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about
"I haven’t had a drink in about 8 years. In a culture that wears its relationship with alcohol like a badge of honour that can be a very isolating place to live. Unobserved thought will run amuck. Ink Blott tells the tale of god’s lonely man wandering around an intoxicated Dublin, mind feeding off self righteousness, bitterness and resentment casting a dark shadow in the night lights of the city centre. These are cautionary tales. These are the Misadventures of a Misanthrope.
On the Misadventures of a Misanthrope…
"A little isolation goes a long way. First you make excuses why you can’t join in, next you start ignoring invites. Pretty soon you're in a self made private hell where you believe everything you think and everyone else is simply wrong. You start to filter people through a lens of bitterness and resentment that poisons everything you experience. These are cautionary tales… These are the "Misadventures of a Misanthrope”. A series of singles confronting inner negativity and embracing chaos.” #positivity
lyrics
The 145 floats, steady as she goes
The north stroke, swipe ‘croak’ enmity in tow
Dew drew smooth relocating to the windowsill
Patiently evading dissipating scoops with imbecile's
Palpitating intervals town awaits in critical
Condition, the decision to remiss is inadmissible
Each pint poured pinnacle, dwindles to the miserable
Synergistic inhalation, quickly comes to pivotal
A tad theatrical , though tragedy overshadow's
I don’t know, somethings in the air or I’m an asshole
Traffic drags legato, stale can’s tobacco
Scan casual act the maggot inside the apple
Last minute beseeching, trembling to street pee
No credible retreating, assembling to these feet
Bell goes bleep, Gentle in its release
Resentfully I’m entering the belly of the beast
The city beats giddily, Escher relativity
Stepping off the hell machine, domestic fest proclivity
Expression of the pent up lead from venting the precarious
Badlam, sanitarium adventures to interior
Theres no articulation for the terror I experience
When enter congregations in collective drink delirium
Various nefarious perils project from pretext
"I might have oversight my imbibe-ment" is a defence
A sober pony trojan, mostly go un noticed
Note book’s, prose from the underground is cogent
Hooded cloak, just another bloke in the ocean
Coping mechanisms, Levee lost to heavy doses
God’s lonely man, poster boy to the ‘Scholomance'
Misanthrope engrossing in the poetry of holding hands
Think not, quick ‘Vom’-when's this thing stop?
Absorbed in this horror like a Rorschach ink blot
-—
The sewer's seeping lava, out of body panorama
Misery is twinkling beneath her balaclava
This unabashed a drama, so tangled up trauma
Can’t imagine the baggage carried centuries as a phantom
Ingesting of the spirits, coldly ghosting confrontation
Yet exorcism here a quote "unsightly amputation"
The “purge” awaits liturgy for the nerve intoxication
Submerge the self enveloped in disturbing consultations
Observation as cadaver paddle drowning in the bath tub
Mixing gin with shifty grin’s distilling in the last pub
Gas fuck, capture instagram and have a last look
Like I said, somethings in the air or I’m an asshole
Persona non grata, whats the crack into an omelette?
Excommunication - drunk dialling back through a faucet
Vomit washed away- river urine (Your in) dry as well
Just a bit craic, but plays out like a cry for help
credits
released March 27, 2020
Written, produced and performed by Leigh Michael
Artwork by Ross Curran
Native to Bray Co. Wicklow, Leigh Michael is a diverse rapper who practices a wide variety of styles and collaborates with
different producers.
Today taking a psychedelic approach to lyricism he continues to pay homage to the schools of thought that transformed his perspective on what it means to lead a happy and fulfilling life....more
