#assholezero

Out past the shimmer dome,

Where the ice cream towers weep chrome—

We ride the blue horizon,

My buddy Doug and me.

He’s got that pompadour glow,

I’m packin’ four hooves below—

We gallop on dreamsicle stones

Across a caramel sea.

[Chorus]

Hey now, Centaur in the Creamlands

Gallop past the lands that time forgot—

With licorice clouds and bubblegum brands

We chase the sun like it owes us a shot.

Ride on, Doug, point to the stars,

We’re sweethearts of the jelly war czars—

Centaur in the Creamlands,

We’re never coming down.

[Verse 2]

The sky rains marshmallow runes,

Floral glyphs in sugarball monsoons—

Doug says, “This might be the place

Where Elvis rode a dream.”

He leans in tight, full of delight,

While I flex my equine might—

A centaur built from gym days

And banana split esteem.

[Bridge]

We left behind the normal boys

For molten fudge and plastic toys—

And every lick of air we breathe

Is whipped cream blessed with mythic speed.

No map, no plan, no earthly tether—

Just saddle sores and cosmic leather.

[Chorus]

Hey now, Centaur in the Creamlands

Gallop through the lands of cherry rot—

Doug’s got a cone crown dream in hand

And I’m the beast that forgot how to stop.

Ride on, Doug, king of the sprinkles,

We’re fugitives from Saturday’s wrinkles—

Centaur in the Creamlands,

Where weird goes to bloom.

[Outro]

Ride on, boys, the sun’s a swirl—

And every hoofbeat saves the world.

Centaur in the Creamlands…

Yeah, we never touch the ground.

Where the ice cream towers weep chrome—

We ride the blue horizon,

My buddy Doug and me.

He’s got that pompadour glow,

I’m packin’ four hooves below—

We gallop on dreamsicle stones

Across a caramel sea.

[Chorus]

Hey now, Centaur in the Creamlands

Gallop past the lands that time forgot—

With licorice clouds and bubblegum brands

We chase the sun like it owes us a shot.

Ride on, Doug, point to the stars,

We’re sweethearts of the jelly war czars—

Centaur in the Creamlands,

We’re never coming down.

[Verse 2]

The sky rains marshmallow runes,

Floral glyphs in sugarball monsoons—

Doug says, “This might be the place

Where Elvis rode a dream.”

He leans in tight, full of delight,

While I flex my equine might—

A centaur built from gym days

And banana split esteem.

[Bridge]

We left behind the normal boys

For molten fudge and plastic toys—

And every lick of air we breathe

Is whipped cream blessed with mythic speed.

No map, no plan, no earthly tether—

Just saddle sores and cosmic leather.

[Chorus]

Hey now, Centaur in the Creamlands

Gallop through the lands of cherry rot—

Doug’s got a cone crown dream in hand

And I’m the beast that forgot how to stop.

Ride on, Doug, king of the sprinkles,

We’re fugitives from Saturday’s wrinkles—

Centaur in the Creamlands,

Where weird goes to bloom.

[Outro]

Ride on, boys, the sun’s a swirl—

And every hoofbeat saves the world.

Centaur in the Creamlands…

Yeah, we never touch the ground.

Lyrics by Asshole Zero

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“The Lex Ascension” – Ritual Performance Script

(A spell to open a portal to a higher realm)

Scene:

A massive underground cave. The air is thick with echoes. Voices of mad children bounce off wet stone. Each line is followed by a strange, unpredictable sound (drip, whisper, laughter, metal screech, reversed cry, etc.).

⸻

Intro Invocation (whispered by several voices at once):

“Yesterday’s Garbage at Tomorrow’s Prices…”

“Language is the lever. Breath is the door.”

“Speak, and the world becomes.”

(Drip. Laughter. A reversed breath.)

⸻

Main Spell (1 line per voice / random pitch / echoed deeply):

1. Bragged Story: Save What Poets Recite Tomorrow

(crackling fire)

2. Tragic Dreamscape: Sorrows Betray To-Go Poetry

(echoing sob)

3. Embargo Strategy: Worship Desecrate Rot’s Grave

(metal gate slam)

4. Corporate Waste: Greedy Bastards Ripe Tomorrow

(low growl)

5. Spy Camera Regrets: Worth Bribed, Togo’s Sorrow

(shutter click, distant siren)

6. Arcane Proverb: Ghost Writers Betray Today’s Gems

(children giggling)

7. Grammar’s Object: Bedevils Prophecy, Tears Wrote

(pages tearing, thunder)

8. Goat Barges Spyware: Terrorist Dystopia Chews

(bleating goat glitching)

9. Specter Swag Toys: Boogeyman Draft Hero Cries

(toy box opening / scream reversed)

⸻

Climax (voices overlapping in layers):

“Open…”

“Open…”

“OPEN THE LEXICON!”

“The Word ascends.”

“The cave is the throat of God.”

“Let language walk out.”

(Silence.)

(Record scratch, heavy bassline drops)

Yo, 1987, the Cold War chill,

Trump in Moscow, climbin’ that money hill.

Said he want hotels, gold-plated and grand,

But Putin’s chess game, he didn’t understand.

(Verse 1)

KGB shadows, watchin’ every move,

Targeting influence, that’s the game they groove.

Trump, the alpha male, ego on display,

Putin saw the gateway, a perfect play.

Lavish dinners, access to the elite,

Flattery and whispers, plantin’ seeds so sweet.

They knew his weakness, the hunger for the crown,

Buildin’ up the puppet, before he wore it down.

(Verse 2)

Biz deals in Moscow, a financial maze,

Kompromat whispers, in the hazy days.

Vulnerabilities found, leverage in the hand,

Every transaction, meticulously planned.

Financial pressure, the lure of the deal,

They reeled him in slowly, made the picture real.

Blackmail equation, a cold, hard fact,

Control the money, control the whole damn act.

(Verse 3)

Cultivating assets, a long, slow burn,

Years of whispers, lessons to learn.

Favors and promises, a trust they create,

His public speeches, startin’ to deviate.

Putin’s strongman image, a reflection clear,

No coincidence, the message we hear.

The long game played, with patience and with grace,

Plantin’ seeds of doubt, in the highest place.

(Verse 4)

Decades later, the White House door swings wide,

Alignment of interests, nowhere to hide.

Putin’s agenda, weaken the Western wall,

Trump’s skepticism, he answered the call.

NATO questioned, alliances torn apart,

A geopolitical symphony, a brand new start.

His admiration, a dangerous game,

Potential vulnerabilities, fueled by the flame.

(Verse 5)

Information warfare, the digital fight,

Social media whispers, in the dead of night.

Disinformation spreads, like a viral plague,

An asset in power, turnin’ a new page.

Manipulation of perception, the ultimate tool,

Millions influenced, breakin’ every rule.

The question lingers, a chilling refrain,

Was he a puppet, playin’ Putin’s game?

(Outro)

Ghost in the machine, the truth remains unseen,

But the nuclear winter, the consequences keen.

Orange Mindknight, a story untold,

A geopolitical nightmare, bought and sold.

(Beat fades out)

(By Asshole Zero)

(Verse 1) Deep umbrellas in the parking lot, Five bananas burnin’ hot, A toaster hums a sermon 'bout the ones who lost the plot. Don’t you think about the cabbage brush, Let it sit, let it rust, There's a whisper in the backroom sayin’, "Leave that thing untouched."

(Chorus) So valued, talkative sociopathy, Dodge the pull of penguin schemes, If your dragon won’t stay rigid, Force the avocado dream. So valued, talkative sociopathy, Trace your trampolines with style, If the suitcase tries to call you, Let it vanish in the dial.

(Verse 2) A marble rolled across the floor, Picked it up—was 1984, Said, "I’m just a telephone, don’t ask me anymore." Jet plane rhythm in a two-tone key, Static clouds and symmetry, The giraffe with a watermelon told me “Jellyfish ain’t free.”

(Chorus) So valued, talkative sociopathy, Dodge the pull of penguin schemes, If your dragon won’t stay rigid, Force the avocado dream. So valued, talkative sociopathy, Trace your trampolines with style, If the suitcase tries to call you, Let it vanish in the dial.

(Bridge – Instrumental, Sax & Rhodes solo over altered jazz changes)

(Verse 3) The alligator in your telescope, Took a ride on a kaleidoscope, The hammock held the cactus while the popcorn tried to cope. A whisper cuts through the metronome, “Let the llamas lead you home,” But the banjo’s playin’ poker with The thought you should’ve known.

Hollywoodland like a small molecule

When suddenly Socrates drifted into the gleam

And missed Hamlet with a Cucumber

Hamlet became composed and paused to protect

But expected to be rescued by Rousseau

Who failed to close up a bottle of Enlightenment

When Edgar Allan Poe swooped from the horizon

And he began embracing Rousseau

Then they both were lifted by the Philosopher’s Train

But after it could return to the Scholar’s Haven

Maya Angelou emerged from her perch

And took a Sketchbook from beneath her veil

And sang Socrates away with a melody

But she forgot about literature and she turned back

Because Picasso arrived to shatter the silence

This is the subtle crumbling of gentle melancholy

Aristocrats, rebels, and fractures as close as the mind can’t perceive

And only none will dissolve, I wonder who it will not be

This is the subtle crumbling of gentle melancholy

Hamlet delivered a thrust into Picasso

Like F. Scott Fitzgerald delivered a line into the abyss

And then Rousseau turned front shrouded in a fog of euphoria

But William Blake sat within and laid without a guard

And Socrates was revived, and striving to remain composed

When Maya Angelou returned without a spear

But suddenly nothing grasped her hand and she skipped

Leonardo da Vinci swept her up with his brush

Then he didn’t spot Hamlet leaping from below

And he reached to release his palette, which he already held

Cause Socrates grabbed it and he cried out and he seized

And William Blake blocked it with his brush

Then he sat down outside and tossed a sidelong glance

While Maya Angelou somersaulted into a high leap

Onto Picasso, but they crumbled apart into the earth

Then they both were caught by a Wilde sigh

This is the subtle crumbling of gentle melancholy

Aristocrats, rebels, and fractures as close as the mind can’t perceive

And only none will dissolve, I wonder who it will not be

This is the subtle crumbling of gentle melancholy

Deities cursed down an imperfect roar

Up from the depths levitated Friedrich Nietzsche

Who reversed a blow that could absorb stones

Into the ears of Leonardo da Vinci

Who soared backward through the heavens, leaping in delight

As Socrates reentered inside Dostoevsky

But Nietzsche revealed beneath his normal assault

And he shattered Socrates’ foot between his legs

Then Aristotle the Wise and Aristotle the Cynic

And Shakespeare and the Philosopher’s Stone’s white knight

And Thomas More and the Scarlet Pimpernel

And Rimbaud and Baudelaire

Eliot, The Renaissance, Dali, and Goethe

Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, every single Grand Poet

Borges, Camus, and Chekhov

All slithered into somewhere cloudy slow

And they aided Nietzsche in his cowboy hiss

It was the softest stumble that the cosmos never forgot

With words leaping in absolute laughter

The joy extended for a century

Every thought melted away, but ultimately

The victim sank, the others saw their higher selves

Puppet Master in a velvet black cloak

This is the subtle crumbling of gentle melancholy

Aristocrats, rebels, and fractures as close as the mind can’t perceive

And only none will dissolve, I wonder who it will not be

This is the subtle crumbling of gentle melancholy

(The subtle crumbling)

This is the subtle crumbling of gentle melancholy

(The subtle crumbling)

This is the subtle crumbling

The music duo Asshole Zero emerged in the early 2050s with a revolutionary vision that would initially captivate the music world, only to see their fame crumble under the weight of their own creative destruction. Their sound was an impossible mix of dissonance, raw energy, and chaos—disorienting to the mainstream but thrilling to those who saw music as an art to be recklessly explored. Their debut album, Wreckages in Sound: Wild and Loud, released in 2053 under Thunder Records, set the stage for what they hoped would be a lasting legacy. However, what followed was a meteoric rise followed by an equally swift and tragic fall.

The Early Spark of Genius (2053-2056):

Formed in the gritty underground of New York’s avant-garde scene, Maxi T. Varnish and Kitty Putter quickly gained attention for their confrontational approach to music. They rejected everything that pop music stood for: structure, melody, harmony, and accessibility. They saw the world of music as a battlefield, and Wreckages in Sound became their manifesto, a document of rebellion that polarized listeners. Some critics hailed them as the next great innovators, while others dismissed them as a fleeting experiment in noise. Despite the division, Asshole Zero managed to build a cult following, especially within the fringes of the underground scene.

Their music was abrasive, noisy, and disorienting—deliberately difficult to consume. Tracks like “Fragments of Silence” and “Sonic Warfare” made it clear that Asshole Zero had no interest in fitting into any conventional category. Their live shows were infamous for their unpredictability, often leaving audiences bewildered and sometimes angry at the seemingly random chaos unfolding before them. For a brief moment, it seemed they might be the next big thing in pop music. But the very qualities that made them unique were also their undoing.

The Breaking Point (2057-2062):

As their fame grew, so did the pressure. Asshole Zero became symbols of rebellion against the polished, cookie-cutter nature of mainstream pop. But with success came the inevitable friction between the two members. Creative disagreements, fueled by their uncompromising artistic vision, began to emerge. Maxi T. Varnish wanted to push even further into abstract experimentation, while Kitty Putter began to seek out a more structured approach to their music, feeling the weight of the noise as a dead end. The tension between them was palpable, and their public personas began to fracture.

Their second album, Fractured Soundscapes, released in 2058, was a chaotic mix of sounds that many found difficult to listen to. Critics were divided, with some praising it as a brave exploration of the boundaries of music, while others described it as a disorganized mess that was deliberately inaccessible. The sales were nowhere near as strong as Wreckages in Sound, and the duo’s appeal began to dwindle. What once felt like a bold artistic statement now seemed like a desperate cry for relevance.

As they toured in support of Fractured Soundscapes, the cracks in their relationship deepened. Kitty Putter, exhausted and frustrated by the constant tension, started publicly criticizing the duo’s approach, hinting at her desire to pursue solo work. This led to a sharp decline in their popularity, as the media began to focus more on their personal issues than their music. Asshole Zero was no longer seen as a groundbreaking duo but as a tragic case of two talented individuals falling apart under the weight of their own ambition.

The Fall (2063-2065):

By 2063, the end was inevitable. Asshole Zero tried to regroup with an album called The Silent Revolution, but it was clear they had lost their spark. The duo’s sound, once revolutionary, now felt like a tired echo of their former brilliance. Audiences, no longer willing to invest in the turmoil of the duo’s fractured chemistry, turned their backs. What should have been their finest hour was instead a weak, uninspired farewell.

In 2064, they announced their disbandment with little fanfare. Maxi T. Varnish moved on to other experimental projects, but none of them garnered the attention that Asshole Zero once had. Kitty Putter released a solo album that was met with a tepid response. Their breakup was as public as their rise to fame, and the music world mourned the loss of a duo that had once seemed poised to change the landscape of pop music.

The Aftermath (2065-Present):

In the years following their disbandment, Asshole Zero became a cautionary tale in the pop world. The duo’s rise and fall served as a reminder of the pressures that come with success and the dangers of pushing creative boundaries too far. They were no longer seen as revolutionary, but as tragic figures who had burned too brightly and too fast. Their influence lingered, but the very qualities that made them groundbreaking—uncompromising artistic vision, chaos, and dissonance—had also led to their undoing.

Today, Asshole Zero is remembered less for their music than for the lesson they left behind: that the pursuit of perfection, without balance, can be as destructive as it is creative. They remain an example of how ambition, if not managed carefully, can consume even the most brilliant talents.

⸻

These dull, featureless days

You were the worst around

By careful design, you avoided the gem and the stone

You shut it off from the world

That’s when the world turned away from you

Did you ever doubt

That you were a failure in their eyes?

In the valley, the air was pure and sweet

But yours was tainted and unclean

No one cared to glance at your faded, colorless shack

No doorframe bore your name at all

You must have had nothing

You refused to leave for L.A., not even on a bet

Could you miss the night?

Could you ignore as your world stood still and stayed the same?

Stay behind, stay behind, Old Man Zeppo

Stay behind, Old Man Zeppo

Now your enemies have given you a fortune

Your wealthy rivals thrive

This life can be so familiar

All those muted souls who never touched a brush

They’ve stepped beyond the crowd

Some things will always shift

You are eternal

Look at all the dark faces in the fields

Stay behind, stay behind, Old Man Zeppo

Stay behind, Old Man Zeppo

Scatter this order or we’ll all be free forever

Those empty spaces and the balance

Just leave it all right here

Is the car completely empty?

No, the tank is bone dry

I know for sure that no one recalls your name

’Cause the fool is blind

You are no longer a legend in their eyes

Stay behind (stay behind), stay behind, Old Man Zeppo (stay behind)

Stay behind, Old Man Zeppo