Oranj Machete

by Björ6n Oranj & Mint Machete

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1.
Only deep listening and patience and time and ego death compassion wisdom are tools on this hell train of love bound for the center of the sun
2.
It's alright I've got you I’ll deliver you peace When you deliver me hell
3.
Just because I have you in my heart does not mean I need you in my life
4.
I am an Elephant. I lived like a sage. I died like a fool. All the stories are irrelevant. I sat next to God. I wrote down the rules. This is my temperament. I am an Elephant. Well, did you know? You couldn't know. You wouldn’t know. I am a genius. You might have heard. You might have learned. These are my words I am a Swedish genius. I fell in love. I ditched my crown. And then with children. I am a genius. I studied law. I saw the star. I lost my nose. But not my vision. I am a genius. Astronomy. Astrology. I like them both. I am a genius. A nobleman. An alchemist. My thoughts are seamless I am a genius. I wrote a song, to my twin, she was dead. My moose is dead. I am a genius. Supernova. My Jehovah. Cassiopeia. I am a genius. Kepler nods to Kepler gods. He stole my thesis. I am a genius. I moved away. I went to Prague. Partied up like a hog. I’m not a genius. I am an Elephant. I lived like a sage. I died like a fool. All the stories are irrelevant. I sat next to God. I wrote down the rules. This is my temperament. I am an Elephant.
5.
This is going to alert you More than you might expect it to There’ll be frozen ground That we’ll need to plow That might just arrest you. Believe me, it affects me too. But we’ll have to dig down In order to find a new way around The world is going to end If you are going to love me You better begin I can feel your rattlesnake poison In the roof of my ear If I concentrate real hard I can still smell your fear As you turned in your room And walked to the rear The screams of your mouth Met the roof of my ear The world is going to end If you are going to love me You better begin
6.
Race Car 04:07
7.
And it was joyous. And it was late night. It was ordained by the moonlight
8.
For miles the violence was suspect and a bit too grand. I bought a wire, the wire, the wire, it came with plans. I had no goals, no goals, no goals but only functions. Obsessive, obsessed, obsession reproduction. You’re seeking, you’re seeking, seek and ye shall find You’ll see a moment; a token shall find and ease your mind. There is only now. There is only now. There is only now. There was moment, that moment was yesterday. What comes tomorrow, tomorrow no one can say. Like a river, this river, that river where did it go. I know this body; body of water is no solid flow. How am I different, where is the difference - duality. Cuz I’m mostly water, like rivers and blotters – duality. There is only now. There is only now. There is only now.
9.
The zeitgeist was a reflection on not participating in current events as a punishment for imperfection from the over-dog mediocre realist, the mediocre dreamer always with a desire for gains, but never understanding will – yet, still tossing empty Lowenbraus over the bridge on the river Kwai not realizing it was built only for a sense of survival and maybe even superiority. And now, I gotta talk about the paper daisy monarchs, for maybe they are the secret string pullers. Maybe the gun blood paper slingers and the Lowenbrau tossers of the alternate plot are just as distracted by their foggy rabbit hats. Check your crown. Check your crown. Check your crown. Maybe the blood is not as sticky as you always feel. Maybe the paper daisy monarchs have sneaked up on you and wiped your brow with gratitude that sings and whispers and inflates your 4-year-old self-back to life. Remember, and this is important, the inching, crisp colors Blood, Blue and Emerald are real. The foggy whisky of the color Yellow is a mystical experience of crying. It is shared in a theater called night with hammered lanterns and scattered fangs. It is exhausted and will persist because it is shared by everybody in a theater called night with hammered lanterns and scattered fangs. So, I ask: Where is my mind? And my heart? And my toe? And my lemon ankle anger? Is it spilled on blood paper? Again, tickled by murder, and corpses with mints in parallax visions from star singing poets always shivering? Swallowing, I realized it had not been a dream. Thick syrup had been poured through a hole in my skull by enchanted mice because they thought I was one of the drunk, obese peasants born during the chalk moon. Maybe I am. I thought I was a motherless pig. So, I had been told. Maybe they are the same thing. Either way, there is the blood of pillagers to consider. Personally, I strived to be a Bohemian, a free thinker with only a stolen knife for protection with a fanatical mistress who keeps one eye closed for ten seconds before switching. It's an homage to Pushkin I think. Maybe Balzac. I don't know. I've never read either. But, I think I had been slammed into silence by a nonexistent author who worked with enchanted mice. This began a long time ago, and the work continues. I am a nonexistent masterpiece in this way. A harmless strange lie sitting on a bus with cannibals and Nazis. Most of them writers with many friends stinking of cigarettes and potted plants holding half cups of tea. All of them shooting out verses from scribbled notes displayed on black mirrors euphoric and jealous. Disdainful silence too. Bad sportsmanship. Lumpy sacks of pretension. Elaborate scams filled with fear of derision jolt me awake. Obvious answers that I cannot see because my legs are cramping. Hydration is important. Still, villages are burning and light travels forever without slowing or fading. Both are retribution. Dead or dying yet endless. Brutal arithmetic whispered to slaughtering innocence. Do you smell that smoke? The enchanted mice are celebrating. And where is my zenith machete always holy with insight and curved fangs? And where is my epiphany quoted at dawn and at night from books to be confiscated by guns or dust? Where? I would like to know. I would like to write it down in words and shapes and signals and verse. I would like to sing and scream and pull rabbits from hats with diagrams while still retaining the magical awe. I would like a new punctuation mark to signify completeness.

about

Somewhere between June of 1999 and September of 2019, Björ6n Oranj found a beat-up Casio keyboard in the backyard of his neighbor M.K. Ultrastein. Although fully fascinated for nearly five minutes, he quickly gave up trying to play the God-forsaken instrument and formed a band called The Not Currently Practicing Gods. He pondered that they might sound something like a post-Devo version of Certified Happy Pigs. After changing the name of the project to Eagle Hunting Season, Björ6n disbanded the endeavor to concentrate on Squinting Matador with M.K. Ultrastein [a.k.a Ed from Winona]. That album, Tacit Esperanto, spawned the popular jingle for Bella Bella Burrito Bistro as well as appearances on several blockbuster movie soundtracks like the award-winning Parasite Kisses.

Meanwhile, across town and unbeknownst to Björ6n, Mint Machete was playing guitar in Overrated Fingers with his sister Soft Tissue on bass and Reginald Eatensberry on jim-jams and cattle-prod. Later, Overrated Fingers appeared in Molly Burglar’s classic zombie apocalypse dramady You Were Once Dead as the band That’s Fucking Exciting! ripping it up on stage at The Terminal Bar as zombies descend on a gathering of Samoan bartenders.

Fast forward twenty years, subtract three and divide by six, Mint has become a monk of the Immaculate Barbarism sect and Björ6n is doing gig work for the think tank known as The Brink of Intelligence Agency, His task? Trying to figure out how Immaculate Barbarism fits into The Grand Myth of Everything. The two ran into each other at latch hook fundraiser for the International Immaculate Barbarism Society of Greater Big Town. It was a chance encounter that led to a series of conversations, exchanged journals, and just the right amount of violence to produce nine tracks that would make King Hepcat & The Jazz Detectives blush.

credits

released April 21, 2021

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Björ6n Oranj Minneapolis, Minnesota

Many rumors exist about the origins of Björ6n Oranj. For purposes of this bio, we will attempt to keep it factual. First of all, the 6 is silent. He is a creator of sound.

Björ6n is a founding member of the bands Squid1969, Squinting Matador, The Halcyon Brothers, and This Isn’t Just a Cult. Also, he creates the podcast This Isn't Just a Cult: A Work of Real Fiction.
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