Self​-​Critical Theory

by Alien Boys

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03:42
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02:36
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02:34
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02:03
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credits

released September 13, 2016

Recorded, mixed, and mastered by Elliot Langford at Thor's Palace

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Alien Boys Vancouver, British Columbia

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Track Name: Anthem
there was a time when we were lined against the walls, our bodies falling into shadows, as the fusillade – the bullets sprayed against the concrete and the pavement of the cash cow concentration camps that their wealth had made. and when i looked at you, you looked at me, and then we saw the flash of muzzles lighting – igniting in the rain. and my last thought as my ribs opened up to sidewalks was i have not done enough here to prevent this fate.
pick up those pieces now. we will not give up and say that this is our fucking fate. nobody talked about how we split ourselves freely into camps of identity.
and i awoke, and i was standing on the corner, eyes searching for you and the mess that your veins had made. i knew suddenly this was no time for talking, closed my mouth and opened my eyes – utilize this pain. too many of you have died, fallen by the wayside, it was all a joke to them – the decisions we had made. we had gone so willingly to fight for spaces in between the margins of their narratives, our voice falling off this page.
pick up those pieces now – we will not give up and say, that this is our fucking fate. no, nobody talked about how we split ourselves freely into camps of identity.
and so we organize, we must devise a way to speak our minds without the fear of offending in this new age. get to a place that’s safe, to make mistakes, give what it takes and look into the other’s face – step outside your cage. so when i look at you, you look at me, and then we see we’re fighting the same enemy – then we can engage. take up more space than they have room to give for us to live, our bodies and our voices will be those barricades.
assemble those pieces now. we will not go down this way, this is not our fucking fate. no, nobody talked about how we ruined our brevity all for the sake of identity.
too many pieces on the floor
too many bodies in the folds
Track Name: Gentrifriction
they had us figured out, or so they thought, they pushed us into condemned houses, SROs – gentrified our neighbourhood. they relegated us to just five blocks and like the stocks they hung us up for display while they gentrified our neighbourhood.
and hey you looking down from that high-rise with those wide eyes at the site of our harm reduction, you say that the function isn’t to displace our safe space here – but to integrate.
Slowly they pushed us out, complained about the hand-to-mouth their taxes had to go to pay – gentrified our neighbourhood. police line up on streets with ticket stacks, pull arms to backs, arrest the hands of vendors they – gentrified our neighbourhood. there was nowhere to sleep, between the sheets of rain that fell down on those bodied alleyways – gentrified our neighbourhood.
and hey, i thought there was something that supposed to be called social accountability or maybe it was responsibility – but, anyway – who needs to think about these things when you have the privilege to afford those multimillion dollar mortgages.
well, i guess this is some sort of class-warfare – we’re already there. the way that you’re not handling the fentanyl crisis as those bodies are piling up higher in the streets and all that you’re doing is walking away.
could not afford to live and pay the rent – lived inside tents – there’s nowhere left for us to go – gentrified our neighbourhood. there was nowhere to eat affordably, starved in the streets, they pushed off scraps for rats not us they gentrified our neighbourhood. and what about another 138? gentrified our neighbourhood.
Track Name: Don't Shoot
hey, stop resisting//don’t shoot, don’t shoot! i said stop resisting//don’t shoot, don’t – pow!
excessive force used all the time – sets precedents to fall in line for those often left behind to fend for themselves with their mental health and addiction sometimes combined. and how does it not overwhelm when those in crisis see guns drawn, unable to respond to acts or demands yelled at them aggressively while they are vulnerable.
when Kelly Thomas was harassed, the cop gloved up threatened to smash him and he reacted back in self defense that went from 1-on-1 to 2-on-1 to 6-on-1. and yet those cops they were set free, that beating upheld legally, with fists, batons, and tasers to the face they killed him while he screamed out for his father, “please help me!”
when Paul Boyd met the VPD, he did not know what gravity would befall him at that scene as he clung tightly to a bike chain to protect himself from all the screaming. and when he fell into the street, haunted by things they could not see (unarmed!), crawled on his hands and knees towards the help that he needed, they retreated and shot him in the face.
and this is how we help those who’ve found themselves vulnerable we just put them in the ground
as Naverone wandered away, multiple calls they had been made about his mental state that should have raised some questions about how he wound up so dismayed oh – and when he entered that Safeway and stabbed himself repeatedly, the transit cop could see he needed help and to be talked to like a person and not murdered openly.
and this is how we help those who’ve found themselves vulnerable we just put them in the ground
so how do they deescalate and still keep 21 feet away – claim that they have done the best they can, used every tool available while their subject was neutralized within 3 minutes time.
Track Name: Debasement
there comes a time when little girls learn how to lie about the places that they’ve been, about the things that they have seen because we’re taught that it is best to play dress-up like the rest: just don’t resist, not worth the risk, just let it go.
there was a time when i believed the hem lines in my dress could ward off unwanted male attention. but i could not defend this position against his point for too long – he pushed at me with intention.
and what was left, after he unraveled me said i was playing dolls myself? and they had known, there was just no way i got those bruises on my own. and i had felt hands around my throat as clothing rained down from the shelf.
and still we recreate the subjectless content of plays we learned well – the closed doors of that basement. ferment ourselves to cope with the lack of hope felt daily as we walk through a scenery that never changes.
but now, i know more. You taught me how to see it coming, dressed in armaments of war. forget what they meant, my silence bought me nothing but feeling insignificant. and you, you were there – squeezing me like overripe fruit left to comb you from my hair. but now we will come: dressed to kill, you’ve had your fill, we’re here to tell them all.
Track Name: Silencer
1-2-3-no.
if words could get us farther and conversation could remain the one thing that progresses us out of the shit of this domain. if there were any other way for us to recognize that words will lift us up but they can also lead to our demise.
and i’m sorry if you feel a little uncomfortable with me bringing this up right now, but i figured i should probably say something about shutting down reason for the sake of insanity and sanctity and...
cover your eyes and rip freely – censor those pages out for your fucking PC dictionary
and you come to me now best dressed with the finesse of an over-edited CSIS document, morse coding to me – black/black/white.wrong/wrong/right – and now the finishing move, “yeah cool, bro!”
how do we stray from intentions so well meaning to make us safe, so safe, no sounds. how do we enact change, when everything is forced to be the same? what a mistake – a fucking shame.
i’m tired of all this ‘ism’ry – subscribe to one or be undone by your own community.
and who knows, maybe by the end of this you’ll be pissed that i wasn’t silenced by the violence in your benevolency, but someone once told me that when you’re uncomfortable it means you’re learning. i think you need to hear this.
Track Name: Just Another Piece of Acid
there was a reason for walking away from you. it wasn’t fucking treason – she was not just in season, fruit ripe for you to take, and that was your mistake – for what’s between her legs. wasn’t invited for you to have a say, oh no.
and when he tried to reach up between her thighs, she knew that he was high, in demanding the access to the fields he wanted sown.
to find out that day, you were not a person, it was simple to them, you were a game to play.
and you know when you’re walking down that cold alley at night and some guy just happens to staring up the long lengths of your thighs and he’s asking if maybe he can have a minute of your time – and he’s asking you if maybe you wanna go and party with him for a little while – and knowing full well, he reaches out to touch you as if you had belonged to him – with his sidelong grin he says, says he wants a taste, even if its rape, he won’t be put at bay.
to find out that day, it wasn’t up to you, it was just up to them in that alley way. fuck no.
they forced you to surrender because it was your gender that they wanted to take, that they called out as fake – for what’s between your legs.
next time he tries, she’ll look straight into his eyes and pull a fucking knife, and say the next one of you fucks that touches me dies.
Track Name: Self-Critical Theory
study femininity, this is real, this is me – it’s all my biology. Study masculinity, this is real, this is me – that’s just the dichotomy. read all critical theory, this is real, this is me – that’s just the academy. i’ll live it out as best can be if this is real and this is me – it’s performativity.
yeah, i know when i deconstruct these parts of me i know i follow dogmatic bullshit jests essentially
study Luce Irigaray my two lips speak truth for me – women’s writing is needed here. and what about Gayatri, i’m subaltern, silence me – actions speak louder anyway. Dworkin and MacKinnon, i swear i’ll never fuck again – violence in penetration. the bonding practices of men commodify my existence – you won’t exchange me for anything.
Yeah, i’ve read too much to let it be easy – i know, it’s all, all just a clusterfuck identity
and Freud, Lacan, psychology, i lack a cock, i’m incomplete – castrated, a phallacy. and Sandra Lee Bartky makes me feel so guilty – male gaze followed faithfully.
hey, i know it’s all about what you can see of me. it’s just these lips that seem to speak for me. i know i’m just the sum of parts you want to see.
if this is all that i can be, then this is real and this is me. fuck the parts you wanna steal, this is me, this is real. i can’t be told just how to feel, this is me and this is real.
i’ve come full circle into my own, and now i know that this is all that you want – just for me to be that cunt – that’s all that you want.