when my grandmother died several years ago my dad came into my room in the morning and sat at my bedside. he woke me and told me he had to fly out to mexico for the funeral. he told me i had to take care of the dogs. when he left the room i started crying—not because my grandmother had passed away, but because i was overwhelmed, in that moment, by the prospect of taking care of the dogs. this was probably my first encounter with loss since my first dog, jazzy, died. after i cried i was frustrated because i knew i had cried for the wrong reasons. i didn't mourn right.
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jazzy was a morbidly obese beagle whose hind legs gave out one day. i was first to come home from school that day and found him struggling to drag his awful body over to me. my dad held him at the vet's office that night when he was put down.
to be put down is a euphemism particular to animals. it is the ostensibly merciful killing of an animal for whom remaining alive is deemed too complicated for us to deal with. it was our fault anyway. we fed jazzy too much.
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i still don't mourn right and when our friend passed away i didn't cry at all. i wandered around the rooms of my house when we all hung out there the day after the wake. everyone was crying and i didn't and i felt ashamed for not feeling the way i thought i was supposed to.
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i don't like cemeteries because i think it's f*cked that we would want to sequester the dead in a place that is so physically and symbolically devoid of who they were when alive. only people who hung out in cemeteries a lot should be buried in them.
actually the idea that the body after death has anything to do with the person is odd to me. not that i think a person's body is an arbitrary appendage of their personhood, but because i think a person is constituted by their relationship to time and place. to imagine that the memory of a person can be imprisoned in their body and in their grave does violence to the presence that persists in the places they shared with others.
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h*ckhound is a skeleton dog that appears in my room every night at the witching hour. it runs in circles on my bed, chasing its tail, and when i try to hold it in my arms it crumbles into dust.
released 03 June 2014
miguel gallego: guitars, keys, vox
brian thorn: guitars
alex "hex" drivanos: guitars
dan lay: bass, viola, violin
jeff horn: drums
recorded may-august 2013 in miguel's room and basement
mastered by dan thorn
all songs written, produced and mixed by dicktations.
cover art by vanessa martinez
liner note design by rachel lesser
all rights reserved
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