Uncle Sam's Club for the Agoraphobic (work from 2016 Residency at ACRE)

by Josh Evert

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Songs (mostly) recorded at ACRE (Artists’ Cooperative Residency and Exhibitions) in Steuben, WI in July 2016.


released August 10, 2016

EP written/recorded/mixed/mastered by Josh Evert
Guitar on Youthful Bliss by Andrew Davis.
Album art by Alexander Kollman

Thanks: ACRE, Steuben WI, Tony Paterra, Sat. Nite Duets, Jonah Lehrer (who is mostly wayyyyyyyyyyy too smart for me to understand), Don Delillo, & the movie Syriana.



all rights reserved
Track Name: Uncle Sam's Club for the Agoraphobic
"Bring the hotdog upstairs,"
You're embarrassingly tempted to text her.
It's the 4th of July and they're grilling out in the back.
At some point in time you're going to have to be more social.
Uncle Sam's Club doesn't have a webinar today.
Track Name: The Sound of Machines
I come down to the sound of machines
No idea what they could be doing
No idea how to rage against these
Without money

And I hope I don’t run out of steam
Yeah but what are the chances of me
Stickin round for as long as you need
I resemble my money

I was not at the estate sale
they sold everything
Not unlike pocket change, losing weeks
Paying to weep

It hurts worse when you can’t blame something
Askin how nothingness could increase
but my phantom limb only agrees
with the nothing

Askin how real the crisis could be
Layin on Santa Monica beach
For a second I found it funny
Now I’m sure it’s disgusting

buildings all started feeling empty
filled with best friends or worst enemies
they were playing the right frequencies
canceling out coherence

but no one will get ahead of me
Up all night on methamphetamines
workin on my lyrics so the theme
is not about my lyrics

I was not at the estate sale
they sold everything
Not unlike pocket change, losing weeks
Paying to weep
Track Name: Youthful Bliss
Who knows what awaits us after the youthful bliss?
Dumbstruck by the odds that we could exist
Learn to love death’s shadow, but not its kiss
Passive aggressive tongue and risin licorice

Even with shit weather, they’re all nice days
Building up the strength to meet a stranger’s gaze
Geeking out at how much beauty we
Even with our best intentions failed
To see

I kiss both your cheeks as if I were French
Can I crash at your apartment again
Why is it that I can’t stop humming
All the songs written by your ex-boy

Woke up late and thought the day was a wash
Afraid to leave ‘cause I know what I’m capable of
I’m not good enough to be your shoestrings
Nursing a hangover in the back

The mangy cat had ripped the furniture to threads
Everything was just as it should have been
The mind is not a place it’s a process
Indeed we’re dying, but certainly not dead
Track Name: Not Everything is Not Right
This could be how you wind up
on a balcony
wearing dirty clothes
and with the overripe notion that
Some things aren’t right
Yeah, but not everything is not right

Like: the neighbors just stopped playing bass-heavy music
But the dog is still barking and the bass gets replaced
Yeah the bass gets replaced
By the motors of bikes racing by

With what are you gonna threaten me
Cracking up indiscriminately

Too mad to be neutral and neutered by petrol
I wish there was a world I could bring you into
could bring you into
Sorry it doesn’t exist

If god blessed the nation
And you are god-fearing
Then why don’t you fear the flag that you are waving the flag that you’re waving outside on a suburban pole

But I pick myself up, will to change
And so it seems freedom still remains
Track Name: Imagination Bone
I don’t know what I want and I don’t know what you want I don’t know what all the answers are
I want to be my own boss I want you to be your own boss I don’t want us to suck corporate cock
If I had a story to tell then I would tell a story well I’ve got no imagination bone

If you wanted to be happy you
should have planted manic seeds in the
nutrient-depleted field of
depressed dreams mr. 21st
century Johnny appleseed

I’m believing in a fiction, knowing that it is a fiction, but never knowing anything else
when people call, I’m overwhelmed. If they don’t, I’m lonely as hell and scribble another note-to-self
Disoriented by how fast the darkness rears its shapeless head, I’m trying hard to just reconnect

How clammy is this hand to hold, but you can leave the guilt at home, you don’t need guilt in a stranger’s house
Will we get the matching tats? I swore someone as pretty as you must vapid or someone’s spouse
How clammy is the hand of love, always too little or too much, I’m never quite getting just enough

I pulled my shit together and i put it all into my pack and wandered off to no place exact