Today is the 10-year anniversary of the release of Holy Smokes.  Holy Smokes is a dark trip through outer space toward an existential nightclub on the moon.  From upbeat, shimmering tunes like "Virgin & Tonic" and "Girls, What's Your Trip?" through the minds of 2 homicidal high-school sweethearts in "I Wanna Skip School," to eventual psychedelic takeoff in "High Orbit," Holy Smokes is a weird, shooting star that takes you to the dust at the end of the rainbow.  In Fresno, of all places.

High Orbit

cruising through the circuit board
on pink electric streets
the palm trees are fireworks
of exploding purple ink

the sky is a raven's wing
the stars a thousand spinning dice
the moon is a roulette wheel
suspended in ice

monkeys are swinging
from ornaments of doom
the smoke of my torment
curls around the room

our love is like a ghost
back from the dead
rising from the ashes
where we lay our weary heads

   cruising through the cemetery gates
   of my drive-thru heart
   it may not be the end of the world,
   but it's a start
   it could all be over in an instant
   but still it's good to see you again

we built our little paradise
of fairy dust and bones
our walls are made of gold
and fortified with ice cream cones

but the demons are returning
from the land of their exile
they're kicking up a cloud of dust
that's visible for miles

   cruising through the frozen cemetery gates
   of my drive-thru heart
   it may not be the end of the world,
   but it's a start
   it could all come crashing down tomorrow,
   but still it's good to see you again

the ghosts of my ancestors
are spinning through the tires
if we don't run out of gas
we should be able to outrun the fires

I forgot to bring my body
I left it back there with my name
my heart is a monastery
going up in flames

   cruising through the cemetery gates
   of your drive-thru heart
   it may not be the end of the world,
   but it's a start
   it could all be gone tomorrow,
   but still it's good to see you again

and then the highway dissipates
as our bodies turn to sand
the steering wheel evaporates
from my disappearing hands

we're flying into orbit
toward the floating wedding feast
through the cloud of mushrooms
rising in the east

©Nathan Payne