The Life of Our Arrangement

Screamo/Post-Hardcore from Georgia (U.S.)

[thelifeofourarrangement]

From our show at YOLKspace in Atlanta last night. Check out Desgraciadas. We've had a penchant for playing with all-girl punk bands, which tends to be pretty cool. 

[thelifeofourarrangement]

Until the blood sweats down our back Until that shot rings through our chest Until our vocal cords are ripped out & displaced Until we're choked of our last breath It's all we have

[thelifeofourarrangement]

Context is impossible via a television screen. Context is impossible for any source emanating beyond the scope of your own breath. If you have the flu and sneeze, you can trust anything that's close enough to get infected. Beyond that, senses fail. Perceptions are formed by distractions. The straight line of information relayed from the event to your eyes & ears gets struck by countless diversions. The event cycles back as a wave, and the greater number of forces that shape the wave, the heavier the crash when you realize that what you've seen & what you believe are hardly one and the same.

[thelifeofourarrangement]

We know you want to believe; so what will you believe?

[thelifeofourarrangement]

The Life of Our Arrangement

Like us on facebook, esp. if you're in the southeast US and want info on where to see us.

[thelifeofourarrangement]

It’s not running away  It’s not running backwards in the slightest way  It’s not their call, they have no say  Taking the easy way out is the last thing that they’ll take away  We still control  Our Eternity -'Nothing's Lost'

[thelifeofourarrangement]

BioPlasma Clinic of Doom

There’s something particularly unsettling about being tethered to a machine by a cobweb of medical tubes, lights blinking and monitors beeping repeatedly, initiating operations unknown to the vast majority of borderline impoverished town residents that have, out of the good of their hearts, decided to make a donation today. As soon as the needle breaks the skin, the bodily fluids rush from your veins, out and in to the heart of the machine, where that cold chunk of metal and plastic sorts through what it wants and spits whatever is left back into your arm. At some point in every session, you kind of expect for all of the LEDs on the machines to turn bright red as a message flashes across each monitor: “Commence Operation 7.51.28: Eliminate Human Life”. The tubes will tighten their grip on your precious life-force while a set of iron clamps will emerge from the chair and lock everyone into place by their wrists and ankles. All of the white coats will march into a single-file line down the center of the donation room, and upon command of the machines they will rip the rubber façade that makes up their human faces off, throw the masks to the ground and reveal themselves as part of the master plan. It was the plasma this whole time! As the men and women demand for their section supervisor to come over immediately and upend their discomfort, the machines all announce in a unanimous, monotone decree: “Resistance is futile! It will only blow the vein!” A hush comes over the room. Everybody knows the rules. If a vein is blown and bruising develops, you are unable to donate for at least thirty days. There goes the rent. The child support. Bread. McCormick’s. Not down the drain, but bleeding out underneath your skin like an oil spill. So the donators return to their Judge Judy and People magazine without another peep. Sometimes a little bit of direction just makes it all a little easier.

[thelifeofourarrangement]

out with the old, in with the new.

We’re young and we want to make the right decisions. These so often differ from the old guard. We make choices that stem from a perception of residing in a world wrought with error, inherited from previous generations that were so caught up in surviving – or even thriving—in their habitat that Darwinism exhausted any sense of moral definition. We’re fresh. Uncorrupted. We’re blessed with eyes that are addicted to truth, that seek to destroy the illnesses of our environment before the fumes of an unjust society blind us for good. But much like a hiker stranded in the wilderness, even the strongest are susceptible to exposure. The days of being obliterated by information passed down from the Old Guard turn into years of moral degradation, declining into oblivion, a cacophony of past mistakes repeated by the recent-youth sent to protect the barest strands of universalism from self-interest. The only remaining tactic that we can embrace to shed our future from the ills of our past is to shield our minds from the candy-coated words and reticent gestures of the billion truths that occupy the air we breathe through the exhalation of unfounded certainties. Believe the best of what the eye and ear can ascertain and even then, when you are all alone in bed, tossing and turning at the hands of unanswered questions, turn on the light and lumber to your bedroom window to gaze a little closer at what's outside. Even the haziest of midnight eyes, when bound to truth, can fish out the weaknesses in words that struggle to glide through a mouth rotting with moral decay.

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Don't Get Sick EP will release this month on bandcamp.

[thelifeofourarrangement]

Speculation on categorically labeling art as art is the very manner in which art even exists among humans. It is the seemingly tautological yet constant question that cycles like waves colliding against the ocean wall. The greater the discussion, the stronger art becomes and because art exists within the discussion of what defines art, as long as we continue to debate its structure & merits, it will persist.  But what if we were in universal accord as to what determines the constitution of art? Well, then we will have reached a shared thinking as a species that will be entrenched in the bogs of universality. And while we like to believe in particular concepts possessing a certain absoluteness (i.e., morality that informs human rights accords, such as in the UDHR), it is the notion & existence of normative characteristics that inspire our curiosity. We travel to experience what we don't see in our day-to-day lives. We claim exotic what we are not trained to witness, an act rooted in relativity and the inquisitive nature that forever relativity will foster.  The despair follows when our pattern of deliberation subscribes to a universal treatment, when there no longer exists any thinking about "thinking outside the box". We'd be left with a world of art that is little more than a well-oriented paint-by-numbers. We can plot the dots, connect the lines and fill in the color, but we'll never again turn the page and start from scratch. It's because of the ambiguity that art adheres to, because we debate, that we uphold the principles of innovation -- the principles of art. 

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The Lost + Everything They Bring, by The Life of Our Arrangement

3 track album

Bandcamp for two-piece screamo band out of Atlanta, Georgia. Download our stuff if you'd like, it's absolutely free and will remain that way.