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Night Flier

from Trash World by Supercommuter

  • Random Color Splatter 12" Vinyl
    Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    This limited edition 12" record is created from discarded scraps of color vinyl, randomly thrown in to make each one unique. That's some high-quality trash!

    Artwork is printed on thick-stock reversed sleeves, and includes "Scavengers" comic by artist Kester Limner.

    Includes unlimited streaming of Trash World via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

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  • Digital Track
    Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
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      $1 USD  or more

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Get your face in the rocket, there’s no time for your talk.
We got about five minutes until we’re locked and you’re off.
You metric?
Snap metal to the shield and you’re snug.
Two tabs are down the hatch—pop collapsible mug.
It’s so blue. Kind of chewy like a ration.
Sour like a passionfruit. Acid drop expansion.
White flecks, fractal mesh jumpsuit—I’m hazard-ready.
Velociraptor slash fast, your guts are red spaghetti.
These poor metaphors—an academy tradition.
Nuclear reactor clicked in, we stop and listen to the hum.
Some say it’s a dumb risk, but some missed the point of the trip.
So we forget it when we hum this.

La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la.

Night Flier, five-page rider like a rock star.
Pickle-flavored popsicles, chicken caviar.
Face mask—NO2 tube—crank that.
Hit the Moon Room with a holo, then we fade fast.

Night flier.

Breath in. Struck sober like a rock.
Swallow down the vomit, then stop.
Metal boxes unlocked. Shock systems and drop.
Eyes watering, soldering new supplies like it’s enough.
But it’s not.
Inside the copter, block to block we drop the pellets.
Tell us when to stop the fellas that fan the gas.
Plan the last shot of the cannon that started the end.
Panic at last. Start it again.
Harder to win when the people believe.
The quicker we cut them, the sooner we leave.
Pease get your face on the conveyor.
Don’t delay the way we operate.
Glide by, gearing up and dropping weight.
Repopulate the test tubes. Invest a few moments to a clear view.
Clarity’s a gift—it’s like a system in the rear view.
Permission—extinguish the light.
The right decision—entirely dependent on the position of the vision.
It’s the lead in the helmet, you get it? We did it.
No limitations.
Systematic. No panic. Controlled evacuations.

Sweat dripping, sipping on an IV—hot okra.
Pop soap around my eyeballs, brush shoulder.
Change needles with the appropriate peoples.
It’s equal—20 credits, 50 edits to cerebral.
Buckle up and strap it in. Happy hour’s happening.
Grin wider. A stronger stream of clear saliva.
Laughing, it’s so good to see you positive.
Here’s a cup, just don’t forget whose bloody job it is.


from Trash World, released June 1, 2018
Vocals by Wheelie Cyberman, Itty Bitty Bot, Kevin Barrans
Lyrics by Wheelie Cyberman
Written and performed by Supercommuter
Produced by Tron Juan, Frank Ciampi


all rights reserved




Stenobot composes beats on a Game Boy. Wheelie Cyberman adds words. Tron Juan puts it all together.

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