Surviving the Cinnabar Fields

by Justinus Primitive

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about

Kid Primitive Family is Justin K. Prim and Lindsay K. Prim.

Surviving the Cinnabar Fields was written and recorded throughout 2005/2006 in Brooklyn, New York, Manchester, Connecticut, Muncie, Indiana, and Bloomington, Indiana. Produced, Engineered, and Mastered by Justin K. Prim. All Lyrics by Justin K. Prim except "A Way Out" with Deric Shannon and Andy Jackson and "Stop!" with Eric Alexander.

This whole album was completely done on computers: Half was sequenced on a Mac Mini. Then the original vocals and some sequencing were done on Derics' G4. Then later all of it was reworked and new vocals tracked on a $150 homemade computer that I'm still using today. A DD-5 was involved, too. And a vintage Big Muff distortion pedal. There are no keyboards on this album. Some of the drums were sampled from a funk mix that someone made me in Connecticut. Some of the other drum sources wish to remain anonymous. Ryan Reidy let us use his vintage mixer to track the live drums. Borrowed lots of mics from Doog and Jared Cheek.

credits

released March 1, 2007

All glitch sounds were made using samples of Muncie Bands. (Ari.Ari.-Eric Alexander-Revel in the Morning-Material Culture-Everything,Now!, etc.)

Track 4 contains a sample of "Maria Bethania" by Caetano Velosa.
Track 5 contains a sample of "Did Jesus go around saying everything that came into his head?" by Eskrilla.
Track 7 contains a sample of "Atlantis" by Sun Ra and "..." by Pharoah Sanders.

Art:
"Stonehenge" by William Turner.
Sun: Idear Studios.
Forest: Joe McGowns.
Moon: Andrew Eason.
All used without permission.
Handwritten text by Jon Rogers.

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Justinus Primitive San Francisco, California

Spiritual Singer Dystopian Rapper Installation Artist

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Track Name: Surviving the Cinnabar Fields
I've got bags under my eyes for an unknown reason. I've been getting all my nutrients from the meat I ain't been eating. I've been getting all my sleep between the sun's daytime seasons, sometimes less when the nighttime sounds keep me up for treason. And two spinning steel wheels illuminate my dreams like electrical fields reminding me that one day, powerless, I'll rely on my own wits and knowledge. Communicating that when these tables turn neglectant, when the beats slow down to the tempo of civilization being erected, when the snare is replaced by a power hungry stare from my audience member turned enemy in the land of milk and money. And my ability to survive lies in my willingness to travel, the beats internalized into the sounds of footsteps trekking. The bass line becomes my heartbeat- day the game flies south for winter quarters counter pointing the rhythm of my lungs as the dawning days grow shorter. And I'm left with nothing but a handful of weeds and a dozen or more undeveloped seeds with nowhere to plant save a soft spot next to the old oak tree. These snow-covered fields keep me hopeless to find fuel, the energy to keep this MC spittin' over long forgotten beats. From the days when a hip-hop show meant something on a Saturday, now a Saturday is just one in 365 ways to stay alive. And I'm struggling to breath, but to the best of my abilities. Stayin' one step ahead of the ill intentions of my adversaries, like the day I learned raw rabbits flesh tastes better then any drive thru delicacy Savoring the juices and turning my hunger pangs into dream land ecstasy And using my entire being to make myself stay alive is more fulfilling then my previous history of 9-5s. Now I’m cuttin’ to the chase AKA my desire for livin’ the game I play daily that’s given my soul new meaning. With the world on my side but also my immortal enemy, I'm inside the flow of the events that happen daily. From the sticks that go as the wind blow to the predator stalking his nighttime feast. I'm just another one in this jungle of savage beats. Pushing myself to make it and possibly find a mate to mate with to perpetuate this cycle of survival mixed with pleasure. Now to put to use the destinies of the things that live around me. Like Thoreau, this pond might just be the key to my survival. But the cabin sitting adjacent, fore destroyed by mankind’s fire leaving me nothing but cabin ashes to be used as planting fodder Now my only form of shelter leaves me dangling in a tree waiting for the rains to wash the ground and flood the snow from beneath my feet I'm sitting, shivering, watching eddies form in the mud below me, awaiting the storms end and the return to somewhat normalcy: My daily operation of maintaining my life functions; the functions of eating, sleeping, and dreaming to pass the days in idle bliss just to see what the next one brings me.
Track Name: Stone Tools with Plastic Handles
I’m going around in circles. Everything that's me has already been me'd. Everyday I get up it’s the same routine: Rub Skin, Scrub Enamel, Brush Follicles. If I have look at this mug one more time I might just cut every hair off my head and paste them against my face and jaw line. I'm reexamining everything I've ever done, every decision I've ever made, every time I've felt, even slightly, dumb. I'm in the Library checking out books I've already read and I'm wondering if I'm the only one that feels like "This world is dead.” I've turned my parents’ house into a coffee cup. I'm sitting at their breakfast table drinking. For everything they or I have ever done, that’s just one more lump in this murky liquid I've sat up. When I've mustered the stomach to finish the cup, it's constantly refilled and I'm not sure if it’ll ever stop. All these deeds, they filter back through me. Through my eyes, nose, ears, and other holes... It's clogging me up thoroughly. So I've run out of good things to say... Everything is brown, everything is smelling funny. I'm drowning from the inside out and it's washing away all my collected money. Reflecting on the actions of ancestors, myself, and my parents, I'll just move on, misguided and apparently persistent. But I'm transformed! I can no longer rewalk their path. I've been changed into a homeless beggar and I'm done with money, housing, and class. I might ready now for the future to come with all the things I've seen and done. I might be ready now that I've shed this dependency on our self proclaimed magic kingdom. But I'm in a foreign place; I'm in an unknown part of this land I don't know where I am. Surrounded by foreign friends and cares, I won't respond to this unapproving stare. Born in '83, too late to be my parents’ friend, I haven't talked to them or felt their influence in years. I'm not gonna comb my hair. I'm not gonna brush teeth. I'm not gonna wash my feet. These shoes and pants and hat, I'm not gonna wear. I'm not gonna respond to this unapproving stare. I don’t know who I am. I don't know who I am. NORMAN. Where's this place I've come to be? Is this my house, my tree, my feet, my sea? This place is too green. Where's my cell phone, where's my internet? Where's my TV? I need TV. I need my 3DTV to connect to my ISP. I need a virtual forest so I can get back to my roots. I'd go to a real one but I don't own the right kind of boots. Plus, I'm scared. I'm scared of what I might find out there. I need control. Where's the remote control?
Track Name: The Tao of Fixed Gear Biking
Click click goes my toe clips as I'm coming down the stairs. Click clack goes the pedals binding me to the open air. And I'm up now, I'm alive and I'm donning brand new armor. I'm like an iron clad centaur with wheels where my legs should be. Weekday lunchtime, I'm grinding the pavement, swerving through the thick of it. Rush hour traffic sits patiently as I blast right through it. Intersection puzzles present me with a way to think logically Green Light means hustle. Yellow just go. Red means hustle faster. Sprinting up hills and my legs forget that their not actually running. Maneuvering through the pedestrians and my mind is literally flying. I'm moving through the city like a shark in his natural water kingdom. Pulling doubles and triples all day long and forever. This union of flesh and steel has made me superhuman; almost god-like I think I've evolved into the most efficient life form on the planet. My instrument has reduced me to the most basic set of instincts. Stay alive at all costs in order to be the force that I'm meant to be. My enemies are ice and automobiles but it's only temporary. Because I know in the end we're all a part of the same thing. A thorn in my tire will leave me grounded but only momentarily, then I'm back up and running like a cheetah on the hunt. Bowing for that moment when the Psych students manifest their mind powers stopping traffic. Then I'm back on track blowing stop signs and silently laughing. Racing through this city grid faster than I ever thought possible, and no car can pass through an underpass S curve like I can. I'm only one small leaf in a forest of big trees. I'm only one sun in the enormity of a star field. I'm only one element in this myriad of little things. I'm only one being in the whole of humanity. I'm not the solitary force moving through the cosmos as I'd once perceived. Through this chaos I manage to glimpse a sense of a larger thing around me. This interconnected way in which everything came to be. Everybody knows that our cities were built to be destroyed.
Track Name: B-Boy (Track) Stance
I think this guy, side by which I never rhymed with, might have once thought laid claims to the girl I've been spending all my time with. Maybe that makes us mortal enemies, maybe not. Maybe the friends we have are floating around in a state of anarchy. The friends I have and the labels by which I name them are just my mental perception of this world view I've been given. Maybe to another these labels are just fables: Stories I tell myself to keep my mental state stable. Either way, the acquaintances I've made are individual people traveling on the path which they've paved. Just like me and my simple plan, these people have their own set of goals that their working at. Sometimes these goals cause our paths to cross... Sometimes it just happens that goals in which we are working towards are the same or similar to those of which we are fighting with or working for. I try not to impose my views on others because I know the things that keep me stable to others could be equally destructive. Like insert destructive tendencies into potential enemies; friends of friends talking shit like "the systems actually friendly." Conservative gum flappers with tendencies for dependencies on the current status quo's state of communal anonymity. Talking that "Blah Blah this is a new word were living in." Fuck post post-modern and its current state of sovereign. This is neo Neolithic and you can call me the new Moonwatcher. I'll call you the chump that hit the wall when the revolution came. That goes for your friends and you family the same.

Let me relate to you in this a parable. One in which the Lord's son is not the illustrator. So called guy friend of so called girl friend pushes his past regrets' reactions on the intentions of this young girls stem. Now this young flower, just a bud if you will, is very impressionable to the sun that gives us all power but this newly revealed nightshade is confused about the world especially about the suns rays that will slowly kill her off. But along comes another one of nature’s forest dwellers with plans to kill the flowers past ideas and bad habits, to uproot her roots she’s so desperately clinging to the ones that hold her grounded and for all eternity bounded to the sun's light and perpetual state of false promises. Cuz the only way for this little bud to stay alive is on the dark shadowy belly of this world’s underside.

I've got friends thinking their two steps away from enlightenment. Let me tell you: A degree and a career won’t provide the answers you’re looking to find. Do you want to predict your future lives? Then examine the condition of your present mind.
Track Name: Internet is the New Hunting
The Internet is the new TV. TV is the new Radio. Radio is the new Books. Books is the new farming. Farming is the new Hunting.
Track Name: A Way Out (ft. Syndicalist)
Syndicalist: 360 Degrees, I got weed, I got seeds. I got a nice cush office job that impedes my ability to satisfy my needs and every time I go outside I succeed. I'm not a man of talk which is cheap, I'm of deeds. And if you try and stop me I have to proceed. I've got thick, thick skin and a flair for misdeeds and a brick from your hands flies into your SUV and no matter how hard you try you can't be me.

L Prim: 'Bout to throw a monkey wrench right into your gears. Truth 'bout to be told so open up your ears. Rich white man bout to realize his fears. We’re releasing this rage, it's been brewing for years. Now you can try to watch your back but we'll just jack you from the front. When we ride in the street, we'll just take what we want. Police can't do nothing at all, cuz when the shit goes down were gonna lay down the law. We're gonna break down the system and tear down the malls and if your too rich we'll make your heart beat stall. White picket fence and two car garage; you can forget about that now cuz it's a sabotage.

J Prim: I don't know about the world, only about my interactions. Everyday I go through motions imitating normal human actions. In all honesty, I'm anything but close to normal in the days when normal means TV, fast food, and money. These days I try to live as simply as possibly. I eat organic fruits, raw nuts, and fresh veggies. That's my solution to living in this American prison state. When I'm tired, I sleep. When I'm bored, I meditate. I don't like giving up my soul for various sums of money. Working the 9 to 5 seems stupid, dumber than funny. I can't justify not living life comfortably, if I'm not lying in a field, I'm walking the back roads of this country I don't know if my actions are equipping me for a revolution. Maybe that revolution’s in my head and I'm desperately searching for a solution. A Way Out.
Track Name: Stop! (ft. Doog)
Prim: I keep asking myself why? Why? Why? Why? Why am I preoccupied with occupying my time? I'm tired of finding ways of occupying my time. I'm tired of having to work to eat. I'm tired of not working. I'm tired of walking around town, I'm tired of sitting. I'm tired of doing drugs, drinking, and feeling shitty. I'm tired of talking about myself, Lets talk about you. What do you like to do? Watch TV constantly? I'm not hearing that, let's talk more about me. I take comfort in the things that control me. Like landlords, grocery stores, police and TV? Actually, I hate the things that control me. I hate houses. I hate trains. I hate cars. I hate not knowing what's right and wrong. I want something to live for. I hate commercials and advertisements. Branding their brand names into my spongy grey brain matter. I don't even know my own name anymore. Maybe it's Wal-Mart Maybe it’s Viacom. What are all these words that are ingrained into my mind? Maybe call me long walks. Call me good food. Call me Breakfast. Call me Cap'n. Call me Tetris. Yeah! Call me Tetris. Cuz I'm just a block falling into a space I'm not meant to fit into. Call me happy days. Call me sunrise. Call me confused and jaded, frustrated and ill-fated. I try to focus on the things that satisfy me. Like making shoes, making food, and making out. Actually, fuck making out. How about holding hands, how about long walks. How about intimate conversations. I'm tired of hearing people talk. I don’t want to hear about...

Doog: Yeah. D Double-O G in the piece with my friend Kid Prim. Used to be we were insurrectionary. We used to smash SUV's, now we look for inner peace as we revel in the easy morning breeze. From the ashes of the passion of youth, to a universal truth, and the Earth and the Sun and the Moon. It's the same revolution. It's a brand new tune. There's just something 'bout raw foods man. Put your trust in Justin, drop out now. Society's Fucked. Put your trust in Justin, do what you want.
Track Name: Isaac the Prophet
These predictions are coming from the mind of a prophet: In the future, TV’s will be as big as walls. In the future, cars will drive themselves. These words are coming from the mouth of a prophet, like a post-Paul Atriedes; I'm coming like the Preacher. Like a young Johnny Appleseed coming off a three month fruit bender, I'm hollowed out and having visions sizable to Mohammed's. In the future, TVs will be banned due to energy conservation laws. In the future, cars will constantly die due to our overexerted oil reserve. In the future, Northern suburbs will be replaced by war destroyed shanties. In the future, the South will be desecrated by creeping Kudzu vines. In the future, the acid rain will come down warm, but the greenhouse winters will be all warmer. In the future, the economic system will have gone down with the demise of gold and technology. In the future, wandering poets will be wealthier than wandering businessmen. In the future, people will look back on this and laugh saying Isaac must have had some prescience in his path. In the future... To clarify our future sense let's look at our history shall we? Are you saying Christians aren't descended from some early pagan traditional systems? Are you saying not all white men descended from primitive black leaders? Are you saying Allah and Jehovah don't suffer the same multiple personality disorder? HA. Let me tell you, I've been out to see some sights and let me tell you there's nothing to see. It's all the same stink rotting under the same tree. It's all the same sink dumping shit into the sea. It's the same sea feeding oil into the trees. I don't want to be a slave. I don't want to be a drone. I don't want to be a robot. I don't want to be a clone. I don't want to be the future. I don't want to be the past. I don't want to be the future. I don't want to be a king. I don't want to be a god. I don't want to be a savior. I don't want to be a slob. I don't want to be a boy. I don't want to be a man. I don't want to be a human. I don't want to understand. I don't want to have a job. I don't want to go to school. I don't want to have a future. I don't want to know the rules. I don't want to be a laborer, I don’t want to be a rapper. I don't want to be the future.
Track Name: Hope?
I'm driving through the desert in someone else’s motor home. Then like BAM (police) a thousand dollar ticket just for littering. I said it's just an apple, he said it doesn’t matter. But But But?!?... oh yeah... you’re a cop. All the while, gas prices are skyrocketing. A hundred dollars a tank, though secretly I'm smiling. Two hundred miles and mountains on my vision screen, listening to shitty pop songs, trying to sing along. Now, suddenly, I'm walkin' red faced through the desert. Ninety-Nine degrees and I'm all out of water. Cops with K-9's straight pullin' over motorists and I'm laughing all the way walkin' east from Arizona. Rest stop approaching with the sweat drippin' off my back. Assault the vending machine with a salt water attack. Bike posse pedals, doin' 20 on the freeway while I'm drinkin' stolen water, plannin' routes on how my map reads.

Right now, I might be in your back yard, diggin' through your garbage and blowin' up your parking lot. Spot me in your alleys and your gutters, see, I been down the southern and I know there's more than something wrong. I've been through those ruins. Natives left their cities' problems, more than just sewage. They knew more than we know now. Money's got us chasin' more than we can choke down. These days, Americans Dream's wakin' up. We're blowin' up our targets, climbing to the stars, and STOP! Straight turn three-sixty. Start running through the marshes, climbin' up the bark and... Malls, Cars, Bars, get em' torn down. Straight light up a torch and burn em to the ground Terraformation, Earthly Transformation. Dump gasoline throughout the bus station. Ok, here we go again, man's next evolution more than 10,000 years later. Power.

Now I'm lying in the sand with the sun beatin' my face. Head full of foggy memories of my previous days' haste:
Bikes, Chains, Fights, the Terminator. Long Distance calls like "Mom, I just hopped my first train!" Walking hungry endless hours to find little or nothing. Then coming across a dumpster full of stale english muffins. Long miles, long hours, swervin' up the mountain pass, shitty dogs and wild deer, threatenin' to attack. Sleeping in the parking lots of local grocery stores. Store food in my backpack until I find more. Kids trippin’ on the hill, sushi/saki at the Co-Op Spangin' with a sign "Vietnam Vet needs your help" Odd walks through Denver, peering through the sky in terror to find it not crashing down on me or my companion. Alco, Walgreen’s, Drugstore receipt scam. Vitamins for a $20, just cuz I was hungry. Clear blue skies setting over ugly shopping malls, all the while I'm sweatin' it, lying in the desert. Sun beatin' down but it's really no surprise. Perfect end to a perfect summer could only end with my demise. But wait! No. Look. Move the Rock, Move the rock. Look. What is that? Back from the dead or maybe not dead yet. Risin' like Christ and it's three days later. I will make my body in the shape of a weapon. I will make my body in the shape of a weapon. I will make my body in the shape of a weapon. I will make my mind into the form of exception.