We’ve updated our Terms of Use to reflect our new entity name and address. You can review the changes here.
We’ve updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

Nothing in the abyss surprises me

by Ripdae La Wise & Carl Yvan Prévil

/
1.
Chorus, by Ripdae La Wise: Hai-ku, high high Ku, they slaughter themselves across the room. Licking triggers to seal a fate, stuck with some of the wildest breaks. When red is go & green is stop the end is a forest of blood. Killer or not? Hai-ku, high high Ku, they slaughter themselves across the room. Licking triggers to seal a fate, stuck with some of the wildest breaks. When red is go & green is stop the end is a forest of blood. Killer or not? Verse 2, by Ripdae La Wise: In a field of wheels in melancholy through allies, shattered legs collect their organs from orphans, so the Ku stops to be noticed, looking on to snatch, then the walls showed inept. A drugged gang holds on tight to their fangs, and silly are the alarms ringing self destructing fish of hate, of course the catch seems like something to eat, & this is all behind their planet's colorful cheeks, no leaks. The darker the inside the brighter the out reach. Chorus, by by Ripdae La Wise: Hai-ku, high high Ku, they slaughter themselves across the room. Licking triggers to seal a fate, stuck with some of the wildest breaks. When red is go & green is stop the end is a forest of blood. Killer or not? Hai-ku, high high Ku, they slaughter themselves across the room. Licking triggers to seal a fate, stuck with some of the wildest breaks. When red is go & green is stop the end is a forest of blood. Killer or not? Verse 3, by Ripdae La Wise: A windpipe has been broken, and with it went a reminder of being fat, the scenario's room is an inviting lilac and of course the odor is a reminder of a abnormally cold night in August. Year is 1597, Caravaggio is standing in front of you, you are staring at him, & in response he is looking at your futuristic stomach while you are now existing as a black Teletubby. You start slicing off bits of yourself, you give him some of your flesh, he chews it, swallows, "yummy." Chorus, by Ripdae La Wise: Hai-ku, high high Ku, they slaughter themselves across the room. Licking triggers to seal a fate, stuck with some of the wildest breaks. When red is go & green is stop the end is a forest of blood. Killer or not? Hai-ku, high high Ku, they slaughter themselves across the room. Licking triggers to seal a fate, stuck with some of the wildest breaks. When red is go & green is stop the end is a forest of blood. Killer or not?
2.
Verse 1, by Ripdae La Wise: The animals in this neighborhood are complaining in unison as the sky becomes black. A so called pseudo-nighttime is hardly appreciated by things that bark, hiss, growl or claw in the dark. They don't want food, or more time outside, they want the sky to be normal & stop hiding its eye. In a time of social unrest, the divine loses itself to showcase where on the hierarchy we perpetually sit, and the water flows cutting into the unwrapped gifts. You can't really teach genuine hatred or genuine love, ones own experience is what creates votes or pitchforks for the head of a club. So the unborn will probably become smart enough to place a ribbon around their neck, to take the power away from those who want to kill it in attempt to assert dominance. Mumbling is the present seed & it seems like a form of protest against the babies who cry the loudest, they can whine for a change all they like but obviously that ultimately won't create what they claim they want to establish. Quran, Bible, Torah, Quran, Bible, Torah, etc. welcome to pride where the proud march around showing off their cobras. The term fits, you parade around your pride most likely you're a hypocrite. Well, I haven't found a prideful 'your majesty' who isn't one of those kind of hypos. If we live to serve them then society is doomed for a hellish echo. Quran, Bible, Torah, Quran, Bible, Torah, etc. if you only see negative then clearly your disbelief is derived from hatred. Holy text has something for everyone from a sane to the insane, or hypocritical to relate to, & if you don't see that then clearly your mind is warped, shaped, & wrapped in the inSADnity you project onto religious people. Chorus: Low crevices, hierarchy now, watch me tear down... Verse 2, by Carl Yvan Prévil: Un des Hommes se trouva sur le même terrain rempli d’herbes, un jour. Il ne pouvait voir la Destinée disparue, mais il pouvait voir l’espace laissé par un corps. Et cela l’intrigua parce qu’il savait que l’herbe couchée n’était pas dans le plan de la Destinée.
3.
Verse, by Ripdae La Wise: A robot extends its arm, it extends its arm for an odyssey from end to end of a snow-globe. A girl shakes its world the same way she shakes her deformity in absolute protest. Maybe she's mentally ill. Hell, maybe they're both mentally ill. So as regimes prepare to start another World War the robot says to itself one blank. I trust you the listener cares enough to fill that blank in. The gears on turmoil goes up & down, side to side, the overall hierarchy of human nature tends to break from within. What is a scab to someone who is born with an abundance of bruises? A woman with a cocky exterior points her weapon in the direction of a thing she apparently wants to kill, and in the distance she spots something glimmering. The glimmer is the robot. She follows the glam & witnesses the robot's extended arm. She thinks the robot isn't alive, she thinks the robot is dead inside. The girl placed herself within this globe, so every shake reminds her of home. Will the robot ever get its ride in a world of perpetual hell & pride?
4.
Verse 1, by Carl Yvan Prévil: La Destinée avait aidé à créer l’Homme. Mais vint un jouroù elle se sentit mourir. Et elle n’avait pas laissé de descendance – car qu’est-ce qu’elle aurait pu engendrer, sinon elle-même ? Elle se trouva un terrain rempli d’herbes où elle se coucha, et expira pour la dernière fois. Et son corps s’évapora parmi les brindilles. Verse 2, by Carl Yvan Prévil: Curieux, cet Homme ramassa une des brindilles aplaties par le corps. Il la tint dans ses doigts et la contempla. Il savait que si la brindille avait été touchée avant, la Destinée aurait voulu qu’elle serve à quelque chose là où elle avait été. Mais cet Homme prit la brindille de ses deux mains, et la fendit dans les airs. Il regarda autour de lui. Mais rien ne se passa. Et l’Homme sourit. « Certainement, se dit-il, je dois être libre. » Verse 3, by Ripdae La Wise: Hunter, gatherer, scavenger, beast, creator, destroyer, ravager, yeast; rise to the occasion of a decorative feast. So as you cut the skin as a right of passage, the gods want you to sacrifice your whitest cattle. Thank you for calling, thank you for dialing, thank you for being, you and the rest won't be affected by scurvy. Leave that chief, he's no longer your leader, hurry hurry before your creators destroy you with weather.
5.
Verse, by Ripdae La Wise: A lifetime can obviously vanish in less of a blink, and with this a blade can enter the hands of someone who should've obviously been born with it. Being the creep or weirdo attracts something sinister, like a minister trying to take advantage, or your own sister trying to turn you in for something you whispered to her. Gangsters don't actually move in silence, weirdos actually do. In order to be a gangster you need to be egotistical, or arrogant, and the blood on your shoes has to be spotted way before you make a rap song about it. Black weirdos are labeled as rats without any real evidence of such, and to touch more on that one should notice the similarities between a gangster & a police officer. The street system is as shady & crappy as the justice system. The laws of the street are the laws of justice. So when a non-rat is killed for ratting what does that remind you of in a field of splicing? Chorus: Losing touch, of herself, she can kill she, for someone else. Losing touch, of my goals, I have money, to fill my holes.
6.
Loopy Cysts 03:08
Verse 1, by Carl Yvan Prévil: Mais les Hommes ne savaient pas que la Destinée était morte, et ils continuaient à fonctionner comme si elle les contrôlait toujours. Chorus, by Ripdae La Wise: Hang yourself from swing-sets of a hawk, then swing yourself into the hell that you love, throw money at the mirrors that you see going down, cause nothing's like paying to see yourself drown. Hang yourself from swing-sets of a hawk, then swing yourself into the hell that you love, throw money at the ovens that you see going down, cause nothing's like paying to see yourself burn. Verse 2, by Ripdae La Wise: Photographs of phonies taken by loonies and goons, for a groom, married to death, holy matrimony steps, demonic ledger, he caught the eye of a slayer as his neighbor. As he scrolls down the list, names are hard for him to miss. The squeaking of the dying catapults him to a gift. Unwrap the carcasses with narcissists, or human shaped scissors cause kidnapped bodies are used as inCISors to shred screams, and whispers manifest as if no one hears thee. Chorus, by Ripdae La Wise: Hang yourself from swing-sets of a hawk, then swing yourself into the hell that you love, throw money at the mirrors that you see going down, cause nothing's like paying to see yourself drown. Hang yourself from swing-sets of a hawk, then swing yourself into the hell that you love, throw money at the ovens that you see going down, cause nothing's like paying to see yourself burn. Verse 3, by Ripdae La Wise: The sun glows, sun grows, many feet are made out of splinters, and with that each step is as sharp as each person's killer. So whoever sees themselves in the mirror of this heads for a perpetual kiss. Chorus, by Ripdae La Wise: Hang yourself from swing-sets of a hawk, then swing yourself into the hell that you love, throw money at the mirrors that you see going down, cause nothing's like paying to see yourself drown. Hang yourself from swing-sets of a hawk, then swing yourself into the hell that you love, throw money at the ovens that you see going down, cause nothing's like paying to see yourself burn.
7.
Chorus, by Ripdae La Wise: Her jumprope smells like bleaching cream, she double jumped & tripled hopped into a screen. Her focus dwells on looking clean, the blacker the dirtier, the blacker the dirtier. Her jumprope smells like bleaching cream, she double jumped & tripled hopped into a screen. Her focus dwells on looking clean, the blacker the dirtier, the blacker the dirtier. Verse, by Ripdae La Wise: Head collision, into a screen with a brighter vision than herself, surrounded with an aroma of her master's belt. Now what's surprising is the vibe of her neighbor, as you look into the nature of her spiritual creator. Creatives at hand have something to scribble, the map of her virtue seems to be so little. The Hollywood sign is one of the dirtiest forms of white, and that doesn't bother as she walks the night. Chorus, by Ripdae La Wise: Her jumprope smells like bleaching cream, she double jumped & tripled hopped into a screen. Her focus dwells on looking clean, the blacker the dirtier, the blacker the dirtier. Her jumprope smells like bleaching cream, she double jumped & tripled hopped into a screen. Her focus dwells on looking clean, the blacker the dirtier, the blacker the dirtier. Verse, by Ripdae La Wise: On a path to a dark surface that becomes bright every now & then, & with a pen in pocket she targets men, writing down dates to remember. The selling of herself is built with tremendous wealth, of course you have to make money to be money, sometimes humanity lacks patience for authentic honey. As the gargoyles awake they ooze venom out of their faces, and so it drips down the skyscrapers of enchantment attracting the attention of diggers, and this is when the protagonist became a so called devilish sinner. Execs sit at their table of merriment in preparation for what's to come, and when she walks through those front doors they'll all jump in approval, she'll jump in delight as the light shifts across the room. The rope they'll hang her with is the same rope she used to bring herself to this point. Chorus, by Ripdae La Wise: Her jumprope smells like bleaching cream, she double jumped & tripled hopped into a screen. Her focus dwells on looking clean, the blacker the dirtier, the blacker the dirtier. Her jumprope smells like bleaching cream, she double jumped & tripled hopped into a screen. Her focus dwells on looking clean, the blacker the dirtier, the blacker the dirtier.
8.
Chorus, by Ripdae La Wise: Photos, mirrors, or some clocks? Will you place your life on walls? Run lover lover, run run lover lover, hang lover lover, hang hang lover lover. Photos, mirrors, or some clocks? Will you place your life on walls? Run lover lover, run run lover lover, hang lover lover, hang hang lover lover. Verse 1, by Ripdae La Wise: Do you look into a mirror the same way you look into a clock or a photo, or do you see all three as utterly different & holding nothing comparable? All the layers or manifestations of time exists within all 3, but for one to only truly see themselves in one at a time is often a happening. Literal reflection aside, the figurative reflection holds a spot, a humongous spot. The terror that dwells within all 3 of these incarnations of time is the same terror that dwells within the mind of a newborn. Verse 2, by Carl Yvan Prévil: Il fallait modeler des petits blocs gris qui joindraient deux plaques d’un système que nous ne connaissions pas. Placer des grains sur une plaque dans un four, les faire fondre et les transformer en petites pièces sur mesure. On voulait un gris fade, avec une teinte universelle, qu’on ne pourrait pas lier à une origine particulière, qui se fondrait dans tout, qui unirait tout. Alors nous avons préparé les matériaux. Mais comme nous cherchions nos couleurs, nous avons vu que nous n’avions rien de gris. Nous avions un reste de grains de plastique blancs des temps temps. Et nous avions aussi de la matière noire, jaune, rouge, violette, brune. Mais rien de gris terne, ou « sans couleur ». J’ai été le dire à celle qui devait m’aider. « C’est un problème, dis-je. Comment est-ce que nous allons pouvoir mener notre mission à temps ? » « Laisse, dit-elle. Je crois que je sais comment faire. » Et elle prit les grains blancs et les grains noirs, les plaça sur la plaque, et augmenta la température du four. Sous le coup de la chaleur, les petites billes blanches et noires commencèrent à grésiller et à fondre. Les formes sphériques prirent de plus en plus la forme de choses écrasées, compressées. Avec une louche spéciale, elle les brassa. Les petites éclaboussures de plastique se mélangèrent avec les autres. Le noir se confondit avec le blanc, et au bout d’un moment, on ne retrouva que la pâte grise désirée. Chorus, by Ripdae La Wise: Photos, mirrors, or some clocks? Will you place your life on walls? Run lover lover, run run lover lover, hang lover lover, hang hang lover lover. Photos, mirrors, or some clocks? Will you place your life on walls? Run lover lover, run run lover lover, hang lover lover, hang hang lover lover. Verse 3, by Ripdae La Wise: Lovers love to hold on to reminders of love, so it doesn't surprise me when hatred manifests as a test aimed for the back of someone's lungs. Is obsession at its peak holding on to the past because the past belongs to no one but the people who actually live as its better half?
9.
SAMOsuzy 02:10
Verse, by Carl Yvan Prévil: Mûs par les incantations d’un sorcier inconnu, deux corps inanimés copulent dans l’obscurité. Chorus, by Ripdae La Wise: Sprinkle piss, sprinkled shit, so much oozin' at an auction, diamonds dancing at a wink, blink & things went gone with a glitch, paint a soul & you'll die for it,...paint a soul & you'll live for them. Sprinkle piss, sprinkled shit, so much oozin' at an auction, diamonds dancing at a wink, blink & things went gone with a glitch, paint a soul & you'll die for it,...paint a soul & you'll live for them. Verse 1, by Ripdae La Wise: You are like a new fridge filled with pastries, soft & cold interior, hard exterior with voice activation. The tone of the mischievous can open you up as your heart runs several miles through your gut. Who would let an insect infect themselves with cupid's penis excrement? When it's white that doesn't mean that it can't be trash. So if the garbage man comes around this time someone hand him the whitest piece of ass because that kind sir is a poly-glob slobbering all over someone's right to advance to another post-dead end train of breath. Chorus, by Ripdae La Wise: Sprinkle piss, sprinkled shit, so much oozin' at an auction, diamonds dancing at a wink, blink & things went gone with a glitch, paint a soul & you'll die for it,...paint a soul & you'll live for them. Sprinkle piss, sprinkled shit, so much oozin' at an auction, diamonds dancing at a wink, blink & things went gone with a glitch, paint a soul & you'll die for it,...paint a soul & you'll live for them.
10.
Verse: Spending with a half a brick on, & target in sight I'm shootin, full drum at the head & your dead, look at me I see green at the top, I would, kill a grasshopper to thrive, whether or not, you back me or not. Verse: I'm the greatest, rapper of the century, check your seeds I'm the shit, yeah you heard me I'm the shit, I'm so dope, I'm so that, yeah, poetic like math, tell me I'm wack so I can compliment myself again.

about

Composer's Commentary version of this project can be found here: m.youtube.com/watch?v=U2OZX9V6N1I


I met Carl Yvan Prévil years ago through Facebook. This project features guest vocals from him, short stories he wrote & decided to record in French after I came to him with the idea of creating an avant-garde album that feels like an odyssey through an abyss of some kind.

The instrumental portion of this album is of course composed entirely by myself through a series of mostly live instrumentation & some heavy sampling of random sounds. The lyrics on my end were also written & recorded by myself. The entire project was mixed & mastered by myself as well, and the artwork/cover art for the project was created by myself, it is a Dadaist/surrealist depiction of Giuseppe Arcimboldo's "Rudolf II of Hamsburg or Vertumnus"

credits

released October 27, 2017

Walls... contains a sample of "Without you my life would be boring" by The Knife

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

A. Ripdae la Wise Escobar St Thomas, Virgin Islands

contact / help

Contact A. Ripdae la Wise Escobar

Streaming and
Download help

Report this album or account

If you like Nothing in the abyss surprises me, you may also like: