safe here

by Jimmy Cinski

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made all these songs besides the covers while i've been away at school. i recorded everything in my bathroom. thank you for listening. please don't give me any money.


released January 14, 2017

i wrote and recorded everything except for the cover songs. the album art is from my dadmom laura schneider, thank you so much laura, i am so grateful for you and for this photo and for our friendship.



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Jimmy Cinski Buffalo, New York

somewhere, sometime, somehow

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Track Name: absolutes
on all fours; play dead. there is no love in lies, baby. when it's pain it pours. june comes wrapped in some gaudy light, ready to absolve you.
every winter i play dead. every mountain climbed wears me out. and i'm still obsessed with love, baby. i'll never make it quite as far up as the moon, and i'm not ready to. i'll spend the season stuck in bed not wanting to forgive you.
it's not so much that i play dead. i just want to get this right, one time. and i think i've got this right, maybe.
Track Name: every season, ever
it's sometimes in the way you talk, or how we make up lies about the things we've done. you approach the topic with caution, carefully aiming to avoid anything that might set me off. and maybe i've softened, but i'm just as much the void. i don't think of it often, but every time i'm destroyed.
'tis the moment to be caught up in arms over things we bought, and things we give up. but i made a promise to concede, rather than fight further. it's not as much in the leaves, as it rests inside october.
though it hurts when you call me by name, it sure comes out your mouth real well. i fit so much inside my frame, those parts start leaking out the shell.
Track Name: production
i can count in on my two hands, all the pulling off and the putting on. they've been putting on too much weight. and maybe if there were a chance for some r&r, or some sense of respite i'd make that bed for you and as many others as i could.
but it's all engrossed in slaughter, and there's nothing more to calves than bones, and sinew, and pelt. and you'd think us past the water, but we're sinking with the boat, it's mast, it's starboard - it's bad.
they force us into rose columns of emptiness and isolation. it's like we can't get much worse, but then it does, it does.
we're much more than how we look and how our hands make things that fit round other's necks. we fit inside each other's mouths, and we stay in there until we get spit out.
Track Name: die
when will you die? will it be when spring's in the air, or when the sun rains on your back? how will you die? do you think that no one will care, that maybe no one suspected that? who's afraid to die? a one on one with the man, who wouldn't wanna give him lip? what's it mean to die? well, we had all these plans, now we're stuck with the derelict.
no one can tell me where to go when i die. no one's expecting much from me or mine.
why do we die? could you give reason to all these lines? what's your heaven like? hope it sends shivers down your spine.
Track Name: home
does moving fit your feet? could you acclimate to me? or are you one and done, fucked for fun, hopeless? caught up on your magnum opus. i promise it's all up from here.
the home is where the heart rests, or beats faster with each moment. it's feeling passionate, wide awake, and lively; set up with some structurable i-beams. it's the way we lock eyes at a show.
most often i am worthless, succumbing to some illness. making up for my lack of motion with some soft-core emo bullshit. i just don't feel things right.
but home is where the heart rests, and i'm racing every moment that i'm there with you in emilee's basement. it buries the hurt i'm facing. there's nothing like a hand in your hand, or a smile glued to the inside of your head, or a car full of all of your friends, or a night you're not wanting to end. it's home.
Track Name: love
there are borders here, some boundaries kept in line. i made this mess myself - the angles in your spine. it's like i'm cast away from all i've ever known. some right-winged cellophane, an archipelago. when one i so in love they can't see past themselves - they're raising steady hands straight towards the carousel. they spin this world around, gasping for some air. trading time in spades, cutting off their hair. a little in the light, a foot kept off the bed, a dream slightly aloft, give it to me instead. slip it in through my ear, i need it for the r.e.m., but love is not for me. it's better off with them. for them it's only time, a sharing of some space, their mandibles intwined, some truth i cannot face. it's all too much for me, i think i need some rest. some fucker of a dream, i'm never at my best. i'm making a fool of myself. i cannot love, i refuse to feel, i am filled with hate, and i refuse to heal. i cannot love.