Friday, May 18, 2012


Although this is Lydia Tomkiw's solo album and not an Algebra Suicide one, I felt it was worth including here. The tracks are collaborations with other artists, and while most of them lack the AS accord, a few do retain it.

1. May I Take Your Order Please?
2. Delilah's Ex
3. The Edge of Things
4. Iris
5. Thief
6. Hot June Evening
7. Sometimes
8. Heartbeat
9. From the Place Everyone Avoided
10. Saturn Makes a Move
11. Pretty Something
12. Strange Candy

Transcription for this album is mostly complete, though there are still quite a few gappy and uncertain areas marked in italics. Please feel free to post corrections or additions!

May I Take Your Order Please?

I'll start out with a cup of instant coffee with white [?] (whitener?) and floss sugar
And then the soup of the day, as long as it's alphabet soup so my tongue can play with the letters
Sort of like the Soul Train scramble board.
Are there substitutions? If so, instead of parsley, I'll take half a dozen jumbo shrimp on my platter
And instead of that piece of lettuce, I'd like some red caviar, um, no... make that yellow.
It's more delicate. I'd also like to have the adoration of millions, but that's not possible.
It would be nice if this became a Broadway musical, where I jump up on the counter
And start singing a wild song about food and sex and living in this great town
And break into a tap dance and all the other patrons join in, dancing on their tables.
Also, I know this isn't on the menu, but could the passers-by that are gawking at us
Through the big windows be gathered to watch our glamorous show?
Then burst out in a thunderous applause while we make curtain calls
And the drapes open and close and open and close and we bow and bow again
And flowers are thrown at us.
The cashier can then go out and collect the entertainment fee
After which, I'll order a kiss for everyone for dessert and leave you a really big tip, okay?

Delilah's Ex

I'm going bald while women are bleaching their mustaches, bald before my teeth rot out.
While my eyebrows are still knit together.
I'm going bald while those around me are selling their hair, going bald into the rice I'm cooking.
I'm going bald and not very fond of hats, afraid of that comb that longs for my head
I'm going bald on my pillow while I'm sleeping and defenseless
While I'm chatting in the tavern with the bearded men
I'm going bald on the dock with my parrot, who will never go bald and knows it.
I'm going bald in the cafe as the sun rubs my head,
Loosening three more hairs that slip while dancing. I'm going bald while dancing.
I'm going bald and convinced that hair has a mind of its own. There's no way,
There's no way to get rid of it. Or to woo it back.
I'm going bald each time my mother strokes my head to comfort me.
Going bald each time the rains get heavy, each time the wind dies down.
I'm going bald and winking at mannequins, eyeing tattoo shops for my future skin.

The Edge of Things

 There's an edge of night, and if I kiss it, I will split my lip and not be happy with the hurt
Or the blood or the blemish it leaves on my face, my face which I count on to make me sane
In the morning mirror.
There's an edge to the sky, right there at the horizon and the moon is on it
Looking silly and large like a bigamous woman with no children, wanting everything else.
It's scary.
There's an edge to the knife you keep in your coat pocket, and I wonder how you would ever use it
How you could get that intimate with your victim, feeling their body heat against your chest.
There's an edge to my teeth, which will [lines unclear] for the spot that will rust on your nerves.
I don't want your meat or bones. Or your immortal soul.
Just that sweet salt radiating through your pores, just your reaction to let me know I've won.


Tremors of tones that are yours
Let you kiss me with the bugs on your lips
Your poison is better than a fifth of gin
Pull me from the depths that twirl me.
Because the flavor of the sweat of your skin
I'll run with you, as dark as I am
Grate myself on your belly, like some frowzy cats
You, who smells so good
Can smooth away all my [?] with your left hand
Your voice is your pulsation
Your clothes are the vibration that makes me go shaky
It's time to change your force on me.
It's time to stop you letting me. It taunts me, has me too locked up
Let me make noise for a little while.
Winter's passed. The rain is gone. And it's time to walk the naked land.
Tremors of your tunes molest my head
But reassures me that we'll soon find all the colors of the world beneath our feet.


 I have stolen your hair: its color, its shape.
The way you shake it loose each night before you fall asleep and dream of lumber.
It cascades on my pillow like the water of heaven.
I have stolen the way you hold your cigarette between your ring finger and pinky,
Leaving the rest of your hand free to pinch the flesh of darling boys with their backs to you,
Or to handle money, or to wave at me in desperation, to try to get yourself back.
Point at me and say, there is someone who has stolen my walk,
And she's stolen my scent and now dogs follow her home, wanting something.
She has stolen my jokes, my tattoos. She's stolen the pants I charmed off of everyone I knew.
She's stolen my pout, the way I kiss. She reads my horoscope every day.
She's stolen my voice, my words, the way I dance, and my favorite colors.
Had I a husband, she'd steal him too. Had I any secrets, they would be hers.
Yes, I've taken it away because you were foolish enough to let me.
Thank me. I'm doing it justice.

Hot June Evening

One moon rises. One heart ponders the area of a triangle.
One fan blows on a hot June night, wanting a different job.
Wanting something more glamorous to take the heat off.
One voice snores. One girl sighs. Her feet hurt with the thought of something good.
Was a sun so mean it can faint you, and air so thick it cripples you.
A sky so stormy that it is sex. Nothing more, nothing less.
One star rises. One nerve twinges, embarrassed of its placement beneath the skin.
One joke is moaned at, wanting to be better. Wanting to last a lifetime or two.
Ice is always coming, night is always going. Light is always threatening to make things real.
One moon rises. One thought embraces the desire to have everything here and now.
Though dreaming loves sleeping, though wishing loves hoping,
They know when nothing is sure. Everything is possible.
One fan slows on a hot June night.


Sometimes there is love, and sometimes there is nighttime,
Kissing you on the cheek like it wants something sinful you know you can't give.
Sometimes there are cartoons which delight you, and sometimes the radio is silent
Giving you too much time to think.
Sometimes, beauty is funny and you find it in tricky places,
In children making mudpies off the curb on Avenue B, or you find it in the name of a dog
Or a restaurant called "A Dish of Salt." Or you find it on a magical night in a corner
And the world is in a slumber, so there's no one there to share it with.
Sometimes you want to talk, but there's no one there to listen
So you make a list of things you want to say, but your mouth never opens
And it's as if you never had a thought at all.
Sometimes there is a quiet calmness that makes you nervous.
Sometimes things torture us to tears and we want everything we could possibly imagine
And we want it to be glowing and pretty, but we settle for something
That might shine bright in years to come.


I like running close to myself [??] heart beats against itself, waiting to slow down.
I like to watch you sleep, hypnotized by your heartbeat
Which I can see right through your chest.
I can guess what you're dreaming. You like watching me wake
And watching me wonder who I am.
I like sitting silent with you, burnt out on Sunday afternoons
Just sitting with our histories which bind us and blind us forever.

From the Place Everyone Avoided

Elektra's going steady. The sunlight is astounded. The morning is confounded.
The ballroom is deserted. The dungeon is in mourning. The carnival seems boring.
The heavens are alerted. The playground's getting ready.
Square droughts. Candid drizzle.
Unwinding between winters. Unraveling between furloughs.
Unhinging between cycles. [?] appears fancy.
Consolid appears juicy. One body appears holy.
The swamp becomes pristine. The marsh becomes unblemished.
A sleepy whisper [?]. A bruise from the desert. Who tells the world how to be?
Diamond clumps in the sky faint in sheer amazement.

Saturn Makes a Move

There's the sting of losing and you look at your loss
And you wonder if you'll make it with the burden of the cross
That weighs you down and bakes you every minute of the day
But I swear, and I'm certain, you would have tossed those things anyway.
There are things that you want. And things that you need
And the two get entangled in confusion and greed
You might feel like you've been dangled in some forced-upon decay
But I've come to the conclusion: yes, I believe you wanted freedom from these things anyway.
There's got to be destruction for things to be renewed
And though right now the notion may seem a bit askewed
Beyond the commotion of what has gone astray, I'm sure that you'll discover
I'm sure that you'll conclude: you never needed what you lost anyway.

Pretty Something

Because it was tomorrow and I was exclusive.
Because it was forbidden and no one was looking.
Beecause you are not like me. Because it was hopeless.
I turn my face towards yours and let you color my skin.
Because it was tawdry and we were both tipsy.
Because of some lightning that came from a planet.
Because it felt churchlike. Safe and with promise.
I turned my face toward you and you colored my skin.
Outside there was air, wanting all of our breath.
Violence was waiting, wanting a death.
And some mixed up night birds sang, wanting sanity, so we sang along.
Because you were laughing and nervously shaking.
Because you were whistling, I got scared of your being.
You turned your face toward mine and I made something askew.
Because we were lazy, but not really.
Because there were bills to pay, but we didn't care.
Because we knew a joke we couldn't remember.
We turned our faces to one another and exploded the night.

Strange Candy

Strange candy keeps you guessing.
Keeps you messing with stuff too wide for you, can't abide by you for your sake.
Strange candy is very tasty. Is confusing while it's using wiles.
Strange candy is evil. Is the devil. Will romance you, then neglect you.
Kiss you then forget your name.
Strange candy is a jinx. Is a hex. Is what links you to the nasty dance.
Strange candy keeps you smiling. Is beguiling. Is seducing.
Is inducing you to give your skin. To burst. And bust. Bend all over (Then roll over?).
To spill and deliver everything on golden platters.
Sweetness is so tempting. So delicious. How can it be wrong?
Sweetness is so tender. So precious. So darling. How can it be wrong?
Sweetness is so charming. So enchanting. So angelic. How can it be wrong?
Strange candy makes you woozy. Is so driving. We ache with swelling.
Strange candy makes a fire. Is so stirring. Blurs our senses, numbs our bodies.
Strange candy makes you crazy. Burns inside you 'til you're spent.
Strange candy gives you fever. Makes you quiver. Gives you shivers.
Strange candy will contract you. Give you spasms. Rips you open.
Strange candy is so ardent. Is so fervid that it eats you.
Strange candy makes you dizzy. Makes you heavy. Is so juicy.
Strange candy is a magnet. Makes you come without thinking.
But we dream it. And we want it. And we fight it. And we crave it.