Latin For Truth

a blog ran and operated by Charles Ray Hastings Jr. and Tom Lovejoy of Latin For Punk Rock.


You’re no good for me
My formulated drug an acquired taste 
awaits to sate this unrequited love
It tastes so gray, yet necessary to sustain frustration
Take just enough to get you fucked up 
Not so much that it drives you away

A constant escape
The magnificent restraint that it takes to stay away 
I’ve no control at all
I constantly dream
The memories invade the things I keep with me
I’m getting high on the roof of the world

You’re no good for me 

(You’re no good for me) You are the bent and blackened spoon. 
You are the butane. You are the bedroom.
(You’re no good for me) You are the improbable excuse 
for the horrible things that I do. 

You’re no good for me, but I guess not bad enough. 
And on quiet nights I come to find you crawling through my kick drum 
Hell bent on deliverance of all the privileges 
of being with you, Heaven sent I crane my neck 
To watch you desperately march down my chest, enjoying every step. 
Emphasized by distances we never intended. 
You come crawling back through my regrets to remind me what you said… 
"We’re no good at this."

(via northwestdarkness-deactivated20)

academic and culturally significant information should be free. Spend an hour and forty five minutes watching this. it’s worth your time.

"Cop Culture(Pledge Allegiance)"

"Free information," cried the cop on the corner of Pratt and Meridian // solar flares arched from his gun as he cried, "I want to be a kid again."
// but I’m lying and this is a story of southern malice in dark blue and chrome // no one needs policing when they’re walking a block, from bar to home // as a poor man, I should believe in the rap sheet they’ve given me // I’m not fit to walk the streets at 2 AM or be a part of society // I better buy in if I want more processed food and meats in the fridge // god forbid, I divert and try to make a case out of this

cause poor people should be policed
people of color scare the shit out of bullies with guns
we’re standing on the scar tissue of tomorrow
and this is how the race is discussed and the class war is spun

I’m too poor to live, I’m too poor to live, I’m too poor to live
I’m too poor to live in America
I’m too poor to be free, I’m too poor to be free, I’m too poor to be free
I’m too poor to be free in America

Latin For TruthAndy’s MusicGadsden, AL7/15/14

Latin For Truth
Andy’s Music
Gadsden, AL

Latin For Truth 
The Dead Workers Party in Low Mill 
Huntsville, AL.

Listening to Lou Reed’s Transformer. I got tired of seeing all my records boxed up next to my bed. Also my girlfriend either bought me a bunch of Self Defense Family records or she brought them over to show me and I was so excited she left them here with me. Either way. I’m stoked.

I genuinely love music and I have no friends so I spend a lot of time thinking, listening, and dissecting in my head. There’s so many amazing records and there’s so many records I want to make. It sucks sitting on your hands creatively all the time. I record a song or more once a week and they never go anywhere. I’ve been working the last year at putting out some more stuff. I just want to write and record every idea. I catch about 1 in 150 ideas.

"I Say Sorry"

I’ll buy some of yours for a few drops of mine
verse and vernacular hung like apple cores from a dying tree
if you spill a bit of your food and topple a cloud of drink

I’ll quit cigarettes when I’m bearing a cross naked in bed
wondering past the ceiling fan into the sky where memories burn and fade
atmospheric degrade, I hear my voice say sorry and feel the same 

I’ll drink less when our jukebox stance moves its legs
till then I project the emptiness I feel and see in the crowd
there’s a shallow part of me where I care if I piss on the profound

chainsmoke below the god of gaps
outside a show on the curb  
with a strange band howling on the other side of the wall
and wonder why all good notes find silence

I’ll listen to your side of a pipehead basement view
dire times for a sheltered fair skinned millennial coffee break
use to preach compassion over a bleeding steak

I’ll salute the vicious sty on my record needle
an ear two feet from your speakers’ direction
but with all art the money comes when the crowds misdirected

I’ll pray when the poverty belt loosens around my neck
it’s about the pain to keep my crown of hunger
no one does “no safety net” and “emotionally vacant” like me

chainsmoke below the god of gaps
outside a show on the curb  
with a strange band howling on the other side of the wall
and wonder why all good notes find silence

I say sorry and feel the same
I say sorry and see the pain

yes, the cosmos is all that is, all that was, and all that ever will be. Reason and Faith. 

George Carlin ruuuuuullllllesss. 

"Adderall Dreams and Double Shift Wishes"

Am I still young if I care a little less
about the myths my peers deem success?
they want more money and I want freedom
all the dreams of dead white men flooded the scene
but there never was a scene, just people being people
getting together to share sweat and positivity
watch out for youth and squash bigotry
the flock was learning but the flock was clean
I don’t want to sell myself
everybody’s saying, I like you guys but I want success
well when I record I say and play what I want
what good is money if that’s not what you’re doing?
Am I still young if all my friends are on drugs
crushing and snorting adderall before shows and work time rush?
"Sorry, I can’t come tonite. I’ve got a double in the morning."
I understand surviving, I understand the boring.
so the scene dies once every two years
a few stick around and keep the vision clear
some move on, cross their eyes out with domestics
to all the wives and husbands, allow your spouses a few adjustments
I don’t want to kill myself
everybody’s saying, you drink like you hate yourself
I feel no strong urge to do anything
but to create art and to live regretting nothing
A fool’s success is minimal at best
cause only a fool can believe
there’s fulfillment in simply living honestly.