Get all 15 Dog Tunnel Records releases available on Bandcamp and save 40%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Head-Up Displays, Ghosts, Sinking Heart, The New Crossroads, Slurred Words, Volume 2: Detrimental Connotations, the lore of place, Sophia 6 / Alter, Lil Lost Lou: Rambling Woman, and 7 more.
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FORENSIC SERVICES
Bank details
Salary information
Training records
Home address
Email address
Identification Photo
Passport number
Date of Birth
IP address
Racial or Ethnic Origin
Political Opinion
Religious or Philosophical Belief
Trade Union Membership
National Insurance Number
NHS Number / Health History
Genetic Data
Biometric Data
Sex Life and Sexual Orientation
The Office Clock
4pm
I still have no real idea of who I am
And I’m still nowhere near to my dreams
LEGAL HIGH
And yet…
Waking up, taking a legal high, going to sleep, waking up, taking another legal high, going to sleep again.
I am not eating I am not associating…
I don’t imagine it’s going to solve the problem.
We think we are dying because we are poor and we eat badly
Now we know it is something else again
So many people dying we start calling it ghost disease
Ghost ship with skeletons on board then washes up on beach
Carrying a viral Pneumonia of unknown cause
Unwanted cargo
Government mask figures as matter of course
Britain’s history as a nuclear weapons state with everything to play for
I have woken up late in the wrong part of the city.
I am the very picture of weather-weirding due to climate change.
Somewhere within the frame of this poem I could well find the key that would save us all
Well wouldn’t that be magic
And magic is certainly the key here
I have the things at hand.
They are being ingested a lot
Since time shot me dead.
DISENGAGED / REINTEGRATED
When things went bad
There were terms of disengagement and reintegration
Courses were compulsory
A great deal of soul-searching applied
Identity, self-esteem, meaning and purpose.
The drivers of radicalisation.
Personal grievances that the extremist narrative will exacerbate
I reflected fully on all this, right enough
You can never stop educating yourself
Twenty years ago when my head was in that space
My heart hell bent on making a certain kind of impression
I would go to a certain pub
I would make my way to a certain rally
I would look for similar items of clothing, fix on certain signs
And we would come together soon enough
The thoughts would flow easily, plans quickly made
We did not always know where our threat was going to come from
We did not always know we would follow through
We managed panic though and caused a bit of a stir
They were the good days sure enough
Things then went bad and all was static for a time
Rehabilitation was the word on the tip of our tongues, and I became a dead man, a hollow shell stripped of meaning and purpose
Being dead, having nothing to offer, realising you are irrelevant
There is not a worse feeling in the world for someone like me
But flux is inevitable, plates shift as we speak
I now see more extreme groups pushing and pulling
Engaging with change using chance as an opportunity
I recognise opportunity once more
The danger for you is that people on the fringes like me
Decide to act by ourselves.
You look at me and I smile
My face fits these days, my record is clean, my online habits pristine
This is the thing though here isn’t it?
How would you know if someone has truly desisted from a crime?
Or from what you term a crime.
I’m not thinking of this as crime
I never have done, never will
Will
It is all about will
And the ideals that drive your purpose
I feel ready to get a new crew together, boom.
CHEMICAL SPILL
Two pest controllers found dead at a factory in Norfolk following a suspected chemical spill
Users, meanwhile, are said to be running into traffic, and scaling and leaping off buildings
Astronomers and skygazers are particularly interested in this year’s blood moon
High energy light beaming from the edges of a “weird” star system within our galaxy has been detected for the first time
It is heart-breaking watching albatrosses trying to eat plastic thousands of miles from anywhere.
STEAM ROOM
The smell of decay it’s here on my fingers
No amount of steam can cleanse away this toxic feeling
The fact that I am disintegrating inside
Another friend died today
I’m getting used to it now, I know the right thing to say
But even now as I say my last solemn goodbyes
I can’t help wandering amongst the ghost of old lies
And in all the rooms I frequent
Where many casual moments of beauty are spent
A certain haunting is taunting me badly
I must clean up my act
DOUBLE MACCHIATO
Another day done
To finally escape the straight time, work-stretch fear
And snatch at other time once again
A black Baracuta with its red tartan lining is my only comfort right now
Well- worn / much loved / nice to own a touch of class
Pockets full of tattered receipts and a singular blue bookies pen
For scrawling lines in a waiting notebook
An accumulation of beauties, angers and sadness
Snatched words keyed into the notes app on iphone too
Sentences scavenged from other media sources
Ipod with headphones stashed away for now
A double machiatto in paper cup
A gleaming red Formica topped table
I’m apart from all them for a beautiful while
Transported from the tired office routine away from the cynical smiles / away from the essence of my failure
Which shines a torch on their achievements of ambitions
To which I will never be party
And through checking my losses I count my blessings
I’m alive in this world
I’m truly alive in this world
I’m keeping faith with the lonely poets
I live in hope with the culture bums
It’s an early evening moment of beautiful lonely soul
Time to burn
Time to waste
Otherness
I hail escapists everywhere
DETRIMENTAL CONNOTATIONS
Environmental Risk
Media and Product Destruction
Client Journalist
Illegal Immigrant
Crisis Actor
Imposter Syndrome
Close Surveillance
Time Stamp
To Mask or not to Mask?
Rogue Vaccine
Naked Lunches
Fake News
Conspiracy Theories
Indefinite Articles
Discredited Notions
Detrimental Connotations
What a Cunt
What a Prick
What an Arse
SUPERCHARGED IMAGE
On blue moped
Good, loving child
Moved to London
Within the year.
Rising homicide
Death stand out
Youngest victim
Twelve months.
Brazenness attack.
Homicide detectives
Keep open mind
Canny about motive.
Police they believe
Multiple sources
Significant line
Attackers involved.
Boy involved too?
Drug dealing
London beyond
County line operations.
Struck black Mercedes
6.30pm Tuesday
Stab wounds severe
Gone within minutes
Men out car
Leaving boy
Dead at scene.
Mortally wounded ground.
Where to next?
Vision of afterlife
Ride to Netherworld
Take your chance in Other Land
Take your chance in Other Land
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2. |
Official Sensitive
06:10
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OFFICIAL SENSITIVE
How many hours have you wasted?
How much time have you had on your hands?
How much of this have you accounted for?
How many remarks are lost to time?
How much promise has shaped your destiny?
How much of this is on record?
How many records have you owned?
How many great songs have owned you?
And in listening to the great songs how many drinks have you consumed?
How many hangovers have followed?
How many books have you read in time?
How many sentences of real beauty?
How many passages of ugly fail?
How many moments of simple truth or rash conjecture, complicated notions, impossible situations?
How many happy or unhappy endings?
Resolution is fake / a man’s character decides his fate / discuss?
How much joy in the spirit of collectivism?
How many sad enforced lost and lonely nights?
How much destruction caused?
How many times constructivism won the day?
How many moments of illumination creamed by enlightenment?
How many conspiracy theories seen through?
How many great adventures abandoned?
How much delusion does a man need?
How many people have you charmed?
How many friends have you insulted?
How many enemies have you flirted with?
How many alien beings have you embraced?
How many people have you slept with?
How many people have you not slept with?
How many people have hurt you?
How many people have you hurt?
How many people have you offended?
How many people have you rejected?
How many hows I’m asking you here?
I’d count them all but it’s useless and futile, just too time consuming
Still it seems as if we’re just getting started here
A penny of your why’s for a few more of my hows…
How many liberties have I taken?
How many laws have I subjected myself to?
How many times have I grovelled to the boss?
How many times have I laughed like a king?
How many times have I bullied, taunted, mocked those less able or as well-disposed as myself?
How many times have the bullies ganged up on me?
How many times have I endured hatreds, injustices and outright despicable criminal mentalities?
How many times have I achieved a justice?
How many times have I won?
How many times have I lost?
How many plans made?
How many dreams fade?
How many contracts signed?
How many conditions agreed to?
How many agreements torn up?
How much was rain, how much was sunshine?
How many hospital beds?
How many hours in doctors waiting rooms?
How many ablutions?
How much strain how much stress?
How many pills in the times you were depressed?
Counted against the days of sheer happiness?
A much smoother surface and no tint in the wash
How many Fred Perry shirts?
Lacoste, Lyle and Scott, Tachini?
How many names have we owned in our time?
How many personas have we inhabited?
How many times have we flattered to deceive?
How many great notices have we received?
Unreserved and fully deserved, though most often the opposite of that.
How many actors have read our lines?
Played out our parts, made love for us, endured hate for us?
Died great sacrificial tragic deaths on stage for us?
How many great centre forwards have scored us our goals?
How many fleeting figures on the wing?
How many dependable characters able to harness the defence?
How many like us were willing to go out on the offence?
How many offensive texts, actually?
How many junk e-mails, drearily?
How many letters of old?
Of paper and pen with a story to be told.
How many twitter posts
How many Facebook accounts?
How many tumblr memories, instagram snaps
How much echo how much digital crap
How many wars though, it always boils down to how many wars?
How de-sensitive are our feelings considering war, porn, crass politics?
Are we spiritual minded still?
Have we held on to those early ideals?
Are we experiencing personal growth?
How is my heart these days?
My heart?
How is my heart these days?
To think how many times my heart has been torn
To work out the times I have died and been reborn
But it’s getting late.
How much time can you waste now?
How much time have you still on your hands?
How much longer can we keep going on?
In this uncertain fashion, this worrisome style, opening wounds, spinning the mind, concluding nothing
It’s getting late
And who are we, what are we made up of, is it to be this, thus…
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3. |
Ghost Disease
02:14
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GHOST DISEASE
Jets are grounded at airports with fuselage broke and fucked
Boats are stranded in harbour with all commerce stuck
The palace has been abandoned it is filled with refugees
The politicians humbled naked on their knees
And the city is now silent and empty
Its office blocks and commerce banks a potential playground for the likes of you and me
Imagine that, the art we’ll make, the fun we’ll have
The freaky joyous return of the temporary autonomous zone
Space to create madness again
All constrained spirits set free
Another chance once more to indulge in the thing that is me
Well a misbegotten soul can but dream
Me and my spook cultural shadow, my ever-present ghost disease
I am aware now of my needs though
I am aware of who I am and this other person I’ve always wanted to be
It is time to leave the past in the past and move towards a fully conscious state
It is 4am
And I am gazing past the clock
To the moon that hangs
Outside my window
Soon it will be dawn
And the moon shall disappear
A piano will fall in the distance
I’ve been here before
I will go to work
Again…
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4. |
Legal High (Reprise)
02:04
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LEGAL HIGH
And yet…
Waking up, taking a legal high, going to sleep, waking up, taking another legal high, going to sleep again.
I am not eating I am not associating…
I don’t imagine it’s going to solve the problem.
We think we are dying because we are poor and we eat badly
Now we know it is something else again
So many people dying we start calling it ghost disease
Ghost ship with skeletons on board then washes up on beach
Carrying a viral Pneumonia of unknown cause
Unwanted cargo
Government mask figures as matter of course
Britain’s history as a nuclear weapons state with everything to play for
I have woken up late in the wrong part of the city.
I am the very picture of weather-weirding due to climate change.
Somewhere within the frame of this poem I could well find the key that would save us all
Well wouldn’t that be magic
And magic is certainly the key here
I have the things at hand.
They are being ingested a lot
Since time shot me dead.
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Dog Tunnel Records London, UK
Analogue recording and production in SE1, London, UK.
Handmade records, cut on an RCA 70C
lathe from the 1940s.
Hand-printed sleeves.
If you want to release with us get in touch, all genres considered, but only projects we like accepted.
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