Unquiet Mind: Official Releases 2004-2005

her silent distant breath




S.imple I.ndustrial M.achine

27 Leahs


Hic Hex

When We Were Were

You: Artist Unknown...

The Human Egregore
Endless Neon Daymare.. Official Fantasy
The Human Export.
(Word ObscuReveal Dreams)
Asymmetrical. Synchronicity
Werewolf Erotica...
Knowledge Needs Only Wisdom
Itinerant TrAnsmissiOn...
"This Corporate Republic"

FIN: The Pisces Age

Dead This Mystery Walk

Cowan Open Door
(Kitty Skidoo Mix)

Property Of

there are more unreleased tracks in circulation than official releases


    itinerant Transmissions - the video

Mystery X directed and animated this video, from the album TEOTWAWKI. Enjoy

Video: itinerant Transmissions
(33MB .mpg file - right click & save as)


    Monk Key It

woke up this morning to a memory of a fading dream
and there you were. you were as you were when you were were..
I spoke you spoke we stared at the thing we had made, and I drained
what left behind had I felt betrayed again.
So steal this skin. Wear your monkey's face
and hide from the heart you've beaten in

Then this morning's dream:

left behind in the fading light
and betrayed, I felt this more fiercely than before
and you were there and you were there
And this was broken, destroyed

"I never wanted to break up this unquiet" I said,
breaking the stillness between us, and you accused
and you looked away, and when I awoke alone
I smoked, stared out at pre-dawn light
toward Aurora, and cried.


    The Vortex Papers


1. temperate climate

i weary these harsh mornings
when breath comes ragged
and slow, national, draft...

if torn by age, ravaged
sublime from secret places
the blanket of flesh
wrapped slyly, drawn

and asleep, the legs
my hand, a finger pins
and cold, the circulation
air isn't the same here

cloud front, a flood
burnt umber, a harvest
and threshing, fields
alighted, post chattel
environment, we given rights

(my motherfuckers are silent
but they got my back
in this temperate climate)

wake the fuck up I slap my skin
and grimace, the flesh is morbid
a roadmap
and I am fevers, sores, lesions
and threshing, dead leather,
a few coins lost in transit

don't have the desire left
to be a machine, these things
take time, have meaning
        truth movement
couldn't speak sanctions forced this gag, restraint
the officials lien, official line
occlusion: officially lying moderates


2 Witchita Vortex Lament

i cannot simply state
'this is a wasteland, hollow world, brutal reign of clay-hearts and cold cash' though I may have thought
it true, thought long and hard that this time is tumbling away, a weed blown across the sands of memory,
shards crystal sharp of hourglass tossed aside, book ends now, book ends of a history of ideas thrown out
and a siphoning away of love's contentment. Joy is brittle, easily shattered, here in these harrowing years


I cannot state abstractions, the world is darker than that, there are demons that possess through powders,
through rock, you see the crack in the pavement, the crack in the sidewalk, on your way to school, to the park
and there are shooting galleries in the playgrounds, there are wandering souls in the park, mumbling souls
left a glance, given a shoulder to cry on, handed a heart-broken defiant-still stare they might open up
and you might learn of a long-lostlove, of a co-dependant set adrift, of a compassionate schitzophrenic
come out for the weather, to feel warm for a day from the shadows of side streets and shelter suppers


I was half-starved, a thief in shadowy climate, a favored of fortune but still scrapping past
found time a flower that dreams. but some are not so astute, to the fortress of lifestyle
they stand mute witness, a week's wage from ruin. And they are doomed, and they are doomed


the brittle tumbleweeds build along the fenceline interlocking
and out of the year's complex maw a new storm arises
ripping the fence free of its moorings...
I at least dream this - if one is not free
to dream in the parameter of poetry,
where then can we yet dream?


The fence is a metaphor, this self-reference is metaphor,
there is nothing but metaphor these days.


I see no pain, no triumph, no wonder, no shame. Just compliance
a fence raised and built upon by brushed up against
and almost defiant, yet still quiet... a fence made so much of
but not nearly there yet, a wall of sand.


And this poem, these dark watery hearts, they shelter a bloodsworn enemy of life.
you seek to be clear of guilt, of pain, of pan filling panic at the base of your spine
for this is the wasted land, the black sauron lid-less burning eye laid this place to waste
in four color super-hero comic action, you spackled your ceiling with the left-over ashes while
my cat puked on the monitor and nearly electricuted all of us. We're in this shit together, you
and I, I'm the fucking poet, I'm the one who has to guide the reader through this desert drowning us

fuck it.

these plains have seen better days. there were buffalo here, and pampas grass, and people with some dignity
not these tired spun-out zombies
that gutterpunk this sad vortex.



3 taken by force

in seed you control
need you control it
seed it you control
you need control is

mine is
not yours
not taken by fierce
mind own this controvert

your time
strained meaningessly
by fierceness take
by strength conquer

you are fire
are heart, spread light
no mind this night taken
by flight
by lies,

higher and farther
you stake out the future

we're blue blood, gene
and to console, perhaps this moves again
and perhaps mortal,
stare deeper, stay
longer each taken
desire, you
absolve control



4 New Wichita Vortex

"so the town sucked you back"
we sat over dinner, I been
        sitting down over dinner
        and sitting down over bowl
        for a month new moon through
        full and back on to now,
        it's noon, no job, no purpose
        to fill, just dog food dish
             overturned on kitchen tile

out the door to Tyler, to Ridge and Central
        down 235 to Broadway, a half-hearted
        veer to freedom and away, back to the day

        we are staring up at a statue
        she holds my hand. the river cuts
             and we hold our bleeding
can leave only a hatred behind these days
        this kind dawn

        the airport harbours strange craft
        we see entirely too many triangles
        bulk in the sky. helicoptors, a dirigible
             private planes, hot air balloons

        skyline is lost against the plains, the horizon
        and trees and she pulls a kite.

cannot be consciousness
        of your sad city
        your spinning suburbia
        of your soul carved
        yellowed, docufied
             and remanded
             into custody
               i do not wanted

        these are twinges, flashed
             upon, forgotten
               and flaunted
             for fate
cannot be conscious, caused
             to be cautious
               by fate

        and driven and given and taught
             (she loved me enough
             to read me Candide
               by gaslight)

        and I... I never forgot

what you have
wasted. Her moment
a tree walks, here she rides with the wind
             here she speaks with her hands
             here she danced once
             threw you the glance
you took a chance, once
        and never again
        burned your hand.
that you wasted, pain

remind you you live
remind you you gotta give
             to get
             in this feedback

             elastic waistband

show you fear
        in a fist of grit

        what then man,
             some sin?

             you you
             gotta give
               to get

What this lie is then
as we have a single moment in which to dream
it comes from my hand

and awaken, thrust into spin
        and I am altered by it
             to arrive undone,
        it wears me, and grows stranger still
        it grows through me

thrust up against scarlet worlds,
             and alone I am
        a dusk of headlights,
             unhinged, tongue
        bruised skyline
             swollen, eyes dry

and given this
        that somehow my moment is stretched thin
             daily slaughter
        that my dreams are solid, stronger, a fierce
             hour iconic, vision replicates
and irrational belief in fate
             each golden arch,
        my scarlet world somewhat strained
             each passage inward
        by the fists of compliance
             guarded swords
and in vivisection my world bleeds
             flaming wards, slaughtered,
        content to writhe
        in pain sacrificed in firestorm

the letters vault

bleed flaming words
        letters ink sparks,
             leap stains
                a vowel alighted
                   the book gashed

there we set our new values
we are trapped
by the abstract tyranny of time
and trapped
by the vacant memory kept for us
        in concrete and bronze monuments
        in plaques, in statuary

would we then wooded not pour out
from hearts in fits and starts new art
out of which could spark a heat between
        carve a friction, a new solid,
        a birthpang, a plasma

and new growth demands new layers, new stares,
        a memory and a new contentment

and new dreads, new beads, woven silver bells
        a cotton weave, a tie

there is serious leaves
kisses in trunk carved initials runs sap:
        amber like wax drips

and clorophyll the green is
and clorophyll the flame and we are
and summer still is
        and greener
             is still are.



grown fuc
ontial nopf
snd whatr



wood stake fire
atlas sampled

spectrum dynasty
fleed grant asylum

have no bacon
neon lime
salt vict
um ory

it sense movement capture likened
likeness image function spectrum
soleness beacon obey severed


gwron eff function ass best bastard
someone season

timeless nation newness notion
what wait wanted water
her i

here Ye
I her wa
ter maiden guard ing



6 escape artist this

remaining, these gods are being
there the chamber star dictates greedy

who can you trust when there's no one else?
everyone is sleeping,
sounds repeating

escape yourself
escape yourself
escape yourself

sold on false nostalgia
take, eat, and run

thinking for two, these
steaks thick, red meat
and dead things

it was my unquiet mind first
and then she slipped me the tongue


7 ampersands & thyme

the temple walls are made of flesh; the prison walls of blackened iron
& we construct from what is left in the trash heap of our civilization
starspangled banner led bewitched, betwixt, between a vision & a dream
my face above the scar on chin, flesh revenge upon, defended invention

there is nothing left to transform into commodity we sleep
in fear our dreams will be tolled, the driveway controlled: Hey Ants

spell the scents to break the fact it's four to one against


8 Demonizations

this demon and the child I was
and the toys and we play
and there are figurines
there are by-laws

this demon stands right next to me
he holds my halo in his claws
with ever and ever after
printed across

this demon stays right next to me
and holds this figurine
that was given
years back

I stand holding demon's fist
and think toys, and think
cigarettes, piles of powders

this is power, a hard cock
a bullet, demon at your shoulder

march hard
glance a clenched jawline
drown high fructose corn syrup
in lime, gin, black death urge
vodka water life, whiskey age

and demon serves gin, sales pitch
front line, cross fire, theater

the television introduced you to satan
and you bought his cars, you watched
his eyes, your minds were wiped
your souls three mornings ago

was sold to this demon, he holds
coupons for laundry detergent, sends
postcards from satanas, from furfur,

and glyphs and wards forgotten
shall be the wasteland's remnants
when I and demon at my side


was there truth
between the swirl, the new world
a breathe away death
cab call too cute
the day stays

9 the vortex examines:

tracking the features
the new laws, regulations, the changes
required. They are stealing

we still are the people
they are stealing
and with

words. we were given
these documents as holy
relics in place of the ash
the scattering of
and in

ink the new dawn
the wretched, the poor
come huddled,
and we
and we are

and we the plebe
the placid masses
taking turns in que
to change our world
every two years

and we the mass
the briar
the thicket through which
the manifest must come, chained
crowned, brought feet first
down long drawn corridors
of power

and at its head we
and at its feet we
and in its wake we
and here, at its heart we stand

and it was lied and it watched and it was tampered
with, before we were finished
and it was lingering, it the eye
strained wide to capture

and they, they knew not what they
and we, we know naught but what we
and I, I have only what I've wrought to accompany
me, this vortex dawn

wes unruh, wichita ks
april 13th, 2006