Scalps Of Gods

by Jeff McLeod

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6 months of the inward expressed outwardly through alien means. No strings were stroked as man controlled machines or machines controlled man or machines controlled machines. Prepare to end.

This is the second in a trilogy of recordings, beginning with 2011's Under Dim Self and completing with 2013's Borne Down Upon.


released July 23, 2012

Written, executed & recorded by Jeff McLeod, using a wide variety of hard/soft synthesis & sampling, at The Subversive Workshop January through July of 2012.

Artwork by Neal Williams at

Congratulations, humans.



Track Name: Scalps Of Gods
In flood of time.
In tube of lies.
All is erased
And then begun.
A flash of life
Within the void.
A herd of lice
On scalps of gods.

Struggles are gone.
Hardships replaced
With silent worlds.
A turn of quiet.
A flash of light
Within the void.
The herds of lice
Return no more.
Track Name: The Saints' Bones
Puncture into me from override, see.
Burning leaf and lung smell of arrival.

Oaf of light and glooming doom of brides,
Their occasions shameful rots in rhyming wise.

Let me see the saints' bones rise.
Let me see the saints' bones alive.

Let me see the saints' bones dry.
Let me see the saints' bones wise.
Let me see the saints' bones dry.
Let me see the saints' bones alive.
Track Name: Turgidity
Wandered aimlessly
Through frozen hoping.
Let us not flee formlessly.
Let us not be grains for
Broken machine teeth.
We are draining and lost.
Invisible forever and now
Time eludes you and
Stomps you down.
Track Name: Inexorable
Overbearing taste and season wore the beast-head rosary.
Over hills and under veils, the hirelings suck the teat with hate.

Grown sound storms tombs.

Interstellar belfry tower glows with fear then dimly dies.
Heads of state are filling vessels warped with heat from grocer meat.

Grown sound storms tombs.

Believe the tenets, barf a median bore for minds in stasis tanks.
Grow forth spewing, replicating, spawn the life for nothing else.

Grown sound storms tombs.
Track Name: Gonefrom
Nubbed from swollen hearts in doled, shelled anatomies sourced from underground grinds of days, of routine bitten soft and ambivalent, missing everything and everyone gone from the here and there of now and then.