drink water (2010)

by the official suckers

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these six songs were recorded summer 2010 in a closet on cornwallis street & in a living room on chestnut street.
they are about broken people trying to find each other in the dark, within the endless boundaries of dreams & nightmares.


released July 1, 2010

rosie played piano & sang. elly played guitar, bass, saw, sang & wrote the songs. mogli david sang & inspired everything. kelly & rowan sang a bit too on #6.
#6 was originally released on the canadian folk punk compilation "can I punk mail my heart?".



all rights reserved


the official suckers Halifax, Nova Scotia

drowning in dysphoria & dreams of maps & a different body.
grew up in a closet, left home, nearly died, settled in halifax & slowly came to terms with gender, sexuality & associated shame throughout the course of these songs.
thank you for your support.
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Track Name: I'm not nice
rain rusts all my bent bike spokes, u-locked to your stairs. circle around empty lots & announce condo plans. trace footsteps from two years back, that new face made me blush. mailbox tags, short cut paths; things that I should trust. & I never said how I always felt ugly when you kissed all over my body. taking in sweatshirts & standing in washrooms, ignoring the shapes & surrounding tattoos. I never said how it always felt painful wishing you saw me the way that I see myself. I've been so confused.
& I grew my hair for an entire year. I reread all my books, waiting for characters & authors to save me. I didn't know where else to look. all of the recurring nightmares I had haunted my best dreams, taking my weakest & vulnerable parts & showing them right to me. all the ideas I had when I moved here got snowed on overnight, or ripped off of telephone poles by strangers. terribly worded lies. all the enthusiasm that I had has turned into jaded hate. you fell in love with me when I was drunk.
is this just a phase? I am so afraid that I can't make the change.
now our old bedrooms have doubled in rent & I'm starting to forget climbing each night into different loft beds with feet that I miss.
Track Name: let's hug now?
skipping stones on asphalt. missing meals in car rides. the mosquitoes sound like out of tune violins playing random notes. in between sidings & five year plans I miss home. I get jealous of people opening doors to their homes or walking their dogs & knowing the names of streets. I wish I could miss all that I have; small change & my sore feet, & my train grease hands, closeted secrets, ten provinces crossed & north of 60, my least favourite place.
Track Name: people our age
our toes under blankets look like the tops of mountains that I haven't seen yet. burning the second coal. listening, a typewriter drum roll comes through the bedroom wall. ignoring, pretending not to notice the heartbeat or the contact that practically screams, "come closer to me". I didn't ask for this body.
pointless walks through the south end. my reflection in a van turning right. waiting for the lights to change into colours I can't see. I say something you can't hear about our summer plans. the sidewalk falls down hills. when you stand at the bottom, you swallow streets. trade me your girl hips for my wide boy shoulders. don't stare at me.
I didn't ask for this body.
Track Name: comics/maps
I rode a borrowed bike at night through downtown raleigh with your old backpack & a coaster brake that hardly worked. sitting on my keys, useless with changed locks. glass bottles & postcards. writing roommates & to my grandparents. at one a.m. we were close on the floor, trying to ignore & hide from the full room. drunk kids. movement. the hoods of our sleeping bags attach hiding both our faces. scared, aware, while southern strangers speak with accents & make fun of us.
we met up before dawn under the clock tower in the middle of a dead downtown street. winter sunrise. halfway up the hill. polluted water self deprecates. accordion & longboard, scarves, dripping nose. before both our names changed, we were in denial. the mayor is a liar & he's condemned everything, including you & me.
you hid in your room with beer in your hair, too scared to move. swollen forehead & thrown empty cans all over the stained floor. outside your door, they heard it all. phone calls. curled under sheets. trembling when found. I ran as fast as I could uphill, & the sounds all turned into confusing nouns. violent & heavy. you drowned. I couldn't fall asleep there. the lights were still on, & I watched from your loft bed as she wouldn't stop. I ran into her a few days ago. I couldn't say a word but just thought about you.
Track Name: share the blame
I threw all my instruments into the gulf of st. lawrence, foggy & uncertain tide. took photos that don't exist of a broken estuary with illegible & scribbled lines. but woke up in an apartment, smoke filled next to a bucket. I don't recognize voices just high pitch notes. heading west to find you in dreams. figments turn into shaking nausea sickness.
Track Name: straight kids playing dress up
under quiet stars, without mention if we'd move back in the fall. from 12 am to 3, outside business parks following the lights towards town. crushed ballast stone beneath our clumsy stepping feet, half open eyelids & dizzying bright memories of rivers meeting up like dreams, sediment & language spoken secretly.the confluences connect all thoughts. I have water up my nose when I wake up. the rooms we inhabited, filled up with skeletons ebbing away flooded sailboats & abdomens. you gave up on everyone & watched without saying a word. it's raining outside again, walking down gottingen. pretending I'm not here but somewhere I haven't been. north in the arctic balancing on the utilidors. instead of fighting in hallways drunk mumbling our history, let's draw maps with trap streets on the liquor store receipts that get swept up with cat fur & under the oven. you'll yell at the ocean, but ignore reality.
soaked from head to toe in all your old clothes hoping you'll come home.