Roominations: An Unauthorized Parody

reviews

"Dr. Mindflip’s music features the perfect compromise between his enormously inventive arrangements and conventional music structures. 'In A Garden Of Fools' is a superb and successful attempt at combining unique and artistic songwriting with joyful listenability."
Jamsphere

"This one is a doozie. The band has taken on a new dimension - they've grown together musically, and their performances show it. This is really a great conclusion to the series of EPs that DRMF has produced so far."
The Cerebral Rift

"Intriguing lyrics followed by perfect accompaniment...[In a garden of fools] is one album you do not want to miss... A unique sound that is refreshingly different from all the other mainstream music that we hear today."
Pure M Magazine

LYRICS

1. Get in

Fade in.
Exterior, Guerrero Street, San Francisco.
Dusk.

A man with long, impossibly black hair emerges from an apartment complex. He walks with a slight hunch, his arms barely moving, towards a silver Mercedes-Benz convertible. He wears an oversized blazer, cream combat trousers and sunglasses, despite the waning daylight.

This is Thomas.

Many who aspire to a creative life speak, in jest of course, of wrestling with their ‘inner demons’. But tonight, at the abrupt end of this journey, Thomas will come face to face with his very own.

2. The Nightmare Begins

Just after midnight, a street in Santa Monica, Los Angeles.

Gregory, a handsome, clearly nervous man, enters the vehicle. His youth makes the driver appear nothing short of vampiric. Together, they disappear down the boulevard.

Thomas and I usually drive late at night
Chasing some light or other
With our fears in tow
What are his? God only knows
Some abyss far from Dean and Brando
Hug and a kiss and “I told you so” from my mother

Now wraparound shades hide eyes
Sunk deep in his face with the immeasurable pressure
Of our dreaming days
And will we ever make the grade?
Thomas and I
Come take a ride with Thomas and I

Making tracks in the dust with a friend you can trust
It’s good for the soul
When you’re down in a hole, low down
Johnathan’s a hell inside his mind
Of a story to tell
He’s trying to find a way to
So I might as well go with the flow
“I’ve got this idea…”

Now the radio fades
The windscreen wipers are blades
I’m the midwife for his midlife crisis
Screaming demon babe
And why is it I feel afraid of Thomas tonight?
Something ain’t right with Thomas tonight

The hunk of twisted metal penetrates the Laemmle Fairfax Theatre.

As the smell of burning gasoline sledgehammers Thomas’ brain into unconsciousness, his eyes roll up over the buildings façade.

“Only in theatres…exclusive preview…coming soon…”

3. Manchild's Monologue

Interior, The Room

A man, dressed like a child, approaches Thomas with a mocking look on his face. He takes a bite from an apple, and speaks.

Don’t you bother stopping on your way home
Picking up some trinkets or a treat
Cos while you’re fretting over your promotion
Your best friend’s slinging semen on your sheets
While you’re putting food upon the table
She’s getting chocolate fingers on the stairs
Right up in there
There’s a seven-year Ishtar who’s able to have men do her bidding
Who owns this pit hidden deep beneath her lair?

Sure it’s yours, it ain’t mine
You’re deluded it’s fine
Are you losing your mind?
Cos everyone thinks you’re blind to what’s been going on

Your home-sweet-home is full of happy endings
That don’t have anything to do with you
Cos she’s expecting nothing but a wedding
And a quick Hotel Procrustes honeymoon
I’m dropping hints like amateur Hail Marys
Whose best friend’s deep in moral bankruptcy?
Whose sense of pride’s away with the fairies?
And whose demise is hanging over me?

Sure it’s yours, it ain’t mine
You’re deluded it’s fine
Are you losing your mind?
Cos everyone thinks you’re blind to what’s been going on
Is it true, Johnathan? No part of you sees nothing wrong
As you drift along, things are going strong
Cos you’re sitting on an atomic bomb

Just as the man-child ceases his tirade, Thomas sees a disturbing sight…a man, dressed exactly like him, descending a staircase into The Room. If he can see Thomas, he doesn’t let it show, but strolls confidently out the front door.

I’m suffering recurring premonitions
Ozymandias lies shattered on the sand
Screams and sirens pull me from my vision
Whose blood is this that’s dripping from my hand?

I’m sure it’s yours

4. The Misguided Rebellion of a Doormat

Thomas walks outside into the blinding San Francisco sunlight, determined to pursue this better vision of himself.

The boy remains, tormented by visions.

My life is running away from me
Faster than the eye perceives
That I’m just a half-assed montage
The years are running away again
I sold them to grey gentlemen
With wrinkles made of cigarette ash

No-one can stop these feet
They’re driving a hole in the street
Where I’ll make my mark
See the difference in me
So charming, alarming
Out here I’m the star I was born to be

Those parasitic somnambulists
I wonder how they’ll handle this
Their benevolent well has run dry
What am I? Some kind of charity?
Well…Kris R owes a favour to me
After all, who got anywhere by being a nice guy?

Wondering “why is this happening to me?”
I’ll separate the chaff from the wheat
And kill what’s left of this neurotic, this desperate
Split personality
I’m gonna get what’s coming to me
Cos the money shot’s inside of my box
Now it’s time to unlock it and see

The relentless amble concludes back at the apartment. Thomas follows, as the man creeps upstairs. Thinking that he is alone, Thomas' double pulls a box from under his bed. Inside it, a brand new gun and a stack of paper, clumsily stapled together.

The shadows thicken, as the two hidden objects blur and flicker, a noxious odour of blood and gunpowder fills the air.

The man shuts the box, shaking his head.
No…no…not just yet…

No-one can stop these feet
They’re driving a hole in the street
Where I’ll make my mark
See the difference in me
So charming, disarming
Out here I’m the star I’m born to be

The scene is grisly, from the flaming shell, they cut him, pull him, back from hell.
But lying on the sidewalk cracks, he sinks yet further Fade to black.

5. Massive Pockets

Keep your stupid comments in your massive pockets
They say he’s got them massive pockets
Hey! He could be slipping you into them right now
He’s giving you his heart

He’s got massive pockets yeah they’ll never rip
Galaxies at his fingertips
It’s hot, well maybe at least for a little bit
Seven years or so to be precise
But maybe that’s just the cynic in me
“No man’s gregariousness could be so inexhaustible”
I guess we’ll see
It makes you wonder do you understand life

Massive pockets
They say he’s got them massive pockets
Hey! He could be slipping you into them right now
You’re tearing him apart

He’s got a kind word for everybody on the street
Even people that you’d rather iron your sack than meet
He’ll blow your mind with spontaneous generosity
And leave you scrambling, shambling, wondering how
How does he do it?
There must be something to it
That trust – he’ll overdo it
Cos people can be much trickier than a guy with massive pockets

They say he’s got them massive pockets
Hey! He could be slipping you into them right now
So watch your step

6. Shame Gravy

Fleeing the manic speculations of the crowd, Thomas finds himself outside on a rooftop. The sky feels unreal, the lighting strange. But he is not alone. A lone figure, dressed entirely in denim, paces back and forth, muttering to himself in sheer madness.

People are complicated but that’s scant consolation
To all the kids I beat up after school
But one was so professional he arranged a lesson
To understand just why I lose my cool
Petyr says I’m a vicious cycle of daddy issues
True, but I’ll Spirograph with this one rule
Instead of reaching for a handshake of marijuana
Say yes, I know you want to be kind not cruel
And let someone else take control for a change

Well there’s a certain chill of the spine that creeps up skyward when the phone rings
It chokes the nerves behind my eyes
They lock up, monochrome, glistening
Tiny redemptions stubbed-out
Please don’t mention burned out birthday candles and engagement rings
Because I’m all but snapping
Telltale hearts are tapping Morse for heinous things

And while you stare at the ceiling I can’t help the feeling
That you are pot roast
This stuffing means nothing
Screw your friend’s ghost

Well the shades don’t hide and the blade don’t glide away these guilty stings
I’m sweating day and night that you just might call and say those filthy things
We did on couches, stairs, the clothes my best friends wears
Monday to Friday, while he brings home all the bacon to you
While you’re making love to the worst part of me

Cos you strip off my clothing and all my self-loathing temporarily

You are pot roast
This stuffing means nothing
Screw your friend’s ghost

If Petyr had an inkling of just what I’ve been thinking
How would he deal with all the load I bear?
Cos who can therapize the therapist realising
That he’s responsible for my affair?
Perhaps I should dig him a hole just in case

7. Housebroken

The scene melts away, as night falls. A chill fills Thomas' veins as he discovers the house to be completely empty, the partygoers and their garish trinkets all gone without a trace.

Now there are candles. Roses. Silk sheets. And a woman in a red dress, sweeping across the room. She is beautiful, so beautiful, and yet her face is riddled with sorrow.

Bought a meal for two from Mephisto at the Broken Mirror seven hells ago
Now, in my reflection, I can’t see any sense of three-dimensionality
I’m a poorly-wrought caricature at best
Less a personality, a pair of breasts
I’m Bill Murray and he’s Andie
Red dress every day and I can’t breathe
Or move through the house with all these flowers
And pricks everywhere that bleed my hours dry of affection
Attention please!
Invisible people shouting ‘bitch’ at me:

The worst thing about falling apart is the sweaty hand of the disaster artist
So I conspire to perspire another way
Fudding myself on the phone all day
Mother’s on the couch and she wants my ears
Johnathan’s on the couch and he wants my years
I can’t sign in blood if it don’t come
Holding back the tide with a fake son
Shelly’s on the couch with a featherlight brain
And a scales to weigh my life
Dennis is at the door, talking more shit
I’ve palmed a sticky penny for my ferry across this Styx
Sticks and stones and broken homes
And social vultures circling a pattern that’s repeating
I’m a pattern that’s repeating

Don’t you bother rushing on your way home
I just need a little time to fertilise the pieces of my life that ain’t grown
Beyond staring at this bridge dreaming of escaping to some imaginary place
Right on the shores of fixing me and breaking you
Cos between you and me, it ain’t good
I just wanna live

8. Sunset

Thomas feels the world around him contort and twist, as a blinding light spreads like a migraine across his vision, consuming everything in sight.

Watch the sun

I watch the sunset and say to myself
“I’m doing it tomorrow”
I watch the sunrise
To my surprise, I’m doing it today

My therapist says make a list
Of all that you’ve accomplished
Your basket weaving
Your primal screaming
And could it be
The fear is leaving?

Wandering out on the way
It’s inevitable that you’ll stray
As you pick yourself up, day in day out
Tell yourself the way that people live all around you
Is wrong
And put on a show
And laugh even though
Your get up and go is gone

So hide it in a box and keep it
Secret close to where I sleep
In case some personality
That I’ve repressed inside of me
Can silently, with Morpheus
Complete my magnum opus
While I get back to the art
Of tearing my whole world apart

Wandering out on the way
It’s inevitable that you’ll stray
As you pick yourself up, day in day out
Tell yourself the way that people live all around you
Is wrong
And put on a show
And laugh even though
Your get up and go is gone
It’s all gone

To do:
Procrastinate til it’s too late
And fornicate (with complications)
Shun socialising
Realising that the world is better off without
Some bleeding heart, piece of shit
Lunatic film script
The sad thing’s I can’t think of anything except this
Or kickstarted ego trips
Or mindfulness hypnotists
Or pop-culture pianists
Or Z-lister nippleslips
Or 1 month free memberships
Or top 10 vacation lists
Change your life with this one trick
You won’t believe it when you
Click

Through a haze of red and blue lights, Thomas sees the men fighting to save his physical form and feels curiously indifferent to their struggle. Why return at all? I’m fed up with this world.

9. Beardless in Hollywood

As the last flickers of life begin to drain from his body, a bearded figure steps forward wearing a shawl. It is Gregory, bruised and shaking, but unharmed. He kneels beside the broken man, and bears his arm as the paramedics prepare for a desperate blood transfusion.

Post credit sequence. Several years have passed.

Fade up on a dingy LA bar, empty but for the dead eyes of countless Hollywood legends trapped in their greasy frames. And one man, sitting alone in a tuxedo, with a scotch trembling in his grasp.

This is Gregory.

When I squint my eyes up I can see
A brighter timelines new version of me
He’s in the corner by the carvary
His brow’s unfurrowed
Wonder if he’d notice me? Or my empty glass

He’s a 9-to-5, a 4x4
I see his family waiting by the door
He got out of Hollywood before
He made connections and lost direction
Fame at last

Although this love is blind
I know no other kind of rapture
Black or blue, trapped in The Room with you

I dragged him back from beyond the grave
With a big red instrument I made
From the lifeblood that I gave
He’s a loyal old wolfhound
An albatross round my neck

The premier spotlights scrape the sky
My dignity’s in a hearse outside
Upside down from here my life
Is a drunken, pointless
Sunk in sawdust shipwreck

I know this love is blind