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On Extraterrestrial Living

by Camilla

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diokollias words cannot describe how much I love your music, how I'll find the lyrics relatable no matter what I'm going through at that moment. ❤️❤️❤️

"where will you go, when you've sold all you've known?" Favorite track: Prelude to the Death of a Salesman.
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1.
Sleep Well 04:00
Waking up with such a jolt from this burly bed I’ve thrown off the covers. How you don’t wake up at all is a study in practiced toleration. Eyes aflutter open up and I’m looking around as if walls were windows. How did it go wrong? Was all planned out. If these ghosts would fade I’d pull back the covers. Are you sleeping well? I’m never quite sure never quite never quite I’m never quite sure. How do you get back when fallen down as a boy who’s never good enough and all of you won’t wait. Eyes aflutter open up and I’m looking around as if walls were windows.
2.
Gather 02:26
Gather up the children and get them to the basement. (R.I.P., disillusioned) It started when he lost his job at Churn & Burn Incorporated. “What a weird little world this is...” we say as we go about our business. Gather up the children to practice words and figures. We must make sure they’re well prepared when judged against their peers. We’ve made it when they’ve all got jobs at Churn & Burn Incorporated. “What a weird little world this is...” we say and ignore the repetition.
3.
Stop pull me from the crowd. I want to get out. We travel in a hearse. The engine’s breaking down. Easy as it goes. Fighting for space. Up against a curse that’s tearing at us. Remember when our star was bright? We held tight but started slipping. I couldn’t make it last when it felt right so I had to go. I had to go home. Just thought that I should tell you. Start accumulating songs lining up words burning up the scraps it’s taking way too long. Don’t know who to trust. Trust in myself. Rack full of doubt, recorded. Let’s say a prayer before we go one for the darkness we have just been through. I will remember where I was when I first knew I’d be giving up. It’s gonna be the longest drive. For the first time I am sure. It’s a shame that we must wait some more. It’s gonna be the longest drive.”
4.
White Slip 03:56
Old friend, step into my office. What is it you want? I’m short on time. You look bitter and frustrated tired and beaten down. Well, here’s some instruction: Lose your nerve. Forget the battles you fought before. They never made much sense when it came down to paying rent. And there are perks to being corporate whores: the shiny toys help you forget your doubts. After all, I used to see things from your eyes and questioned sense of worth through sleepless nights. Though, soon I was waving the white flag on high and the feeling of relief trumped the defeat. (Get out before the music stops. Drop…it when you’ve had enough. This dream life can come undone; can go in a minute. Get out before the music stops Act... like nothing’s wrong and when you’ve had enough, just run.) And though I’m sleeping now sometimes my head still fills with prose. And if you’re seeing me writing it down then you will know (Once again…) that though I may have given up, (I might as well…) I hope that others might not. I hope that others might not. So if you’re thinking about losing nerve, forgetting battles you fought before When they just make no sense and it comes down to paying rent, Though there are perks to being corporate whores, you’ll ever forget what you came here for. You’ll never forget why you’re here.
5.
Recalling the callow hours of our youth: Dreaming of noble words to sing Crowning by 23 or so; infants photograph as kings. Another year passes on, another year passes over. Recalling the callow hours of our youth: Dreaming of fairytale romance. Waltzing by 26 or so; children do a grown-up dance. Another year fraught with doubt, another year gone without her. Another year passes on… Recalling the callow hours of our youth: Dreaming of endless days to rest. Sleeping by 33 or so; students learn the art of death. (Stay up late, stay up with me.) Another year in the ground, another year keeps you grounded. another year passes on… (It’s better if you accept this life.)
6.
Words on the tip of my tongue, trying to donate my blood to a common someone. Songs seeping through the membranes, getting under my skin. She will drive me insane. Oh, it never gets cold in spring. It could never get colder now. Went another night sleeping all alone, my memories are the only ones that will ever come back. Ever come back. So you might as well find another home-- my fortune was to let you go You’ll be gone either way; nothing sick can stay. last chorus: [and there’s nothing left to say] Blood on the tip of my tongue. trying to keep the venom from an unfit no one. Woe every step of the way, scorning all that I love, everything that I say. Please, let me forget all the days wasted on you. Now that I see that we’re all broken. But you are irreparable. Fuck your friends, your advice, your art, your part-time.
7.
Little girl lies well confusing her soul, reeking of frailty and alcohol. All young lovers go. rotten teeth say so. So blacken the cradle once again now. Those juvenile signals only sucked me down. (Is this my mistake? we were once that age, (but) without demons to evade.) All young lovers go once they’ve shed all of their clothes. (You’ve cut yourself in the mess. Your feigned innocence bleeds out.) All young lovers go. Ask me how I know.
8.
He smugly nods and smiles rendering everybody dumb. And after careful manicures he gives his hands to scum. No human love could ever thaw this soul out. “How are you doing, Robot?” Where will you go when you’ve sold all you know? Who’s gonna get you out, gonna get you high when you feel low? He sleeps with money-bag pillows and shops for slaves in cyberspace. Phoniness seeps from open wounds dealt by loneliness beneath. No true passion has ever stirred in his gut. “How are you doing, Robot?” Not even Napoleon could save your conquest from caving in. And you wonder, “Where is the motivation?” Good luck pushing empty homes carving paper plans from a heart of stone. Good luck cloning empty drones carving rubber hands. from your heart of stone.
9.
One found one too much. Two souls kiss close. But lust bowed out or never woke. Hands, mouths, bodies lay low. If you settle down and give in stay here for awhile it’s gonna be alright now. When you settle down and give in stay here for awhile it will be alright if you try. Could never seem to find the three in one. Though I forgive you all for falling short. I only blame myself. Almost. Could never seem to find the three in one. But I forgive you all for falling short. I only blame myself. Almost doesn’t count. (Two…. Three… Four… One…) One found one. What a breathtaking sympathy. But sense bled then atrophied. Slow songs; A symphony long gone. Can you try to bend squares, smoothing out the edges round? Can you hide the unshared, and plug the holes with sound? One found one, honed the arts of sex and debate. But drugs couldn’t raise the gate. Love-numbed; an antidote for hate.
10.
The First 03:29
Eyes looking up at my eyes looking down at my toes. We both know that beneath concealed smiles where our words are no good, heaven knows. On the first We start up north past hulks of steel, plate glass and rock; souvenirs I can live without. Make haste when packing our bags we don’t want to miss out on getting out. And with luck on our side we’re in Halcott by night. Then lay low. On the first we started off past molten steel and crumbled rock; souvenirs I can live without. I cry out, “What’s done is done and we’ll carry on.” (I didn’t know it was real. Don’t wanna leave all this molten steel and crumbled rock. You go on…)
11.
Wake. I’ve been sleeping a long time in space where each night lasts a lifetime. I’m a fool if I think they’ll care. War. Did it finally break out? I’m sure. But from here things look alright. You’re a fool if you think we’ll care. (Unless you can take a photograph of this. Enlist anyone left.) It’s the first time I’m not coming back and the first time you’ve been this impressed. Now a burned disk is all I have left but it skips as if purposely scratched. And the words it repeats like refrains are from songs that I thought we’d erased. And though feelings have faded with time it still betters the state of my mind.

about

On Extraterrestrial Living was recorded in 2009, but its release would be delayed by a decade as its creators struggled through the mixing process. Descending into an obsessive madness while trying to produce the perfect record, Camilla would end up shelving the entire project by 2012 -- only to unearth it again in 2019 when the compulsion to release the most complete batch of mixes grew too strong.

***

Written at the onset of the 2008 financial crisis, On Extraterrestrial Living examines the pros and pitfalls of pursuing financial gain at the expense of creative dreams. The narrator draws a sharp, “either/or” distinction between the two and frets over which path to follow, agonizing over not only his own desires, but the expectations of others. Feeling adrift at the epicenter of an economic system that is shuddering violently around him, he turns inward, pours himself into his art, and hopes for the best.

credits

released August 16, 2019

Mixed by Evan Grove with help from Ethan Fixell.
Mastered by Alan Douches at West West Side Music.

Camilla would like to thank the following for their musical contributions to the album: Jen Appel, Morgan McOwen, Alex Moore, Billy DelGuidice, Amit Bhattacharjee, Larry Kraut, and Altiva. We could not have done this without you.

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Camilla New York, New York

Camilla is:

Evan Grove – Vocals, Guitars, Synths, Percussion, Banjo, Programming

Ethan Fixell – Vocals, Guitars, Percussion, Synths, Programming

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