Sketches of a New Minotaur

by Ape Bastard

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Hip hopera exploring the New Minotaur. Click track for lyrics.


released February 8, 2011

This EP recontextualizes the following sources:
"Sons and Daughters of Hungry Ghosts" - Wolf Parade,
"Dialudid" - The Mountain Goats,
"Radio Minotaur" - Jeff Bryant,
"Fighting Away The Tears" - Leslie Feist

All songs by Ape Bastard, except "The Witch" by Ape Bastard and Keegan Dyer.
Thanks to K. Dyer, D. Josey, and C. Walton.
Special thanks to Shawn Guess (
Dedicated to the legacy of Don Van Vliet.
Mastered by Shawn Guess.




Ape Bastard Columbia, South Carolina

Deep down in an Aztec tomb, I hear it. Calling from the underdepths, an abyssal giant chants "APE" against the ocean floor. I place my hands, cruentation! Blood, a guilty verdict, and I'm done.

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Track Name: Sketches of a New Minotaur
Part 1: House of Locks (verses D. Josey, chorus K. Dyer)

(Nothing will ever be O.K.)

"It rained all day,"
is a way to say,
that pay to play,
didn't work your way,
so navigate the ocean freighter;
a stowaway on the goddamn way to
the icy south, dry mouth
as you stifle coughs in a freezing box
like a mouse in house of locks.

The night watch stumbles by but can't be bothered with every why
and every goddamn sound, so creep around
until you're at home in town;
you fucking clown, you've done it now,
so watch the sun go down;
float freely but your mind is bound.

I thought it'd be ok,
With nothing left to say,
I let myself drift away.

Slip past guards and chilean broads,
and think, "Everyone's got some place to be,
and Samuel Rhea's waiting for me;
even beyond the sea isn't really all that free."

With a bounty and a plea guilty to a killing spree, screaming banshee,
now you're an absentee,
left at the hands
of the boursesie.

Lunacy, flicking fleas, just a skeleton key
in a house of locks.
pick at your skin,
rough with pocks,
the needle drops,
you turn around
and see that face,
the one that never goes away
from that place
you'll never escape,
and the debt you can't repay.

Part 2: Interlude

Part 3: The Witch

She beckons me,
I see the leaves ripped from the orange trees,
on my knees, you know?
And the wind that blows takes me
ever closer to the one who lives below.

The coldest island, a pylon of forest in
the rough southern waters,
a new home, the witch brought us.

Every background and history ending in the same way;
once she gripped, he stayed in place.

"On second thought," he thought, "I might go off, off my head, but I'm getting soft."
A loss.

Desire within to win affection
from the sin that engulfs the
whole fucking island.

Fire in the blood it chills
with the realization of promised thrills.
Icy hands on the bowels,
Sybillant, elongated vowels,
The words drip around my ears
Tongue on skin, through the air
Voices licking, look for fear
And in the end, I'm not sure if I care

Because eventually its poison,
Something that changes and erases,
Old mirrors show new faces,
offered power is shared chains
Can I embrace the lanes,
The avenues of control?
Or do I lose my soul?

Part 4: Stutter

Fixed it, the wicked mixed up slur of dada digits,
Nervous forced repetitious explosion from a nerdy midget;
The anxious hide-under-the-bed syllabic attack,
I think my fucking stutter is coming back.

I thought I'd fought the demons and what not, but a look in the carnival mirror brought them right up,
risen from the basement to the studio sessions,
your cold hands remind me of a time
when I wasn't tough enough to rhyme.
This is not bravery, but humility,
that lets an emcee bear his infection on his sleeve.

Like a stroke victim struggling to pull the words to the surface,
this is the worst, this is the worst it's ever been,
the mindset in elementary school begins,
a war against interaction,
invisibility cloaked against the outside pushing in.
I'm not looking for you to understand, just need a good book to help me disappear again.

Now i'm sobbing
"M-m-mom I need to die,
please just let me die and don't get mad,
tell dad."
M-m-more and more it's a chore to feed and breathe and wash,
you just need to stay away.
I think my fucking stutter's coming back.

Part 5: Hollistic Revisionist

Hollistic revisionists-
christian scientists,
heist, hoist, blue noise
lotus thick scent
the sixth sense-
8bit black masses,
sack sashes, and 6 lashes.
Sick lasses ask, "If god's not dead,
whose ashes are in the urn?"
Rainy stroll at the funeral;
Fuck it dude, let's go bowl.

Voiceless choices
Wordless curses
Boistrous forces
Unkempt sources
Mundane corses
Ancient forces

Deliver us from evil,
seal the seal, then duck out of the real,
leave tuberculosis and the AKs behind.
Let 'em speak what's on their minds,
find mines in abortion lines;
it's a fine time to rewind time
time rewind to time fine uh it's

Don't forget to set the clocks back
Don't regret a step on sharp tacks
Don't be set on getting payback
Don't, don't, don't
Don't forget who set your hearts free
Don't regret the alter of ivory
Don't you let these people mock me
Don't, don't, don't

Give and take,
take and leave,
leave and plunge,
and then destroy.
They're children with broken happy meal toys,
a seeping noise, lamenting joys:

Cemented belief in a rotting thearch,
Brain strewn walls, new sign of the fall
and they'll all die, never recognize
the lies, disguise, and suicide of
their once great master, got all he was after,
He ducked out as their pastor,
signed his sig red up against the plaster;
new covenant of the holy blaster.
Faster than you can say "cognitive dissonance,"
they start to dance and welcome the song of the ambulance,
set up tents via cosmic hints.

Part 6: Interlude

Part 7: Survivalist Daydreams (New Myth of the Minotaur)

Splayed out, dirty mouth,
alone watching the living dead:
Night of- Day of- Return of the way of...
You wanna know what I see? You'd learn
more from my tv,
an autobiography of rotten minced meat and an inner-outer peace fantasy,
Alone at last, at home in a empty city.

Which do you fear? Stumbling hordes or focused lords?
And is it fear or joy when you imagine your own survival?
A black laugh at a zealous frenzied revivial?
If you had the cure would you destroy every vial?
If you had an inch would you take every mile?
(If you had the cure would you destroy every last vial?)

These are questions you don't want to answer,
are you free from the cancer of the outside world?
I want an excuse to lose the guilt, a shotgun blast isn't bad-
if the victim's clad in death rags.
A last bad egg with infection, be the trial judge and jury,
you won this election, make the most of it,
make toast of shitheads you find climbing outta bed.
So cut the thread; see enemies more clearly when they're covered in gore,
merely casualties of war,
Neighbors they are no more.
Friends they are no more.

Jerkoffs going soft;
Who admires loud talkers in
the land of the night stalkers?
Assholes die quickly, shitty friends who won't miss me:
A nation of hungry rats who try their best to pass along
their own pain, their scaled skin, their hate within,
their disease, and they try to make me one of them.
They try to make me one of them, but luck, skill, and preparation, my saving graces and the only way I'm surviving
learned so much from romero, keeps the poison out of my marrow,
but I know I'm slowly dying.
Zombies, every last one of them, a bunch of savages, this town.
Focus now, must find food before the sunset, stores full but under lock and key,
Corporate dedication in the afterlife, continuation of lack of dignity,
but isn't this what I dreamt of? Hermithood with a side of anarchy,
It just took a movie to see what society meant to me;
night of the living was already too scary,
taught me to be wary,
never befriend, aquaint, or marry.

Myth of the minotaur:
I sought alienation until it found me,
now these cement walls surround me
and now these demon hunters hound me,
but once they all try and fail,
I will be alone with just the sound,
the pounding in my throbbing head.
With the whole city dead
who do I hate instead?
The pain mirrors in,
I see me for what I am,
and no arrows can begin
the trip I know I'm taking,
the path of the unwanted lamb.