Is There Another Language?

by Gezellig Records

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about

All proceeds from this compilation will go to benefit the American Civil Liberties Union.

More information included in the .pdf liner notes as part of the download.

credits

released January 20, 2017

Gezellig Records 2017
Curated by Peter McCarville & Ben TO Smith
Mastered by Brad King
Artwork by Elisa Dore
Lettering by Paige Berry
Thanks to Trey Boyte

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Gezellig Records Knoxville, Tennessee

Gezellig Records is a small independent label. We are focused on bringing the artists and the listeners of the world into a sense of togetherness.

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Track Name: Charlie Waddle - Election Night // Hurricane // Abortion (terror in 7 stanzas) : a sestina
on election night, it is late
when the gathering, that is no longer a party,
ends. The walk home mostly silent
rainy November night has no concern for union’s fractured state
it waits for morning, washes light away
but fails to consider that darkness cannot be safe

you are not safe
television warns. the ocean is violent, even if its fury arrives late
hold sense of fear, do not lull it away
remember hurricane feeling: ignore the wind, pretend we are at a party
don’t listen to voice, it is easy to numb horrified state
because after storm there is always silence


post-disaster, survivors languish in silence
forget that they ever felt safe
help often arrives months late
appalled at the state
of affairs, questions why they (survivors, mothers) did not go away
they (survivors, mothers) say : this is home & existence has always been greater than president, politics, or party

the night of the storm: I am going to a party
not yet angry or silent
when I arrive, the host takes my thing away
I leave with a man, who does not feel un-safe
but familiar. where are my clothes: is the only thing I ask in my dream-state
later, I tell my mother that reality and nightmare are indistinguishable as of late

I am late
this time, it’s not for a party
“I will call it the thing that my body begot”. The State
does not listen, tells me to keep silent
the thing drifting inside is safe
I beg to for them to please send it away


terror cannot comprehend (away)
it sits heavy, stays late.
afterwards, it is not easy to reclaim the sensation of safe,
whether at party
or home, but it is nice to know that this state
of unrest and anger is ours, inalienable, safety rebukes silence

storm comes during party, that’s when we realize it is much too late.
to predict current state of emergency would have been a miracle. the sound of stunned silence
takes my breath away. it is difficult to fathom that one day again we will feel safe
Track Name: Jonathan Burkhalter - Time Passing Through the Morning
A shadow rides a pale horse along the tripwire of dawn
hustling bouquets of nightshade to children
who no longer see their breath under their fathers' masks.

The horse keeps a steady gate
in the only direction that counts
like a clock built to measure blank moments
it could keep time, but where would it keep it?

The shadow is a little more than a secret,
like the moment a flame bites the skin
like where you are between two thoughts.

The outer masks crumble off of those who take the shadow's offerings
lungs moving in ways almost forgotten, in a moment of clarity to visceral
it seemed like truth.

The children, now with one mask left,
scatter into a garden of continents
while the shadow and the horse
ascend like a call into the rising sun.
Track Name: Brant Russell - Saturday After Work
His hand rests against the express train
window, gray sideburns juxtapose
his brown suede coat, as lines
under his eyes peer down in shame
when the train stops. He sneaks a sip
of beer from a blue koozie. I wish
I could reach across the seat
with a Suntory to say “Kanpai,”
that might ease the tension
in his face. Our knees touch
and we cringe simultaneously
in the window’s reflection. He quickly
turns up the beer can and hides it,
but I want to tell him to enjoy this moment
before he arrives home, relish
the silence and the sights.
His black attaché hides his secret
against his gray wool slacks
from the woman next to him
playing on her IPAD.
I try to rest my arm against the window
and nod, to signal a bridge of understanding
between cultures. Stress reflects
the same in both of us, and I hope
that his mind truly relaxes sometime
this weekend.