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Smartphones? GMOs? A seven-figure fajita heist? The Higgs boson? CRISPR? Reality TV president? Pizza with mini-cheeseburgers in the crust? Who's writing this shit? We live in a time of relentless mindfucks and casual entropy. For the sake of a functional metaphor about who writes history, let's personify this energy as God. Nearly a quarter of the way into the digital circus of the 21st century, I find myself nursing the only credible theory I can come up with: Heaven's got a hostage situation - man broke into God's corner office with a 3D-printed gun and has been forcing him to continue writing history solely for his amusement. Why? He's a petulant child, impatient, squirming, losing faith in the story and the whole damn thing and deciding to take matters into his own hands. So he storms up there, breaks in, and forces God, who prefers to labor over his plot points, to write faster and faster, for more and more yucks. Now, the once endearingly slow God is nervous, sweating, discombobulated, and just making shit up. Man seems to be reveling in the decadent, nihilistic yarns he's forcing God to spin - scribbling monuments to speed, entertainment, apathy and information over quality, art, passion, and knowledge. He's gloating. He's getting cavalier. Each new chapter is more indulgent, more reckless, more absurd. The word palimpsest describes a scroll which has been written on several times by scraping or washing the previous writing off to make space available for a new text, with traces of the previous writing often remaining. There can be many layers, and the more there are, the more indecipherable they become. Human nature is itself becoming a palimpsest. 'Scraped clean and ready to be used again', as the literal translation reveals, seems to be evolving into our motto. The crowded and ridiculous script currently in the foreground is beginning to bury some of the precious and most basic foundations of our nature - wonder, instinct, focus, altruism, etc. We've got to remember, and the way to remember is to grab a shovel. Let's whack this idiot over the head and start digging.


papa buried wonder six feet under
it was low him vs high him
forced to tell the story of another
cock goes the hammer, he starts writing

papa buried wonder six feet under
put short sins past warnings
magic was the science of the jungle
now he play the ink in shapes of violence

these years
the nervous scribbles
of a slow god
with a 3D-printed gun to his temple

I'ma dig up wonder six feet under
there are more things than sure things
constant creeps blaring kazoos to gimme the bad news
speed curse, heat hearse
beasts of brunch on ghetto safari
what's this sick miracle? an empty second?
can't stand another!
pleading with the tardy savior

help me dig up wonder six feet under
we're dancing on its grave
Cicero bleeds in a puddle of ink
welders' gloves on his feet
roll head, no hands
there's a man on the tv in his front tooth shouting
grid the grass! piss on the past!
the pen will pardon those who live fast!

these years
the nervous scribbles
of a slow god
with a 3D-printed gun to his temples

wash me in your milk and bran
I'm pluck proud waiting for your hand
I'm scraped clean and ready to be used again
scraped clean and ready to be used again
used again


from Know​-​No EP, released December 7, 2018


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Satori Loser New York

Satori Loser is a Brooklyn-based art rock project led by songwriter-poet Tyler Wilson. The band rallies around Wilson's impressionistic narratives of personal experience and cultural criticism, drawing on styles ranging from post-punk to jazz, noise, shoegaze, folk, funk, and world music.


Insta: @satoriloser
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