Skull Pilot from Skull Pilot by Adam Stone / Dead Sea Apes / Black Tempest

I remember the feeling that I was piloting my head.
I was a tiny version of me, sat behind a control desk,
All levers and buttons inside my skull,
Controlling and driving my body
As it went through its various motions:
Leaning forward,
Lighting a cigarette,
Standing,
Walking from living room to kitchen,
Drinking from a can of cheap German lager,
Buttering toast,
Climbing the steep stairs like a conquistador,
Urinating while staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror,
Lips flushed red.

I was enlightened, as one might say;
Cursed, another might say.
My hand was such a long way from my elbow.

The cigarette had burnt down to the filter tip.
I had only inhaled once.

The bare lightbulb was like a white sun,
Blazing high in the sky of the living room.
I was sweating and cramped,
Stuck to the nylon-covered armchair like a dying gecko,
Gurning and simpering with simian idiocy
Under the heat of the lightbulb sun,
Eyes glued to a late-night film that I couldn’t remember,
Long ago, one Saturday night in November.

• Alternative
• Drone
• Post-Rock
• Psych
• Rock
• Manchester