custom-built MOTU system. I also used an MS-10 that my pal Nick Blakey lent me.

I did an initial mixdown, which I wasn't quite satisfied with. So, in late 2005, I took all the digitally recoded tracks, sent them out through four amplifiers in the basement underneath the Berwick, and recorded the live room sound. Ariel Salomon helped me tremendously with this.

I'm now in the process of mixing the live reverb with the original tracks and the mixdowns I did at Wire Sounds.

My personal thanks to Nick Blakey, Max Lord, Jeff Plummer, and Ariel Salomon.

Thanks for inspiration: Andrea Dworkin, Dominick Fernow, Full Force Productions, Michael Gira, Jim and Debbie Goad, Jessica Rylan, Mark Solotroff, Peter Sutcliffe, Charles Whitman, Luke 10:18, Crack Whore Confessions, the Cutters & Self-Harmers community at LiveJournal, and women everywhere.

Tracks: 
1. Creep

   She was perfect. She made me hate myself. I used to smile at her over the counter. Halfhearted smile and nod returned. Without recognition in her eyes. She lived her life in a beautiful glass bubble. Her friends and lovers. Refined, intelligent, talented. I never touched her. Never even spoke to her. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Even back then I knew she would be a star -

   I cut out everything I could find. Pictures, stories, interviews. Bedroom wallpaper shrine. Sometimes she threw out locks of her hair. For me to find in her trash at night. I read all her books. Dressed like her friends. Stopped eating. Started pumping iron. When I cut myself I hid the scars. I had to make myself worthy of her. Deserving of her affections. And when I was perfect. We would consummate our elopement. In a dark alley or abandoned building. I would have a gift in my pocket. She would wear a rose round her neck -

   But it's all for nothing now. It was more than a lock of hair. Stuffed into a dumpster. In an alley behind her apartment. Raped... murdered... and other things. I cried at her funeral. After everyone else had gone. It wasn't me. I couldn't even touch her. She died in the arms of another lover. I didn't do it. But I wish I had. Now I don't know what to do

2. Psycho

   You stare at yourself naked in the mirror. Body swollen from pumping iron. Insulation between yourself and the world. You shoot wax bullets. At your image in the mirror. Practice for your final, perfect act. You put on your uniform: Trenchcoat, mirrored sunglasses, combat boots, Kevlar vest. You kept your duffel bag packed. Waiting under the bed until this day. Carbines, ammo, knives, radio, canned food, deodorant, toilet paper. A final look in the mirror and one last shot of whiskey. Today their faces will replace your own. Living targets. Walking corpses. Human stains. The last thing to flash through their minds is "Why". But you'll feel not one single shred pity or remorse. You're simply recalling your own dead soul. As the bullets fly into human flesh -

   Bloodless Superman. Merciless Leviathan. Unleash your latent genius and rock the nation. Your footfalls shatter pavement. You're ground zero of a nuclear blast. The sky will open up. With the sound of thunder. A lead rain will flood the earth. Lightning, fall from heaven. Today the world will know your name -

   So you go man your station. You watch the people walk by. You stand alone. You leave alone. You go home alone. Nothing ever changes -

   You stare at yourself naked in the mirror. Acne, hair loss, beer gut, stretch marks. Another shot of whiskey. Another wax bullet for the mirror -

   Sometimes late at night it hits you. You're nothing special. You're just like everyone else. Weak and unimportant like everyone else. It sickens you. You hate yourself and want to die. But you fall asleep and forget about it. Tomorrow is another day

3. First Date

   Tonight is my first date since I was reborn. I'm holding my dress in front of me. Lilly-white with sky-blue flowers. Fabric covering pipe burns on my chest. I've worked so hard to paint over the scars of my past. A past he doesn't know. And I'll make sure he never will -

   Each tiny apocalypse has the face of redemption. Your boyfriend a savior from daddy's bruises. The brass pole feeds you money when you're down. And drugs lift you when things get bad again. You coast on a road that only goes downhill from here. But you look at the chickenheads on the streetcorners. And thank God you're not one of them. Until the day you can't thank God anymore -

   In time you get used to the things you have to do. You learn the good locations and who's holding. Which cops will be nice and what their price is. You even get used to the johns' eyes. Half-disguised look that says they're better than all this. They think they know you and they think they know themselves. But they're here because this is all they can get -

   It was one of the days they put my man in jail. Tweaking so hard I blacked out. Didn't remember what I had to do to get that rock. Didn't know what they did to me after. Woke up staring at the burnt end of a glass dick. I looked around me at the house I lived in. Fake wood-panelled walls the brown of urine and nicotine. Bare matress, carpet stains, rotten food, broken furniture. The cigarrette burns gave me the idea. Half an hour later I was watching it all burn -
   Five years and a thousand miles away. After detox and dentists. A name change and a steady job. And he's looking at me over his wine glass. And telling me I'm beautiful. And I ask the waiter for the check -

   The kiss at his door was long and deep. And he opened the door and led me inside. And he's smiling at me across the rose-petal bed. Teeth pearly white in the light of a thousand candles. In a room filled with flowers. It was the most romantic thing I'd ever seen -

   It was the last thing I ever saw

4. Shut-in

   Every night I dream of rape, torture, murder. Every morning I wake up screaming. Beating heart held in place by invisible weight on my chest. Fear is familiar to me as air. I live in it, inhale it, exhale it. It smells like shit and sweat and masturbation. Thick as fog here. This cesspool and paradise. It's been years since I've opened the windows. Years since I installed the bars. I hate seeing the sun rise -

   I can't stand anything but solitude. I used to have friends. I drove them all away. Two chains, two deadbolts, one cylinder. Between me and the human plague -

   On the bus I talk to nobody. At work I talk to nobody. It took me years to find this job where I talk to nobody. Menial tasks. Tedious busy-work. I hate it here. But I hate leaving even more -

   Every eye is leering at me. Every laugh is laughing at me. They are abominable. Worse than animals. Repulsive black beasts. They all want to hurt me. They all want to rape me. They all want to kill me. They all want to rip me apart. They know I'd do the same to them. They all hate me. Because they know I hate them. Their teeth are like swords. I've given them all swords. They will cut me to ribbons. And send me to Hell -

   One cylinder, two deadbolts, two chains. Through these I pass into my city of woe. My cesspool and paradise. Every night I dream of being raped, tortured, murdered. Flashbacks to my future. I'm feeling perpetual terror. I stare blankly or I say some words. I'm ready to die

5. S.I.

   (Stage One)
   It's been almost two months since I last cut. I've been idly playing with a pair of really sharp scissors. All I can think about it cutting myself, and cutting a lot. I feel so restless, my fingers itch to grab the scissors. I can't sit still. I can't concentrate. I just need to cut. I've scratched a little. Pinched myself. But it's just not the same. Nothing seems to satisfy the feeling. Nothing but the blade going across my skin with the blood rushing out. I always feel less alone when I bleed a lot. The sound of my own pulse revolts me. I tried to cut myself today. My hands were shaking so violently I dropped the knife. I hate the fact that I need this. I always feel so guilty and so weak. Sometimes I wish my mind would shut up. This is horrible. I'm sick of bleeding. I don't want to be going down this path again. But I can't help it. I need to. I will -

   (Stage Two)
   It's been almost 3 days, and I'm going mental. Things are really getting out of control. I'm too afraid to go as deep as I'd like these days. I go into some trance and come out of it nearly bleeding to death. What the fuck is wrong with me. My depression is starting to make me physically sick. I want to sleep for a very long time. this is so very fucking hard. God I'd love to cut my wrists. I want to cut so bad. I want to destroy myself. I want to press down on my veins and die. For all my blood to poor out of my body and poison anyone who comes near it. I desperately hate the ones I once loved. I hate them all. I really do. They all need to die. I want to die. I am going to die. Tonight. I am through as of tonight. Tonight I end it once and for all. Please someone, help me -

   (Stage Three)
   The blood flowed more than it ever has tonight. I broke a razor and took the blade. I just wanted to see what it looked like. I pushed too hard. I cut deep. Really deep. The blood just poured in long beautiful trails. I bled for about an hour. And it was the most amazing feeling ever. Felt so good to just bleed and to hurt. I feel like the blood carries the bad away with it. Now it seems that no matter how much I cut I have to cut more. I just want to bleed out the pain and the fear. I'm craving it again. I need to bleed now. I just don't want pain right now... I want blood. I write with it and stare at it running down my arm. And I like to run my fingers over the cuts. I used to think I wanted help. Now I know I don't care. Maybe I'm losing my mind, maybe not. I Feel so...free. Empty and free. I am so happy

6. Bottom

   Time on the outside. Waking life. A poorly-fitting mask. A masquerade performed merely for public scrutiny. Go through the motions. Live life out of vanilla necessity. Punch in... punch out. Punch in... punch out. Punch in... punch out -

   My true self exists only here. In this holy site. This killing field. This abattoir. This crime scene sanctuary -

   You can beat me. You can cut me. You can crucify me. You can annihilate me. I am less than nothing. I am just another hole. I am just flesh to be used. You stick your self into me. You tear me out of myself. And replace me with you. This violation my only purpose. This skin was created to be pierced. This body was meant to be forced open. This will was made to be raped -

   One thousand angels dance on the heads. Of the pins stuck inside my skin. I drown in pain and am born again. Babtized in a river of my own blood. Martyr into saint. Flesh into holy spirit -

   Through this I ascend into heaven. Through this you descend into hell -

   I feel your excitement. Flowering through my body. I am your vessel. I contain you. You can't become yourself without me. You need me... to use. My violation your only purpose -

   And without my flesh. You are nothing. And without my screams. You are nothing. And because of this. Merely this -

   I can control you. I will control you. I control you. I CONTROL YOU.

   We both know who's desperate here