we're not friends​/​/​eyes closing

by Collect Yourself.//Turing Cops

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about

Full-length split, by Collect Yourself. and Turing Cops

"we're not friends//eyes closing"

**we originally got really excited about making a split together, Seans songs are some of my favorite singer/songwriter projects I've heard recently, and we had decided to do two songs each. then we started making it and showing each other new songs and what we were thinking about using, and it just sort of developed into the decision of doing a full-length thing together. i finished working on it at 2am on the 7th, in order to have copies made for the release show on the 9th. Sean hadn't even heard it yet when it was posted <3

thanks for checking this out. we both put a lot of time into it and it means a lot. love you.

credits

released November 9, 2014

recorded, mixed, and mastered by Lucas Fendlay at Rosa's Cantina in South Philly in September and October 2014.

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cllctyrslf Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

post-emo // pop //
-core band from philadelphia

for booking:
cllctyrslf@gmail.com

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Track Name: Collect Yourself. - maria, like right after she was happy
I hate to have to tell you this but my wedding
to Captain Von Trappe has sadly been cancelled.
And I hate to pull you into it, but I can't find a cause or explanation.
All he said was I'm leaving.

I remember red, blue, and jersey walls getting closer
and trouble breathing in your backseat.
And skipping songs and watching you talk,
and feeling you start to focus on your heart beat.
You were a wreck and then you got it together
just in time to fall back apart again.
But you weren't a martyr.

So I'll probably miss you when I leave you,
and I don't know if it makes it better,
and I'll likely move back in with my parents, and it's over an hour outside of Florence,
and you can stay here in Germany for as long as you'd like to.
I don't care what you do.

I remember blue, white, like tidal waves coming closer,
and trouble breathing and getting out speech,
and you were just waiting, you are the wind knocked out of me.
You're not a wreck, just impossibly small,
and I fully saw it coming and should have just let shit go,
it was like you left the country and I replaced you with coffee,
and now I'm anxious, empty seizures, shaky hands and burning fevers.
You're not a wreck, we're impossibly small,
and I lit a cigarette to kill time while you talked.
It's just that you aren't a martyr, and your friends, they're not special,
and maybe I might be evil, but we're collectively still not special.

And I hate to come back here like this but my wedding to Captain Von Trappe has suddenly been cancelled.
Track Name: Collect Yourself. - those couple of weeks on the internet
It was like the novelty of Ryan Gosling playing in an emo band,
and writing so cliche and tasteless, kids are still fucking pretentious,
and PS. I don't love you, and we are never ever getting back together,
Kylie, and I won't call you next time I'm in upstate.
Thought I might replay the night before I left, and tape over you in your red dress,
in iridescence.

And we can pretend this song is about Rochester or Syracuse,
cause I got a parking ticket in Buffalo and I use it as an excuse
to not see you and to never call you
and to consciously avoid you.

And it's like the novelty of Macaulay Culkin playing in a normcore band,
and kids in Warbey Parker glasses and cutoffs listen like cult masses.
but shit gets old, and I got to know you like next Fall, your voice would be going out of style,
and you make life look like a black balloon, impossibly tangled wires.

We can pretend this song is about wherever your parents are from.
and bands you liked in high school, but wouldn't be caught dead mouthing the words now as it moves along.

I sort of started to get over you as soon as I got to know you.
I was just completely mistaken when I thought I might miss you.

cause you were like the novelty of Brad Pitt screaming for a post-skramz hardcore band from Philly,
and everyone was really into it.
Track Name: Collect Yourself. - brigitte bardot, in 1956
There's no fireflies in Ireland and it makes me sad sometimes.
it's not getting better, I'm getting worse
and I'm not moving forward.

You're Brigitte Bardot in 1956, you were everything.
And Sophia Loren a little less than a year later.
And if you can't tell, I still think that you were a smokeshow,
even if you're so open about your sex life,
Marilyn Monroe is nothing next to you.

There's no fireflies in Ireland and it keeps me awake sometimes,
you do too, you're a sleep spindle, the feeling of falling, the feeling of movement, through you.

You were always too prominent
in my heart, in my head, and in my skin.

You're Brigitte Bardot in 1956, you were everything.
And Sophia Loren a little less than a year later.
And if you don't mind, I might keep thinking about you,
even after the bite marks on my neck leave,
Marilyn Monroe is nobody next to you.
You're Brigitte Bardot in 1956, you were everything.
And Miley a little less than a year ago.
Sweetheart, there's people that love you more than they love themselves,
so you can stop hating yourself;
she's nobody next to you.
Track Name: Collect Yourself. - we could call it friends
I doubt you are even half as cool as when I knew you,
you were killing it back then,
and please don't give my number out to kids in jam bands
who want to fight me now because of something I said,
who cover Smoke Two Joints and the Talking Heads.
And I don't think you caught the point of that record.

I can't be the only one who think it's a little bit fucking creepy,
how he waited for you to get broken up with,
and he never really saw it as abusing your friendship.
and you so much liked the attention, and so you fell for him, and you make bad decisions on a regular basis.

I guess it's cool that we don't talk, and I guess I'm sorry it hurt you
but words don't shouldn't hurt, and it's like, barely about you
except for the parts about leaving.
Still, please don't give my number out to Modern Warfare kids,
fucking camping, headset microphone and everything.
And I'm not even sure where the closest fucking flagpole is.

The problem is that you are sort of clever.
The problem is that you are sort of clever.

I know I'm not the only one who thinks he's a bit fucking creepy,
repeating moves like that is objectively lame,
and you make a bad name for boyfriends.
But maybe you'll dissolve. And maybe he'll disperse.
Maybe I'll start to at least evaporate, or die, or tear apart.

The problem is that you are sort of clever.
The problem is that you are sort of clever.
Track Name: Collect Yourself. - you were a whisper
we're not friends.
Track Name: Turing Cops - eyes closing
when closing eyes is a constant, and I could see it there in the distance against the moonlight. across vastness and space: a darkness like nothing I'd dare say. we all open ourselves but the starkness it robs us of something. neon flashing the digits of all that we missed and it's all for a power and we end up with the answers to questions that never had any in the first place. and now gravity slows and it's thrown the living from something.
Track Name: Turing Cops - tiring work
it's tiring work I've found, but you never come around. family histories and bloodlines are running from themselves. I'm up to my neck, now, but you never come around. extending apathy beyond the reach of the ones who finally fell. we'll all end up in hell but hell's where I'm by myself. if the ending was rewritable, I'd write myself out.

open everything.
open your eyes and see.

fuck the point if the point just sails. hard to ignore when the point set forth is the only thing I feel. waking up half-drunk, tasting twenty cigarettes on the back of my tongue. and I'm sick of fun, at least that's what I tell myself when all the fun's done.

but you never come around.
all that weight I felt, it's gone before I even knew the weight was all I held onto.
Track Name: Turing Cops - anyone anywhere
opening or closing eyes, I see the same things. falling under exhaustion from things that I lack. I don't know where people go when they die. it's that thought that keeps me up at night.

in the tall grass, I"m wide awake.
keep hearing voices, "why am I still here? why is anyone anywhere?"

returning along the same roads: eyes are closed. rewinding time in secret leaves me unknown. I don't know where people go when they die. it's that thought that wrecks my dreams at night.
Track Name: Turing Cops - bones
our breath: whispered context. like ghosts haunting bones. be honest, you're so fucking honest. I just forgot it.

and I know it's not perfect, but then what in life is in the first place? and I'm trying to be angry but the moment's past tense in the same frame. kind of like a sad movie except and people don't die for a reason.

be honest, did you think I was honest about all this progress? I was lying.
Track Name: Turing Cops - real gravity
recycled air. the curve of a spindle.
and I don't care about all this concrete (even though it speaks).

and it's been so long since I've felt real gravity and it's been so long since I've seen home. if I could reach out and hold or touch an echo, but I know that's impossible now.

if you've seen the things that I've seen, you'd question humanity and everything that's come now.