The History of Flesh

by Zachariah Holte

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Camryn Marquez
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Camryn Marquez A beautiful examination of human sexuality, desires, and madness. A clear and poetic detailing of the intimate relationship between phallic and amorous stimulation and the profound effects that that has on our perception of the world- however nightmarish or beautiful that relationship may lead our perception to become. Favorite track: Zachariah Holte - Secret Practice.
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  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    Disc comes in a HANDMADE case which was meticulously and painstakingly crafted by Zachariah Holte using bits of torn and burnt pages, scraps from old books of poetry, pornography, textbooks on natural sciences and geography, foreign money, and religious scripture. Each case is HANDCRAFTED uniquely and tediously to provide the purchaser with a distinct and wholly exclusive piece of tangible artistic material. Each copy possesses at least two unique, special, and idiosyncratic texts which act as a ceremonious caption to the uniform photograph featured on each copy. The disc also includes a BONUS TRACK entitled "The History of Flesh (Regurgitated)" which WILL NOT be available anywhere else. Only 25 copies made!

    Includes unlimited streaming of The History of Flesh via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
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      $40 USD or more 

     

  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

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about

"Bravest, most far out, intense, frightening record I have heard in a decade." - Jamie Stewart of Xiu Xiu

"Zachariah Holte completely deconstructs art and reality, flesh and spirit. What we hear is an intimate, erotic, and absurdly dramatic work." - Papel Cult

*Contributions:

Additional guitar, harmonica, and vocals on track 3. I Am All of Us by William England

Mandolin, xylophone, and penny whistle on track 6. Secret Practice by William England

Additional vocals on track 3. I Am All of Us by Jennifer Margell

Additional words and vocal recitations in left and right panel of track 5. A Triptych by Jamie Mowrey

credits

released June 2, 2015

Copyright © Zachariah Holte 2015
Recorded in Granite Shoals, Kingsland, and Marble Falls, Texas
All lyrics, music, and production by Zachariah Holte*
Mastered by Zachariah Holte
Photographs by Zachariah Holte

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Track Name: Zachariah Holte - Ines
Ines

This world is merely sensation alone.
Your green eyes erase the value of my body.
Deep within sentiment I find you naked and astute
keen to all the horrors I plan to subject you to.
This may well be my last invitation of sacrifice.
Empty yourself into me all those years of shame and pain all of which sexually excites me.
Enfeebled by reflection I have begun to celebrate you!
(My lust materializes within the crudity of your body.)
As I bow beneath your hermaphroditic body and I begin to desecrate you in a verbose articulation of my love's holy adulation.
Now lost in the exhilaration of our sexual transfiguration.

This moment is merely obsession alone.
Your green eyes enervate the essence of my being.
Deep within fascination I find you naked and amused
impervious to all the humiliation I bestow upon you.
This may well be my last invitation to solitude.
Your Spanish incantations further this moments incomprehension which, of course,
sexually excites me.
Emasculated by your castration now it is I who must sodomize.
However quick to bow beneath your new singular female gender the one of which I choose for you, (I am witness to your youth.) in a maternal articulation of my love's holy adulation.
Now lost in the exhilaration of our sexual transfiguration.

But this moment means more to me than anything hitherto.
This moment means love heretofore and you are beautiful.

Our embrace is an exodus far from the nature of truth.
Our identities amalgamate, the asperity of our bodies becomes subsumed in this river of flesh.
We are beautiful.
We are beautiful
Yes, you are beautiful.

- Zachariah Holte
Track Name: Zachariah Holte - A World for Us
A World for Us

As much as I adore you your body punctuates my sickness.
I am ashamed.
I must confess I had been watching you.
This fantasy has built a whole world inside of me,
a world for us.
This has gone to far but there is no turning back.
I wish this was over but it has just begun.
-Naked as I lay on top of you; my hands around your neck.
I want to destroy you!
I have nothing left.
You belong to me;
I love you!

- Zachariah Holte
Track Name: Zachariah Holte - I Am All of Us
I Am All of Us

I am all of us, amorphous, in the history of flesh;
forever at war with this beast aging within us;
ancient, nameless.
It's face is this mirror which reflects my own disguise.
Revenant.
I awaited your return.
And now, night after night, I lay in your bed drifting through darkness.
I close my eyes...
Do I know where I am?
Do I know who I am?
I am...

Sexless, depraved broken by sentiment,
Your hands discreetly disclosing libertinage.

Merciless, dehumanized; wanton presentiment,
Your hands meticulously chronicle this debauchery.

Meadows blackened, broken by anodyne,
Your hands discarding this black rhetoric.

Revenant incipience; bewildered talisman,
Your hands disputing this ancient precedent.

Virginal whiteness; salacious antithesis,
Your mouth agape drinking from this chalice.

Acolyte, proselyte; servant of genuflection,
Your hands fervently conducting this enterprise.

Overture, aria; conduit of alacrity,
Your mouth agape reciting these ethics.

Prophetic injustice; awaiting penance,
Your hands discarding this insipid reverence.

Mirthful ignorance; asprinting towards nothingness,
Polymorphous within this diurnal resistance.

Virulent enmity; godless animality,
Your hands grasping garishly towards endlessness.

Inimical, beweeping; bemoaning this distance.

- Zachariah Holte
Track Name: Zachariah Holte - Wine and Heresy
Wine and Heresy

The hands of a clock come together as if time were applauding my endurance.
Your mouth met mine in a dream, prostrate to your embrace, I heard you speak.
"Worship me now; I am inside you."
"Reach for me now; this can be achieved."
The hands of a clock spread open as if time were begging me to believe.
But I know now that it is all a fucking illusion
for convictions are reserved for the weak.
I claim to posses no knowledge,
I am a hypocrite who feeds on cowardice I am merely one of the sheep.
But I am headed up this mountain where the butcher and his son now steep
the bloody entrails of my brothers in a chalice of stone filled with wine and heresy.
And I am offering up my body now in this sacrilegious ministry.
I see the Shepard there in the distance
his hands are raised towards our beginning.
His arms ablaze in this pire
where the heretics now copulate in pollution and disease.
And I am crawling up this goddamn mountain
edified by centuries of malice and deceit.
My body is torn and broken by years of mutilation, these hateful proclivities.
But I see my lovers face, I see her face there in the distance
and as I scream her name she smiles for me;
as I reach out to touch her body she parts her lips, beckoning:
"Remember me now; I am inside you."
"Remember me now; this can be achieved."
The hands of a clock perform concentric circles as if time were mocking my fucking lunacy.
The moon in the sky becomes adjacent
with a new constellation which comprises her body.
I pray to you now with enriched fervor;
I pray to you now as I sing.
Your voice in my head reaches me now as an echo, singing,
"Worship me now I am inside you."
"Reach for me now this can be achieved."
"Remember me now for I once touched you."
"Reach for me now as you bleed."
I worship you now
I love you!
I reach for you now as I bleed.
I worship you now
I love you!
I reach for you now.
Yes, I reach.

- Zachariah Holte
Track Name: Zachariah Holte - A Triptych
A Triptych

Left Panel:

Milking what’s left of the emotional well, always fearing that tomorrow will be dry. I am tired, and I wish to sleep. Yet, I am either vainly denying myself necessities (i.e. sleep, peace) or feasting upon them with a deep indulgence. Balance is untouchable. Mediocrity is inevitable. How can it be so? How can I be so stupidly conflicted? So obviously at war with my ugly, hilarious contradictions? I have been asking myself unanswered questions for far too long. When will my mouth close and in the absence of my voice be action, movement, progression? Anyone can talk and dream, envision and scribble. Only the damned are stuck, inconclusive, divided…unmoved. Only a fool remains unmoved. And I am unmoved. I am still. I have been chained to my fears and resistance for so long that all I can do is dream my cowardly dreams in the darkness.—I wish to explode, vomit my emotions, make my own guts turn violently within me, reminding me of a life that was once here. Life that I tried so hard to control, it slipped from me, in a fall from grace. A deviation of reality has slowly taken its own shape, twisting my vision, so that I cannot see any longer what are afflictions of the world and what are afflictions I have brought upon myself.

-Jamie Mowrey


Center Panel:

Oh let me be nothing but a stone, a flower, a mere grave in the masterful Eden of your mind! Let me perish there in laborious disgrace, in toil, in the bondage of your wanton love. I will dig! I will break the soil of your flesh, depositing into the earth a forced progeny, to which the vanity of birth and rebirth can arrive each season everlasting.—Everlasting my misery!

Oh let me be nothing but a servant, a pariah, a vagrant of epiphany, in the delinquency of your youth! Let me fester and writhe in the appearance of beauty, of celebrity, of the animality of being. I will beg! I will lower myself into your depths, only to emerge in your murderous psychosis. A new witness to blood everlasting.— Everlasting my misery!

Oh let me be nothing, not a man, not a being, nor will I exist in your glorious avarice! Let me bathe in the amorphous; allow me to bathe in the putridity, in the voluptuousness of this spiritual desecration. I will atomize! I will become rapturous upon the mouth of your present station, rejoicing in this bestial incantation everlasting.—Everlasting my misery!

-Zachariah Holte


Right Panel:

(I pull the branches back...)

Although I feel well grounded, with two feet firmly here in this cavity I have made for myself, I can feel the sweet swiftness that is a consequence of these winds of change. I see them pull at my hair and clothes faltering, and my heart and brain are in mid-balancing act when I am taken, admitted, to this place only I can find.

(Ellipsis)

It was always a grey day, the temperature always too cool for the month; a thick rain, the kind of rain that chokes you upon walking outdoors, was right outside the bedroom window—it was in the way that you awoke on these days as though it were the weather that was allowing you to feel sentiment for a day, to cage the apathy, or weaken it just enough for you to feel the warmth of infatuation fill you up for slight moments. I could always recognize a good day by the way your eyes held life in those moments, and although I don't recall a smile, your face spoke of a similar gesture. A less flashy sister of the smile, a very subtle way of showing contentment. She was modest and exotic and entrancing, and I searched for her each morning upon my own awakening. To this day I believe that the hope I possessed for the time between mornings like that, the ones where hours past like minutes from the confines of lover’s sheets, and where your flesh in my possession felt deserved and just, that the time in between would soon diminish was what kept me going each day.—Sadly the moments grew thin and the sentiment grew weary, as everything did.

-Jamie Mowrey
Track Name: Zachariah Holte - Secret Practice
Secret Practice

Do you value control?
Is your sickness a compulsion inclined towards flesh?
What gifts do you accrue from this secret practice?
What role does pornography play in this morbid conceptsis?

And do you realize your fascination borders upon the malignant and absurd?
The key to your satisfaction derives from the automatic sensations of sexual rapture.

During the repulsive nature of your work, the links at which you will go to excite yourself,
do you recollect these acts of cruelty within sentiment?
Be there no limitations to the world of pain and affliction!
What sinister declaration will further enliven your embellishments?

Can you begin to realize the damaging extend of this lascivious enterprise?
Fueled by desperation in a drunken madness.
Do you have the will to abnegate this distorted celebration?

Man must beguile himself, yes you told me this; all your beauty defiled in the end.
Long behold!
Your body within this kingdom.
Long behold!
Bygone towards inception.
Man must beguile himself, yes you told me this; all your beauty defiled in the end.
Aperture at which I lay, my body unfolds then triplicates.
The point of inception begins with your hands as you manipulate my fucking mouth agape.
Armature at which I burn, your flesh inflamed, my flesh incinerates.
The point of inception begins with your shame as you masturbate my fucking skull cavitates.
Impresario of human suffering conduct my pain while I beg.

- Zachariah Holte
Track Name: Zachariah Holte - From Which I Drink
From Which I Drink

Your mouth opens from which I drink.
Your mouth opens from which I drink.
Your mouth opens from which I drink.
Your mouth opens from which I drink.
Your mouth opens from which I drink.

Your eyes open from which I dream.
Your eyes open reflecting our misery.

Your body opens composing this elegy.
Your body opens confirming my belief.

Your bowels now emptied, all your beauty eclipsed by my grief.
Your bowels now emptied, all your beauty eclipsed by my grief.

Your arms, outstretched and open, will forever wrap around me.
Your arms, as they open, shall forever remain wrapped around me.

Your hands, as they open, reveal the secret of our shared dreams.
Your tiny hands, as they open, reveal the secrets I now keep.

Your feet, now swollen, are the alters at which I weep.
Your feet, now swollen, are the alters I bow beneath.

This child's flesh I found decomposing alongside all of our shared dreams.
This child's flesh, found decomposing, shall be burned and scattered amidst the sea.

Your passion, all the love betoken, I will preserve within me.
Your beauty, all the joy betoken, I owe it all to thee.

Your life, as it opens, please grace me with your memory.
Your glory as it opens; I am forever grateful to thee.

Your mouth opens from which I drink.
Your mouth opens from which I drink.
Your mouth opens from which I drink.
Your mouth opens from which I drink.
Your mouth opens from which I breath.

- Zachariah Holte
Track Name: Zachariah Holte - The History of Flesh
The History of Flesh

As I bathe in the amorphous being you have become allow me to imbibe the putridity of your voluptuousness; allow me to embark upon this journey towards Mammon; allow me to fondle, to molest the uncertainty of darkness.

Now the future is unfolding deep within your vastness, (And your memories, they have all erased me.) until all is subsumed in this violent reverie.

From this dream I awoke, adulating your body, yes, worshiping your body.
From this dream I awoke, adulating your body, yes, worshiping your body.

I am a servant to the image of this child; I am a servant to this photograph.
I am a servant to the image of this child; I am a servant to your photograph.
I am servant to the image of this child; I am servant to your photograph.

And all of our forewarnable services are enveloped in this prophesy. I have festered and I have writhed in the appearance of beauty while my body decomposes in this history of flesh.

The weight of flesh; the weight of grace.
The sack of flesh; these moments of grace.
The weight of flesh; the weight of grace.
The sack of flesh; these moments of grace.

(We are drunk now, the genesis of you and I.)
We are drunk now, the genesis of you and I.
As the wheeling falcon eats my flesh,
ripping at the ribbons of carnality,
your memory unfolds,
you were born of memory.
The past retreats deep within your garden,
the soil now afire.
(The last ceremony of our sickness.)
Each moment broken by this paradigm of sickness.
Memory as an autumnal hymn;
suggestions of Christ's birth;
serpents coming ever closer...

(We are drunk now, the genesis of you and I.)
We are drunk now.
The twilight has burnt away,
each fountain emptied of pleasure,
neither rock nor stone remains.
I erect myself within the death constellation,
far beyond the passage of ages.
This dream was mine, apostolic,
(The last spectacle of this arcane embrace.)
dissolving within this sidereal embrace.
This dream was not my own;
I am drunk with language and exhaustion.
(We are drunk now, the genesis of you and I.)
We are drunk now, the genesis of you and I.
I am not here to feed you.
(We are drunk now, the genesis of you and I.)
This dream was not my own.

- Zachariah Holte