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Amoebic Industries

Sympathetic Detonations

by diss1

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released October 15, 2014

All of it written or sampled by tom dissonance, except the guests, who wrote their own bits.

1, 2, 5, 6 and 9 produced by Wolfie Vincent.
3, 10 and 13 produced by dissonance.
4 produced by Omnific.
7 produced by Admiral Nagano.
11 produced by Ten Thousand Free Men & Their Families
12 produced by gay against you.
Cuts on 13 by Slim Pickens.

Mostly recorded in Spital by Artikal-10, 2013–2014.
Mixed and mastered in LA by Brian Kinsman.
Artwork by Lachlann Rattray.

Thank you: Jake, Dan, East, Lach, Al, Thomas, Ben & Delusionists, Brian, Ellie, Ricky, Emily, Liam, Benladen, Jay, Adam Cooley, California, New York, London and New Jersey fam, Deathbomb Arc, Glitch City, WFMU, A Up, #spamfm




diss1 Glasgow, UK

diss1, aka tom dissonance, uh... makes beats and does the rapping thing. part of the group 30KB.

get at me: tom.dissonance AT

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Track Name: In
the incarnate innovator, incinerate the insincere
incredible injections directly into your inner ear
interpolate and interlace incisions so intensive
stay independent of the insufficiently inventive
intervening with interrogations that are intense
intone incandescent like magnesium incense
interact with intellects and inscribe harder
incorporate insights to incite intifada
in and out of every kind of insane intrepidness
international connects, native intelligence
remain indelible at insurmountable rates
in a bid to increase my insulation from these ingrates
interrogate insecurities when i interview
having them inquisitive like asking what's got into you?
inhaling intoxicants might develop your infamy
but incompetent rhymes'll just add insult to injury
like Indiana visits i'll get rappers in a state
intercept their inheritance like they died intestate
in a flash i'll reveal a rhyme style so ingenious
it infects yr bloodstream like cravings intravenous
smack a beat hard enough to inflict concussion
my intention is to spark an insurrection
integrity intact, i'll inspire discussion
and integrate percussion from the Indian that's Russian
insisting on interest for every investor
alias Incandenza, i'm an Infinite Jester
Track Name: Dissonance Corporate Anthem
freelance rhyme writer - commission me
still sending DIY dispatches from the ruins of the industry
don't call me unsigned cuz a deal means diddly shit
a dying business model don't make you legit
so my label shifts future classics on bits of plastic
hit up end-of-year lists, still fucking brassic
but not waiting round doing what i'm supposed to
might as well believe the government or Deepak Chopra
hit the north like The Fall or a boxer bringing fists to the jaw
cryptically pure, causing mystery sores
off the wall like i'm pissed to the core
north-west rap troubadours, the ones writing history for sure
i'm the self-dramatist with a knapsack of party tricks
cower from infernos sparked by the arsonist
excuse me, i'm just a bitter little global villager
just trying to build a Molotov outta this piss and vinegar

grew up on 5-borough fantasies and alienated peer group
mixed it with misfits, developed a weird troupe
now up in this building i'm cooking delicate flavours
into elegant playlists, distressing my neighbours
and i stay focussed like i scored a rubbish bin of Ritalin
love my worst enemy, could never be sick of him
get my five a day plus supplementary vitamins
and paraphrase all my favourite underground magicians
while daft pricks need to stick to writing slashfic
it's tragic, real rap heads yam 'em like a crabstick
think they're the Dark Knight but stammer like Arkwright
it's slapstick, they never seen a novel this graphic
my fam hot whether or not somebody's taping us
remember all lowercase when you write the alias
shout to heathens, don't stop non-believin'
cuz it's still a cold world, and i'm freezing

scab-pickers' union representative
westheads check for it, best percentages
pestilential shit, no parenthesis
hijack a sonic weapon just for emphasis
ink-by-the-barrel buyer, name up on the flier
with a shit list longer than We Didn't Start the Fire
rare talent like my city with a clear sky
drop a hot 16 on any track that's nearby
and keep going till i run out of breath and pass out
with a new twist like getting stoned in a glass house
colonel of rhyme like the guy with a miniature tie
causing a ruckus like i'm pissed up on rye
and a cynic don't like it so he'll whinge and cry
but i couldn't give a toss like i'm missing a die
i quibble with hypocrites, diss what's ridiculous
spit shit meticulous, it's mr dissonance
Track Name: State of Play
yeah, you know the name:
Tom Ko-fuckin-walski. plenty of shit's changed
plenty of shit's faulty, plenty of shit's strange
plenty look at you salty if you wanna rearrange it
pacifiers' desire to not rock the craft hides the high tides
pretty soon we're all gonna capsize
no more zoning out with drugs or entertainment
i'm here to flash reality back like cats' eyes
cuz oppressors never sleep like Manhattan or rust
and they'll tear down palaces just to profit off the dust
it's time to pick a side, no room for spectators
or they'll bulldoze all you love and come back for the rest later
society's Titanic, they rearrange deckchairs
these apathetic poses look increasingly threadbare
unplug your arse of fingers, this just got intense
[avoid rectal splinters, stop sitting on the fence]

disinformation rules the nation
when we're told be grateful for the situation
you don't know what you got till it's taken away
so hands out yr pockets, it's the state of play

it takes stamina resisting the stripping of your character
by each and every underhanded challenger
no gods, no managers; we constantly strive for higher calibre
with roots in a strong Foundation like the Damaja
eviction notice on the squats, make way for Tesco
true heads know it's bullshit from the get-go,
cuz cornered animals are only gonna get lairier:
unintended consequences in the bagging area.
and what do we want for the community?
street party puppet shows, bunting, fake unity?
Olympic village idiots and "all-in-this-together, man"?
it don't take a weatherman to tell you how the feathers dance
'scuse me operator? i'm calling shenanigans
champagne for the overlords, real pain for the famalams
i'm-all-right-Jacks like "no place for your anger, man"
but sticking-up nails get knocked: show me your hammer stance

now austerity nostalgia's the staple diet
"keep calm, carry on" the new "be young and be quiet"
clean-up volunteers target symptoms, of course,
but ignore all the forces supporting the causes
and call for enforcement of all kinds of tortures
"bring back hanging", "fetch the water cannon"
the CS, the taser, "send our brave boys in"
Polly put the kettle on, lace the brew with poison
defenders of the masquerade mobilise, sad to see
the way we live now can't stand a challenge, see
if anyone resists they'll just smear it as "anarchy"
and feed it to the media with one eye on the balance sheet
but violence isn't broken glass or swinging on the Cenotaph,
it's mass denial of chances for all but a special class
and the thought that some lives are worth less than profit ops.
don't be surprised when heads break shit till they knock it off.
Track Name: Road Movie
a tarmac tableau, over/under seventy
middle-distance panorama's heavenly,
burn down the fuel tank, fill 'er up, everything is entropy
highway hypnosis, we're ridin with muscle memory
caffeine and sugar highs, lung at least part-black
cat's eyes and tarmac, the out-of-body carjack
four-wheel, five-door escape hatch
sense of disconnection burn away at the same rate as your brake pads
priests police flocks with the promise of redeeming 'em
wanted me to join 'em but i simply wasn't feeling 'em
never a churchgoer, motorways always holier
set the sat-nav for utopia. follow.
central reservation mirage shimmer from heat
rusty bodywork, tired heart, brakes shot
a one-way mirror, not a two-way street
[what are you escaping from?] well, what have you got?

not when I'm gonna stop but who's gonna stop me
burn fuel like molotovs, it's Tommy Kowalski
with no radio station assisting
wonderin if i've got enough horsepower to outrun the system
but freedom of the soul seems a fool's act
when i can't stop the blood dripping out from underneath the fuel cap
feels illegal but the speedo needle don't go high enough
to overtake myself when moods crack
trynna get ahead of fate, giving it the best we got
flowers round the speed sign, mortality's forget-me-not
this to me's philosophy, the soundtrack's cylinder dynamics
shout to all unpopular mechanics
drive like all connections are cut. widowed and orphaned
neither the destination nor journey are important
check signs for answers but there's not many there
living in a road movie where nobody gets anywhere
Track Name: Mental Hospital #1
this is the story of a man of some confusion
frequently prone to heavy bouts of disillusion
was uncertain of his purpose, lack of knowledge made him nervous
on account of his weak constitution
every day he worked to find a new solution
looked high and low (but mostly low) for resolution
till one day he snapped, had his best idea by far
drove his car towards the nearest mental institution
on the journey over there, gets an epiphany
scales fall from his eyes, clearly he begins to see
but it's temporary, he learns, and his demeanour soon returns
to the chaos that surrounded him initially
never diagnosed with anything officially
he'd always just assumed his brain was wired differently
but he was different this time, more clarity, more vision
had to stop this legitimately or artificially
who's the provider? who's the consumer
who's the cancer patient living in harmony with the tumour?
who makes their mind up whose mind's made up correctly?
22 catches contest me
is this a path of least resistance or the right course?
and who's the hero riding off into the distance on his white horse?
the happy ending everyone's depending on's
determined by a blind throw of a die by a divine source
so he shifted up from third into gear four
and he targeted his bumper through the rear door
halted at the nurses' station, where they asked his motivation
he said "you tell me, that's what i'm here for"
Track Name: First As Tragedy
It's hard: in weeks they'll re-open the shipyard
and draft up official statements for the front page
citizens drown their sorrows all in a drunk rage
or culture unreality in brains with a skunk haze
self-medication got me stressing and questioning the possession
the lesson was suspect from inception
grit in our eyes when we could be diving for pearls
seems like everybody's striving for the end of the world
minstrel boy went to war, she washes up his coffee cup
heart blacker than anything striking miners be coughing up
pray to the carpenter's father knocking up the coffins
as we go down with the same ship we sailed off in
as we batten down the hatches and hoist up the mainstay
line up the soldiers, send them off to war the same day
water off a duck's back; lambs to the slaughter
the ships went down in the shallowest of water

past hasn't passed away, fam raise your glass today
transcend dimensions, find yrself a castaway
treasure every yesterday, celebrate the masquerade
with wine from a golden cup, time isn't holding up

do you remember the 1980s?
i was there too - vaguely
and lately it's crazy how revivals go way past dayglo
grey areas painted over by shades of rainbow
patriotic spectacles, war drum lullabies
this is what it sounds like when more than doves cry
still over a barrel at the mercy of some Thatcher kin
the past don't die, they just switch up the packaging
the future only reruns, history in front of me
i'm sorry Saint Pete, i owe my soul to the company
the barrel's held steady in the weapon hand
the minutes say it's five to midnight, cuz everything is second-hand
it's stopped ticking locked in a familiar position
remember the three R's - they're all repetition
fighting words fluid, we're the ones that dive through it
let the dead bury their dead - who else is gonna do it?

past hasn't passed away, fam raise your glass today
transcend dimensions, find yourself a castaway
treasure every yesterday, celebrate the masquerade
with wine from a golden cup, time isn't holding up
past doesn't ever die, clock-watchers testify
nothing new under sun, no moment left behind
every accomplishment, equal and opposite
time isn't after us, see you in a second life
Track Name: Birds of Prey feat. 30KB
[diss1] we'll construct a great empire the sun never sets on
where flags are available to cover what we get wrong
don't ask me to live through this [submersion]
fighting words become fluid
and we're the ones that have to dive through it
arcades for grown-ups, forty years development
rain fire globally: remote-control regiment
death toll irrelevant now we don't see it
defend our "beautiful mind[s]" from unforgettable secrets
troubled by conscience, till we silenced those voices
[remember when drones were only aesthetic choices?]
no-hopers for your average floating voters
crash-course society: no brakes, like Toyotas
this beat's on repeat as i draft my thesis
pledge allegiance to pick who gets blown to pieces
poetic injustice perpetrated by Reapers
they'll select who's best and blow the rest to Jesus

[Dan Dastardly] defenders of earth join a militant search
and pump profits from under a country's dirt for its worth
genocide borders attacked with aerial bombardment
sound of mercy cries eclipsed by orders of a sergeant
a Tuareg rebellion: autonomy/commodity
feudalism broken through the notion of weak monarchy
demarchy solution solve a situation properly
fight a losing battle when you're fighting for democracy
shocking information undercover like government ops
revolution out front for a propaganda watch
West Bank to western banks, myriad currency
inflate until insurgents get the picture. ready? UAV.
resonating anguish, enemy capitulation
contrived on colonies of British Malayans

[Jake Pains] no finish, we slayin' till we slain
or until creating mechanisms that can make weapons
to divide or hide the spiritless grace of living today
it's sickness in spades
used for digging up dirt or simply a grave
distance the prey with drones autonomous
erogenous zones grown from shades of killing a phase
so give me a wave through these pixellated displays of tech
caress mechs blowing kisses of hate
all wisdom is waste. ample channelled in the wrong place
dismantle the guilt in a wicked vision one day
metal bad seeds, depending on an ending ever badly
mortal pushing buttons till life's nothing short of looking
for an end-of-level baddie in every nook and cranny
humanity lost its faculty
pass the controller until it's game over
fatality cheat enabled: assault and batteries
Track Name: Mental Hospital #2
fighting curious battles with my psyche nightly
mindstate disharmony nothing in the right key
invoke future perfect when present's unpleasant
rearrange my name for doom incessant
blown chances can leave your insides shook
when bona fide answers aren't found in the right book
for chief exec or fry cook, path that your life's took'll hit home
harder than a right hook
climbing up the walls/chewing on the furniture
all that used to nurture comes back to murder you
best-made decisions a slave to biorhythms
bent out of shape further than the earth's curvature
bugs in the mainframe, fighting a cause
but the system's got a mind of its own, won't open the doors
make lists to recount your sins
and hope he who dies with the most scars

how you like that? out to living in a psychic prison
MC with a skin layer missing
a harsh realm rising, triumph of bad timing
welcome to my universe, it's nightmares and rhyming

it's that chronic low self-esteem rap, holler if you feel that
i'm to good vibes like bullets to kneecaps
lowering the tone in a flash like a speed trap
i'll remix the track with only drones and feedback
Elastoplast over a puncture
gonna be enough to contain, I'm hoping
when i say toxic, you say culture
we cover up deficiency with chemical clothing
broken connection, faulty neurone
chemical imbalance, deficiency of hormone
wake up in the morning feel like death reheated
frequently repeated, feelings are deep-seated
fight losing battles vs. insignificance
papering cracks with cheap laughs and cigarettes
but this is only a continuum, i heard a theory
i'm atoms, reverse engineer me
Track Name: Strange Things
[Mayan apocalypse is a cute misdirection
pop culture trinkets what the public ingest
the hand is quicker than the eye on the ball
we're all tricked into backing bulletproof vested interests
we got body bags, land grabs, smears and innuendos
a nation divided against itself can't stand
and profit is a margin not a seer, we're still here
as strange things happen in the land]

hello my name is tom this is a first name basis
a lot of shit's went down since we dropped "Toleracist"
when worth's still determined by social status
it's not your behaviour, more like who's the month's flavour
and you'll find cops lock down rights with tight screws
commentariat uncaring with shoe-size IQs
these are not haikus [nope] i switched it up a level
it ain't personal, supremacy's the fucking devil
covert martial law, police shoot first
they're painting radicalism like it's a dirty word
Tom Paine'd jump off his bridge at the strife
if they didn't already have him locked down for life
like it's Abu Ghraib, Strangeways, Guantánamo Bay
ask the wrong questions, you could go the same way
darkening the future like the end of a long day
there's strange things happening in the land like the song say

fuck an austerity measure, even surviving is terror
heads would do better if they endeavoured to struggle together
those in authority killing, missiles on top of the buildings
if you lift a finger in objection, effects'll be chilling
offer your soul up for rental, toeing the line is essential
you can have a party when you dance with a gun to your temple
heavily detrimental, the culture is high-strung
the economy called, said we're all gonna die young
those who amass capital scramble like rabid animals
then tell the underclasses to keep their demands practical
savages banking on a collective insanity gambit
some get malnutrition, others eat up all the cake and have it
fence-sitters say tightening belts is all that's left to be done
all your heroes offer is a fear of whatever's to come
nostalgia is a weapon like the spectre of yesterday's might
don't look to power for help, look at the mess they made, right?
Track Name: Agenda Binary
let me spit you something that you might like a bit
my rhyme is surgically implanted with a microchip
underneath the surface of the skin as embedded ID
a protection from piracy, the right to privacy
fingerprint and iris scan this suspect society
the writing's on the wall, in binary
army of zeroes and ones, the fear of what comes
they got their information from hysteria funds, mysterious ones
barcode tattoos, the mark of the beast
a calculation system that arose in the east
destruction of higher learning, the book burning
graves stay unquiet, the dead keep turning
white noise, pink noise, brown noise, grey
gimme the mic so i can take it away
lyrics foreplay, positions, digital Kama Sutra
controlling the past like who controls the future

if there is hope, it lies in the derangement
no consolation without console entertainment
power up your character and dance with the devil
and we all fall down off the bottom of the level

i wrote this rhyme at five on an insomnia bout
so best forget what you don't feel strongly about
i wanna play games, but other rappers seem reluctant
blast 'em out the sky like Duck Hunt
tumbleweed scenario, north wild western
gun out of my cold dead hands like Chuck Heston
civil rights traitor, part II: the sequel
God made man, Sam Colt made him equal
maybe not a chart hit, still i drop some smart shit
on a beat reminiscent of Atari cartridge
300G steez, sounding a welcome
vibrant like street art in central Melbourne
dissonance on Free Men beats, we tag-teaming
fantastic distortions like nights of bad dreaming
full spectrum dominance, dull, direct and ominous
ghost in machine synonymous with every one of us
Track Name: O Chariot
empire expansion [decisive battles, violence]
rewards for his headway [demands for a Triumph]
trapped in an archway [a visual simile]
or public relations [of glorious symmetry]
to demonstrate a city outgrown by a man
by miscalculation or ingenious plan
a show of societas under blood-red sky
the crowd make clear where their sympathies lie

faced men with javelins [terrifying spectacle]
the horror of slaughter [screaming was incredible]
a clamour for clemency [a battle of pride and elegance]
just don't forget his name [we remember, like the elephants]

what's that we see in the ruins of an empire?
one man's obsession or one more unheeded lesson?
they colonised the continents and spread like bacteria
Scotland to Egypt, Portugal to Syria

roads, shipping, engineering
public water, telephone
weapon systems, agriculture
mining, building, concrete, stone
indoor plumbing, sanitation
strength and speed of innovation
domes and arches, dams and bridges
continental subjugation

land unfit for them to settle
poisoning by heavy metal
barbarian hordes, in-fighting
omens in dead birds and lightning
breakdown of their civic pride
plagues throughout the countryside
new religions grow in favour
lost their grip on captured neighbours

global domination was the essence of the dream
could have been the future but for iron and steam...

last of the Romans
those who forgot that
the elephant is intelligent and virtuous
wrinkles her grey face at mankind's enterprises

o chariot, second to none
o chariot, carry us on

i, the elephant, wrote this