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GLOS SOL ALIA began in 2006 as instrumental tracks by thee anoma- 
lous NPS in Woodland, CA. Raps and skits were written and recorded from 
2006-09 i n Areata, CA, then mixed and edited by the Etymologist at the Sher- 
wood Cooperative in Seattle, WA from 2009-10. Mastered in 2010 by Virgil 
Starkweather Studios in Woodland, CA. We use in-home production and 
DIY configurations. The majority of this album was recorded while we were 
camping in tents in Nu Roma's backyard -thanks again. 

To avoid proliferating useless compact discs, no physical copies of this pro- 
duction will be manufactured by us. However, please download free high- 
quality MP3's of the album at honorificabilitudinitatibusrecordings.blogspot. 
com. Most of this paper, these audio samples, and these lyrical concepts have 
been stolen or used without permission. Steal them back. 

Anti-copyright: free of propriety; we encourage unrestricted duplication and re- 

Throughout my life I have seen, 

BITIONS I've longed to laugh, with the rest, 
but that strange imitation was impossible. 
Taking a penknife with a sharp-edged blade, 
i slit the flesh at the points joining the 
lips. For an instant I believed my aim was 


blood gushing freely from the two wounds 
prevented my distinguishing whether this 
really was the grin of others. but after 
some moments of comparison i saw quite 
clearlythat my smile did not resemble that 
of humans: the fact is, i was not laughing. 

- Lautreamont, Maldoror 

the major players 

theboybeenhadinhead, Skits, Narration, Art Design. 

Aweful/ Awe/ Awed, Skits, Guitar, Editing 6c Recording, Art Design. 
Musical Score, Sampling, Arrangements 

Mastering, Quality Control, Set Design, Lighting. 
Ensemble, Emotional Support 

Cello, Meditation Specialist, Devil's Advocate. 
Scientist A- Optical Experimenteur 


Th e 1 %v/oA2 n d 

The Etymologist 

thee anomalous NPS 

Virgil Starkweather 

Laurus Nobilis 

Mung Bean 

Persephone Killtime 

Terence McKenna, John Cleese 

further reading 

Lautreamont: Les Chants de Maldoror; Poesies 
McKenna, Terence: Food of the Gods; True Hallucinations; The Archaic Revival 

Merleau-Ponty, Maurice: Phenomenology of Perception 

Powell, A.E.: The Etheric Double — The Health Aura of Man 

Nietzsche, Friedrich: The Genealogy of Morals 

Stafford, Peter: Psychedelics Encyclopedia 

Straussman M.D., Rick: DMT: The Spirit Molecule 

&fthee anomalous NPS recommends 


Astral Glottal Projection: Put the penknife to your mouth 
and start at the mandibles; make yourself a mimic and an 
image of mockery; call yourself a convert and a conscious 
apostrophe; bend your brain around the basic limits of 

Put the penknife to your mouth. 

Aweful: If my mother's pelvis was a few inches slimmer I 
woulda' got stuck in the vulvular discharge; a simultaneous 
birth of movement and death in inertia. When the doc- 
tors pulled out the forceps to grasp my skull their glisten- 
ing forfexes woulda prefigured my cranium, kinda' like an 
eggshell; an impression in anticipation of headphones. The 
car seats and the braces were a constant reminder of the 
aching in my bones and the fact that shoulders never met 
at exactly the same height. So if you wanna' talk about a 
fuckin phallic symbol, put your fingers down your throat 
in the middle of the ocean. Surround yourself by cameras 
and news reporters linked to the brains of every television 
set and press pause. The vomit from your sternum projects 
a new appendage. 

theboybeenheadinhead: I made a new will today, to capture 
the light I see and sell it for batteries. Full power to foot- 
steps up, on, and over the bottlenecked view, where my eyes 
stop wandering, wondering whether I see the sun setting or 
not. I know the sun and I have seen its rot! The cool on my 

hands dimmer, hairs on my spine shimmer —suckling mind- 
melding forethought- better count my possessions and posi- 
tion myself to become formidable with the stars. My fa- 
vorite fiction is loose Norse myth, but my beard's not long 
enough to comb with just one fist -I must have missed the 
page that pointed the blame, I must have cinched my lips at 
the illusion of fame- a new will to imbibe what I own and 
offer bits of sarcophagus to the people I have known. My 
collections go for this: my fake siblings receive the gifts of 
a narcoleptic brain and blank space to match it up with... 
In print, in self, in fruitful fire, in depths, in bliss, in blame... 
something on the Valkyries. Spray painted symbols of it, 
and, but, because. . .1 blame something on the Valkyries. 


sublingual, subliminal vocalization 

V/ouj wany tidfc&ts -fot t/7& aAyss tid&? 

I wanted to get on before I get off. How many people are able 
to construct a compass formed from their own hands? How 

many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie-roll 
pop? V/olo wany tic^^ets -Pot the a&yss hide. ? I 
wanted to get on before I get off. 

theboy: I've wanted to get off for just so long with time 
enough to ease erasure at the seams with my asshole all out 
as I kiester the world giving the ground a first impression 
like a stinkpalm on a hated ex-classmate at a convention 
center reunion too many decibels for full thought. . .1 blame 
it all on before the brownnote blows my bowels to blasphe- 
my, god has to shit too how else do you explain hail? [He's 
a cold motherfucker to let that shit suffer his anus too.] 

V/olo wany ti^ets -for- the aAyss tide? 

My infatuation with the unknown is making me lose 
thought as I abruptly leave a landslide as it builds me a new 
home. Come to think I'd leave a letter omitting my love for 
destruction on the bank of an urban flood. What a natu- 
ral disaster I've become form from fingernail and thumb, 
a disease, as I beckon the gods to give me the air that I 
heave so that I spit when I talk to promote said blasphem- 
ing schemes. 

theboy: Form from tutelage to exchanged hums 
Aweful: Form from greenink bled gums 
theboy: Form from millionaires on the run 
Aweful: Form from spitting seeds in the sun 
theboy: Form from getting off what is on 
Aweful: Form from fractal frivolitry 
theboy: Mammalbug biology 

Aweful: Explosive etymology 

theboy: Form from spittle on a table spilling juices acidic 
and able to withstand a warmhand master searing cattle 
brands on womanish labias so are children form from 
lava, tissue now molten from formed solders. 

V/cduj /y?any tid^&ts -for- t/i& aAyss tid<°? 
Cause I cant conjure what I mind mine anymore than 
dead growth with no sunshine, relieving nerve ticks a 
flesh combine. Tearing lips and teeth no warning a bodi- 
ly stop sign. Telling me when to push and pull and when 
to resign, form from legacy, form from my own time. 
From forming legacy, form from my own time. 

Aweful: So how now am I proposed to live without the 
soft glow comfort of my W.O.W. (World Of Warcraft)? 
All my internet friends will have to find a way to carry 
on without my digital presence in the lands of loosely 
based Norse-myth-magic-melee. Feel the silent ticking 
humming pinching caresses of my electro-powered ner- 
vous system body gone phantom. My main-course nu- 
tritionals viz. a viz. high-fructose gelatinated partially 
hydrogenated factory refined American-bred potluck 
preserves are now absent. Now the questions: what's to 
occupy the in-between hours. Silence, breath, light bulb 
flicker, sun shadow, moon melancholy. Hell, I even left 
the front door askew hoping for a break-in to break up 
the monotone drawl of my two back mandibles. Now, of 
course, "The belly rules the mind" as I'm left without a 

scrap to eat and there seems to be these little chunks of ash- 
es coming from the sky, covering the street. In fact, the only 
thing left seems to be this cow pie that was stuck behind the 
fridge, which I placed upon the window sill, and that too ap- 
pears to be gathering whatever it is that descends upon this 
city like manna from heaven. . . except Moses probably never 
saw fungus like this. 


Astral Glottal Projection: Aweful, Awe, Awed! open your 
eyes; open your mind, theboybeenhad, beenhadinhead. 

jellyfish: There's no timeline, just a plenum lately, fractals di- 
lating infinitely, coming to actuate potential baby, solipsistic 
fungal masticating, past and present, future filter function, 
sized symmetrical bilaterally, feeling fricative and vibratory, 
coming to terms with an inner comet, I'm gonna make their 
fucking sternums vomit. 




theboy: I'm through being precarious, like a night with no 
prom date, a mass infiltration taking aim on my surround- 
ings. Cleaning spoons for proper ingestion, sharpening 
knives so the metal don't get too lonely. I'll handle these 
profusions, undulations from my lungs, a little infectious 
the gummy breath I become, from sleeping too hard with a 
long long pocket. This overall matches overall, it's my live- 
lihood as an artist never to misplace my dreams but I don't 
dream, no lucidity, no journal entry formats. Just knotted 
dawn, clumpy down, making my eardrum buildup, a whole 
percussive sentence making a symphony in my head. . . 

Awe: Fuck dead people that are living in coffins, surround- 
ing themselves with wood too often, making it hard for 
nutritional substance to be absorbed in a cyclical process. 
I'm talking about the roots of the kid-berry tree on the far 
West side of the Woodland City Cemetery after the 
dusk descends and sends a sense of life laid longing on 
the floor -bored- with life that spends its ends late long- 
ing for solutions to the problems made up from inter- 
nal pent up and dumb stuff withheld due to living in the 
midst of walled cities, erected and made to protect oneself 
from a death that breathes the best chance and opportune 
tune to penetrate a state that consciousness cannot pre- 

tend to comprehend: bend the boundaries of light and 
sound; vibrate your face; make your head spin round. 
Anthropomorphism is not a problem; anthropocentrism 
is your disease. I'm pro-sitting by myself for long sec- 
tions, alarm-clock-baited solitary inspections, realizing 
that it's my time by the nature: examination of my stoic 
upright stature. Sensations generated spontaneously, my 
life-force vibrating bilaterally. Peoples never expect to 
see themselves represented in the mirror of the universe, 
'cause the mirror they reflect first is an image of an im- 
age reflected to their own eyes back and you see that they 
gonna try and derive what makes a dream make meaning 
cause it makes you sick. And you're going to ingest your 
best fuck- face smiling at yourself in the bathroom mirror 
every morning cause you drank yourself to sleep in order 
not to dream anymore, 'cause you don V wanna' 'dream any- 
more, 'cause you wouldn't wanna' dream anymore. Even if 
you could, you wouldn't want to. That's why I say that: I 
am THE habit, I am THE addict. 

theboy: I'm dozing and stalking a misprint on a head- 
stone read "died here to be later". A future of pos- 
sible meaning foretold, the stupid regenerating engine of 
live despair. I walk down the street and become undone, 
just one losing grip on a pore strip. I'm plucked out on a 
cloudy day, anvils falling from the sky, naked in a dream 
where I'm sure I will die, and reason why the skillet holds 
charred human feeling. The fridge in the kitchen leak- 
ing carved fleshy peelings. Double dealing, over speak- 
ing, stealing -bits of burnt muzzle bone hints of hurt loaded 
gloves- my mercury fillings turn to gold when I'm bleed- 

ing. A novice, still stealing for someone he don't know; the 
harassing fashion of coins dropping ad infinitum. Slow 
down and quote this so you get me verbatim; the subsonic 
massacre of sounds still vibrating: 

anthropocentric inanimate objects, 
chromatophore gardens of earthly delight. 

Pagans hot rendering all of art's fatty portions boiling 
away all sufficient self feeling. Selling it back to the caller, 
double priced for the leg work. They're drawing me closer 
building momentum, breaking the skin and throwing a 
tantrum, something about this is an imaginary gun seeth- 
ing gritty gums from coming on the run, breaking the 
skin and throwing a tantrum. 

Slow down and quote this so you get me verbatim. 


theboy: Roots create natural stairwells... I never read the 
Silmarillion but I'm cultured enough to know that Amer- 

ican cheese isn't any cheese at all, its cheese food product. 
Cut up in slivers by cafeteria Vaders, binging Maddog 
by the TV with a mysterious broken watch. I traded my 
snowboard for a twelve-string that I don't know how to 
tune, so now when I express myself everyone leaves the 
room except me with this conscience and my shoes all 
wet. Detect an asterisk, when are you planning to pop 
the pills? Detect an asterisk, never directly mention your 
ills... Roots create natural stairwells... It's the marathon 
of the Ents running this monotone box, confusion pro- 
ducing the ID of this tired synthesis, why does my edu- 
cation look like my Mission from fourth grade ceramics? 
Dropped that shit on the doorstep and laughed without 
a match, had this friend get fat, get fat, then skinny, then 
fat again when the Dianetics failed him. I told him Bat- 
tlefield Earth sucked proverbial dick. 

I got this ground that don't fit, my fucking imagination 
accelerating at the fucking site of this, all over my body 
blood is boiling a bumpy epidermis, Valhalla I am com- 
ing I should have never clenched a fist, my chosen direc- 
tion is more than some perverse spontaneous. The rain's 
been coming the jellyfish showing the void and this boy 
become one. blackhole, byebye, dark matter head games 
all imploding in lieu of the sun. Soon enough the relative 
matter of life on this earth will be done. Hallucination 
language, shedding my clothes not my cape, Awed's to 


you beenhadin- 

Jellyfish: Watch your vitamins, it's Ritalin, 
head kid, you beenhadinhead boy 

theboy: I want to have exploding sex with myself. I want 
to imagine me with lust for life bleeding. From pustules of 
loving one another to handjobs, in this yard, I'll blow up 
to bits in a surrealistic fit, to better myself as a lover and 
dawn a new cape. A shedding of reason to mince-make 
my mind a minion. For syllable rhythm that defies this 
timescape. That breaks a new crack in the street where I 
sleep. So I can swim in this ugh-huh world of concrete, a 
ghost in a sheet. Poking three holes. One for my third eye, 
two for my genitalia. 

So I can hair spit my mouth spit out 

No timid tongue to turn a word tantrum; no smoking gun 
to blame the whole mess on. Turning tricks for contem- 
porary physics; in becoming one, I flew the coup and I'm 

Awe: Deep underneath and slow from your tongue; deep 
style, deep cut, deep pattern unsung. Don't be convinced 
until you have seen, up through the flower and down 
through the leaves; energy move betwixt you and me. 






There in my mind and there in the sky, look into a mir- 
ror and through both my eye. Therein below the depths 
you might find, a ship on a sea of light and good sound. 
The world is a plenum; the Earth is not round. All that 
exists exists just for me. Without a body-schema I can- 
not see. Were not I "here" there would be no "there." 
Dasein's the being whose Being is to Care. Eyebrow to 
navel, lumbar to hairline: closing my eyes, I trace out a 
dream-line. Comets on fire explore my intention; knew 
this before but paid no attention. Vision divides itself 
into quadrants; I am a rainbow split into concepts, inex- 
tricably connected to the rest of this vibratory fricative 
zone. I can feel that hard-spinning center of intention, 
the barbed sphere of motive and perception. It's as if I've 
opened a portal, no longer am I just a mere mortal. Now 
I'm on a pinpoint losing my balance; eyes turning black 
- to live without malice. 


theboy: The gum spots on the sidewalk are like sun spots. 
Like a mental block or the Moon's rot, weird robots in 
slow motion. Moving pictures on wide film. Millime- 
ters of space in a showroom. The flashing light tinkering 

tools making more room for the new old news about 
counter space on a chopping block. I'm runnin rot in 
a spore print -everlasting life from the underground, 
heartbeat now making a vocal round. Holy hell-a trees 
growing inside of me, my whole life made up of memo- 
ries -shaved off the wrong way on the grain ride, sing- 
ing down to catch Awe on the flip side- whatever's 
happened is done to re-do again, and I'm light-years 
closer to language. Fricative floor breaks so furiously, 
calm entelechies caught psychedelically. A jellyfish been 
growing inside of me, my whole life made up in memo- 
ries. Hallucinogens finding their way out of organ, with 
wide-eyed wonder I'm born, I'm a born-again Pagan. 

Awe: instructions- left foot: memories of childhood my 
mother making me a man and machines marching over 
land like; right foot: finding first love in the eyes of for- 
eign reign and previously only other animal-based; low 
core: intuitive response to correlate with what I find 
behind the void of others shimmering; chest plate: is 
not but an appendage, just a chute to verify intent; so 
project, enact effect; left palm: a receptacle for forces 
functioning in aether-realms like the mind waves and 
solar-pranic particles; right palm: I bestow upon the 
beings of the physical a loving kindness as directed by 
the wisdom of my third eye: my intellect a web sent 
out to intersect the astral-plane from which I project 
my time spectrum; repeat: Malleable descends on me 
and sends a streamer through the system that supports 
a certain solar self. 

theboy: Fricative fields, variously entwined. Full-up with 
fiction off of forms from euphoria. It's the flicker-fusion 
frequency of organistic time vision exceeded. Whatev- 
er's happened is done to re-do again, and I'm light-years 
closer to language. Hand prints in dried cement mark 
where my bones lay dry. Some such a phantom film the 
haunted and the holy -Aetheric doubles and white men 
with money to witness exuding energy patterns from gu- 
rus in Las Vegas. 

jellyfish: Never heard what you seen, never seen what you 
heard. Under finger nails alter substance you project to 

theboy: Anxiously lost in the angles of sharp slanted cities. 
Chromosomes making all the white people's poisonous 
faking-out dull minds with bright lights and bug zappers. 
A message for all those who trespass on a good mood: as 
a prophet I've drowned more in puddles and broke bread. 
Abstraction: die on the cross and get laughed at. Distrac- 
tion: give fuel to the hordes and dark lords and describe 
the stories that are set before me: omniscient raw pho- 
netics in the shape of divinity. 

Awe: Hypothetical Syllogism: The business of Being is 
Isness. What is the business of Isness? Issness's business 
is Being. 

theboy: Bodily functions fucking up because of the way 
that I'm struck. I've never done the dust but I know ev- 

ery soul just must. Reaching your third eye's not all in 
the wrist, no no. It takes a malleable mind and a red 
cape by the way that I'm shown. First and only experi- 
ence with the Jellyfish, new constellation known. 
Eat this cap to grow taller these spores to grow smaller, 
expand through a pinhole. 

Awe: Time is just a concept, Time is not the Answer, 
Time is what I invent in the Tropic Cancer. 

theboy: I imbibe the question, I excrete the answer, I 
become the object, the body- mind ascender. 

Awe: My comet's a real astronomer I let loose on the 
far-away stars to ingest, to find that. . . 
theboy: ...phenomena's not 

phenomena lest you vomit a Arm through the hole in 
your chest to see that... 

Awe: . . . the universe, like a chilling curse, 

is a macrocosmic instance of my own imagination... 
theboy: ...step- 

ping out of linear ubiquitous narration. . . 
Awe: ...connecting with a psychedelic jellyfish space 

A Riddle: What is it which exists betwixt six 
organs which admit and invent a value in vor- 
tex, a foreground of percepts, a force field of forceps? 

An Answer: A comet so compact its con- 

tact is constant with Time as an advent, the fu- 
ture and past-tense collide into context: a Pres- 
ent presented in presence of plenitude, dude. 

Awe: I've become one with a star-cloned body, a mallea- 
ble mimicry which perpetually beckons me to step up, step 
out, step into and through to the Manifold Mobius, the 
literal lateral lattice-work I construct in becoming Here- 
And-Now: to that kid in the cloud, the boy in the bubble, 
and the astral-born jellyfish pumping spore-organ. 


In that all this has its Self; it is the True; it is 
the Self; thou art that. 

-Chandogya, Upanishad VI.viii.7 

Awe: Ode to my chest-hook: "thou art that." I wouldst 
entwine my chest-hook with thine, I'm done with the 
light, blackhole's in sight. 

theboy: Mother Matrix Most Mysterious is a massive 
miraculous manna, the all encompassing explosions of 
awesome abyss. Merging mind and matter making a 
monstrous mother chip. An astonishing mother ship, 
the second coming of human intelligence. Currently 
the stars are all light-bright full fixated patterns of our 
man without a flashlight. Sounds are all absent from 
the ecstasy you see. Awed now an organ for generations 
to swim in, create with their own will, make with their 
own myth. Lilliputian energy now finds infinity, reality 
translated mythological cryptography, lilliputian deities 
experiencing ecstasy. THE Mother Matrix Most Mys- 
terious prepare me a crown, a solar halo corona, I'm 
done with the dark, dwarf star's in sight, I turn to the 
light, make Malleable ignite. 

Awe: I want to feel that sternum pull. My guilty con- 
science is a phantom just like the unspeakable "some- 
thing" and "what if it happens?" Just like genealogical 
timelines are emanated from lawn patterns, our hab- 
its and appetitive functions are a geometrical repeater- 
pattern from a center point that only knows how to eat 
itself. We radiate out but relative to in, which is in only 
as related to out. Then bang "something" happens and 
all of the sudden "before hand" is stupid, it's a micro- 
scopic view of an amputated limb; the entire body is 
forever "now" without identifiable "this" or "that"; all we 


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know is that we are it, and we cant point or reference any 
piece without cutting it all to bits. Ode to my chest-hook: 
"thou art that." I wouldst entwine my chest-hook with 
thine. I'm done with the light, blackhole's in sight, I turn 
to myself and make Malleable ignite. 

theboy and jellyfish: Yon black hole has widened up, lets 
you see you're possible, illogical, eternal... lets you see 
you're fallible. Malleable, dry your eyes. Can't you see you 
are the whole? Malleable, dry your eyes. Come and see 
yourself in full. 


Awe: There's so many ways for you to not be what you are 
that being what you're being's turning into not at all. So 
if I am nothing, and I know that I am nothing, do I know 
myself or am I just talking in circles? A first-person/third- 
ubiquitous narration: the breaking of betterment of bit- 
ter men, embodiment of master-morality is: Malleable's 
malady makes a man into money. I want to drop objects 
from outer space, and get sucked up in the belly of a jel- 
lyfish: the blackhole space maker, the gamma ray origina- 
tor; dirempted, divided, try to define disillusionment. 

theboy: Ataxic limbs bending back to outer space. Rare rock 
paintings inject my mind with latifimdia. Aeons, Eons, 
Neurons, plant genitals I'm plucking out. Soft ingested 
fragments of holistic mind body melt. [Cowering corner 
face I'm presenting to outer space, collective consciousness 
nearly imbedded in death.] 

Malleable: You posit the neumena as "being" what's outside 
of us: a meaningless mistake on behalf of your metaphysics, 
pedagogical annihilation of imagination. 



theboy: What is it about blackholes that shifts the water in 
mycortex causing mood swings and temperate loins, a pubic 
rainforest on a ringedpillplanet - which exists a reach from 
your local church, through the ashes at the temple I burned 
for modern art. Rain won't fall without the fodder in clouds, 
cults won't die without several packages of Styrofoam cups 
and so if I go without the roots that I know, is a blackhole 
still so gloomy or a ride you can't afford?