Oblique Seasons

by Deleter

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12" 45 rpm LP available through 25 Diamonds Record Label.
Compact disc available through Landski Records.


released December 7, 2015

Travis Collins bass guitar - vocals. Joshua McKay drums - percussion. Jordan Morantez guitar - Juno 106 - vocals. Knol Tate vocals - guitar - melodica - Juno 106.

Hilary James & Leah Ottman cello & violin, respectively, on Regrets & You’re Assassinated. Faith Boblett vocals on The Worst Person In The World, Oblique Seasons & Militant Idiot. Natalie McKay vocals on The Worst Person In The World & Macy Shot A Cop.

All songs written by Deleter ©2015.
All lyrics written by Knol Tate ©2015.
Produced & recorded by Deleter.
Mixed by Knol Tate.
Mastered by Mikey Young.
Sketches by Meghan Irwin.
Booklet design by Anna DePagter.



all rights reserved


Deleter Minneapolis, Minnesota

Skewed but catchy. Straight forward yet obtuse. Angry but thoughtful. Sleeker, simpler and meaner.

Lyricist and guitarist Knol Tate (Satellite Voices, Askeleton, Killsadie, Hidden Chord). Bass guitarist and vocalist Travis Collins (Satellite Voices, Spirit Of 76). Drummer and percussionist Josh McKay (Farewell Continental, Mourner). Guitarist Jordan Morantez (The King & The Thief/Blue Green).
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Track Name: Dysphoria (Dictionary Definition)
Dysphoria painted other colors. Being black or blue or you. Dysphoria demanded first in line. Priority insists it’s mine, more inside. Talking
of leisure, talking of time. Body accessed, brain denied. Body treasured, brain is fried.

Dysphoria deemed for not pleasure, but an excuse not to choose what you do and who you do it to. Dysphoria
commands another world. Another whisper, another cruelty inside, Another decomposing mind. Last to conquer, last to know. Last
enclosed, hiding shoulders and creeping slow.

Dysphoria gated, rewind the time. Collapse innocently behind the mind. Dysphoria clamps mine inside. Completely
incoherent. Completely transparent. Partial control, partial below.
Track Name: Seclusion
Racking on case letting, buried in your lap. “Headed inward”, you ask. “What was wrong with that”? It’s ill intent asked of you, but loneliness isn’t despair. You go blue, so blue, a foul tongued version of you. Slam sighted short enough. Isolation is a prize, but not enough to lie. You say “goodbye”. Goodbye. Shocked into seclusion.

Caress your knees. It’s water to the seas. Like spitting in air: no one really cares. Your body to the wind and you say “Begin again? Oh yeah”!

Tear up a check and eye. Wear a tattoo that you speak. My blue eyes are bright but sinking in the deep. It’s alternate choice but blind. Isolation is the prize. Seclusion is the world open. The sea is what the world sights. And they spoke a version, it’s wrong or right. Either way it’s worded wrong. Waiting for a fight.
Track Name: A Ridiculous Man
A ridiculous man hence forth. We proclaim everyday; “What’s country, then what fits? What’s a memory thought to commit”? One man changing missions. A man as mountain molded into a mountain’s top. No idea of when to stop.

Just for illusion’s sake stare into the eyes. When it finally wakes it’s okay there, calm inside. Bank the statements and tear the interest. Invested away, one moment away, one moment stays for now...

Equal in it’s intensity in a new department or an appointment. Weighing the same, ego is a separate force in course laying foundation. No one single hill is so easy too climb. You’ll find in time and pay for crimes, a ridiculous man hence forth…
Track Name: Militant Idiot
The blast of ignorance your way. An excuse to kill or persuade. Beads of sweat take over your face. The agony of the western way. The longest wait. There is no debate. An animal crouched in it’s cage.

A militant idiot stands arm to arms to never forget.

Use the arms to defend the face. Use the papers they all use. Every weapon takes it’s toll. Every word is an excuse. The longest wait. There is no debate. March hand in hand and face.

A militant idiot stands arm to arms to never forget. You can’t change a god damn mind and you can’t kill enough to care.
Track Name: Macy Shot A Cop
“Flow my tears” the policeman said. Macy shot a cop. “Lucky shot, Macy. You’ve made your move. It’s a lucky shot”. “Flow my tears” the policeman said. “Macy got a lot. A bag full of money, a face full of mace, the communities embrace. Lucky break, Macy, lucky break.”

“She can’t stop”. Macy shot a cop.

“Flow my tears “ the policeman said. Macy shot a cop. “Big girl on the
block. Whiter flag and bigger cock”. “Flow my tears” the
policeman said. “If Macy moves a drop, we’ll take her down. No
excuses men. Bullets moving all too slow.
The description is hazel eyes and nowhere to go”.

“She can’t stop”. Macy shot a cop.
Track Name: Worst Person In The World
A mild dummy. Tape to cover it’s eyes. Silence explained, hence the lack of surprise. Eating the pain. Thinking the same. Standing on your head. Breaking the bed. Nothing was said. Nothing was gained. Taking the shame. Saying it’s name; “The Worst Person In The World”.

A real dummy. Mouth off it’s hinge. Remove the essence in a single sentence. Snorting cocaine. Sucking the pain. Sucking the stain. Too much was said. “I wish you were dead”. “I’ll rip you to shreds”. That’s what she said. “The Worst Person In The World”.
Track Name: Oblique Seasons
Bullshit wings fly politely. A megaphone is an arm. Orders barked down from flags. Brow beaten radio static and flags are a catalyst. Deceived, controlled the masses. No one is ever free to form. It’s gone, it’s automatic.

Choking down one word. Oblique seasons stretch on too long.

Turn off, catch on. It’s been way too long. We’ve become a vagrants song. Throw off, turn on. Our world only for the strong. It’s going on too long.

Bullshit wings fly politely. Onto the origin of strength. Frightened hands lightly tremble. We are kept at arms length. Orders marched on by one. A leader as seen as the sun. We submit to it’s power.
It only takes one... gun
Track Name: Worry Less
Tongue tied fist. Teeth floating up. Frothed over, frankly. Remembering it well. Remember it blankly. Work in “you’re welcome” and work in your
arms. Carried this weight like an unwilling strongman’s charms.

More information than one is willing to learn. Take it in heed and let go head.

Worry less and call more. It’s a long undignified walk home. Through your teeth my name is sore. Confused feet and floating teeth and lost tongue but words no more.
Track Name: No Culture
Once a message moved around onto a desktop or a grave. Seeing from the ground, once dead it can’t behave. Of the nervous found. Of the henchman’s hand. Of the impulse drowned. Of our culture’s sound.

Nothing is real, what you think you feel, there is no culture.

Bouncing stars, thinning vision. Eyes glued to the floor. Seeing from the ground everything as an impact. Collapse indecision. Correlate decision. Concentrate precision. Constant supervision.
Track Name: Regrets
Regrets though informal are made in silence. Sometimes, in silence made, it’s a low and dark make right to the core. It’s boring and bleeding, it’s seen as a hole. As whole within it’s mistakes. Without a mistake. Without representation, it’s seen as whole.

It’s open without seeing. A guilty soaked contract. Regrets included are done. An art form but not exact. if it’s worth it to you it’s filed and flushed away. Someone else picks up pieces meant for someone else. Surely to someone else.

Hold it dear and die. You never had to the chance to ask whom, but what and why. Letting go twice inside.

Regrets are information, filed and tucked away. It’s an open letter, it’s broken that much better, it’s a low and dark make hearing synapses break.
Track Name: Lab Rats Revolt
Lab rats revolt. Analyze the eyes. A revolution to despise. More so - more inside, inspecting it’s every move, a needle in the spine. Waiting for separation of body and mind.

Secrets revealed. Privacy to fold. How does it feel? Over and cold. Under a microscope. Under a surgeons noose. Inspecting the every move, the lab rats revolt.

Arms and the scream. A vein protrudes. Imbedded hands. Eyes rolled back. Knives take, shit breaks, another false conclusion. Fangs fork, inspected, man. Dying under a grander plan.
Track Name: You're Assassinated
Say you're assassinated. It's a right track. Liberally speaking; more drunk than lost. "Hey, come on back afterwards. We'll cut off half your hair", and they laughed and you fain and fake despair.

What is your final wish? What is your endless itch? Enveloped with social pricks. Drink the sicker. Drink the liquor. Drink the pissy liquor. Before you blink an eye you're assassinated.

"Come on back". Assassinated for us, in your sex, in dirty sex, yelling in dirty English. Who's next with half attacks? With stroking facts? Half on your back and half not aware.