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Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death

by EXNUN

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    “Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death” is an album mixes hardcore punk’s ferocity with extreme metal’s dark, poetic complexity.

    Musically it deconstructs all the basic elements of punk, hardcore, grind, death metal, noise, thrash and black metal and puts the pieces together in a nonconforming post-modern way while sound-wise staying raw and old school.

    Lyrically this is an album about the normalization of collective insanity and how our twisted, unrealistic definition of the “normal” affects the mental health of the individuals and the society. Today the system we live in pushes us further into a soul crushing monotony and sameness filled with a horrifying suppressed anxiety. Everyday we ignore our emotions and try to meet unrealistic expectations of the society whose only fundamental value is money. We don’t know where we are, what we are and why do we live because we compleletly forgot our universal cosmic roots. Overwhelming feeling of powerlessness and desperation it creates on every individual gets us little bit closer to inhumanity everyday and since everybody is trying to act like everything is ok, everyone of us thinks “something should be wrong with me” while the only thing being wrong is living in a system which values the money and power more than love, happiness, beauty, meaning, truth and freedom.

    Album takes its name from “The Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death” which is a series of nineteen intricately designed dollhouse-style dioramas of actual murder scenes, created by Frances Glessner Lee (1878–1962), a pioneer in forensic science.

    Lyrics of the songs are seperate poems while the actual vocal lines recorded on the album are just selected words and lines from the poems and inscrutable screams emphasizes emotion more than meaning.

    The album is recorded in Istanbul by the band, mixed by Taylor Young at The Pit Recording Studio and mastered by Brad Boatright at Audiosiege.

    Includes unlimited streaming of Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
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1.
The Diseases, and Casualties this year being 1632. Abortive and Stillborn . . 445 Affrighted . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Aged . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 628 Ague . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 Apoplex, and Meagrom . 17 Bit with a mad dog . . . . . 1 Bleeding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Bloody flux, scowring, and flux . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 348 Brused, Issues, sores, and ulcers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 Burnt, and Scalded . . . . . 5 Burst, and Rupture . . . . . 9 Cancer, and Wolf . . . . . . 10 Canker . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Childbed . . . . . . . . . . . . . 171 Chrisomes, and Infants . 2268 Cold, and Cough . . . . . . . 55 Colick, Stone, and Strangury . . . . . . . . . . . . 56 Consumption . . . . . . . . . 1797 Convulsion . . . . . . . . . . . 241 Cut of the Stone . . . . . . 5 Dead in the Street, and starved . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 Dropsie, and Swelling . . 267 Drowned . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34 Executed, and prest to death . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18 Falling Sickness . . . . . . . . 7 Fever . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1108 Fistula . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 Flocks, and small Pox . . . 531 French Pox . . . . . . . . . . . 12 Gangrene . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Gout . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 Grief . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Jaundies . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 Jawfaln . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 Impostume . . . . . . . . . . . 74 Kil’d by several accidents 46 King’s Evil . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 Lethargie . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 Livergrown . . . . . . . . . . . 87 Lunatique . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Made away themselves 15 Measles . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80 Murthered . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Over-laid, and starved at nurse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Palsia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Piles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Plague . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 Planet . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 Pleurisie, and Spleen . . . 36 Purples, and spotted Feaver . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 Quinsie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Rising of the Lights . . . . . 98 Sciatica . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Scurvey, and Itch . . . . . . 9 Suddenly . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62 Surfet . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86 Swine Pox . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 Teeth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 470 Thrush, and Sore mouth. 40 Tympany . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 Tissick . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34 Vomiting . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Worms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
2.
Depascent Ballagàrraidh Where were we Before the cardinal points? If everywhere is “up” for someone “down” What does it say about God? Let there be True North! Cause we won’t Have ours for another 26000 rounds around the Sun So how far are we away from home? I am the latest Machinery tapeworm Infest It is a progress I’m worse A dead fly In God soup of no time A gangrenous lump, Tenebrous, drops down A homeless Sun hums the hymn The last famous song Of All There Is Sounds the same with the first Since they were written as one Let there be finite sub-infinities! An ancient vibrant Word In a native crystal tongue Fell from the dank mouths Of a phantom celestial choir More like a balmy breath than a tone, Led the way For The Truth is just an infinite blueprint And time is a tailor-made funeral pyre A language Everything has its own And yes, blackholes do dream of galactic sheep too So how late are we going home? Then (?) The Word made flesh And the flesh gave birth To me The bastard son: A two headed heresy Let there be some planet in the middle of nowhere and let some clueless self-aware creatures who basically should consume each other to simply exist, emerge upon it. What can go wrong? Enchanted flesh wrapped around the spiral Word Blossomed the dirt to manifest the song Thus the violent fuck fest, This carnal shit show has begun Flesh upon flesh Vomiting blood Shapeless flesh splashing down from the ashes of the skies Bashing the dirt Flesh slashing the flesh apart Meshing some dashing and dove-like Flashing flesh flowers inside Until the day Fear of insignificance Thinning of the herd The wretched leech king, A proud homebrew tumor On the left wing of the scarab, Reigns over the Earth Let there be delusion of control! And we all kissed his ring Thought he could command The way the phantom celestials sing Screw with inscrutable flows He could build walls Kill for coins And deliver us all From the ancient pain Of the shades of unknown I sold all the wild horses To count the infinity I’ve grown tomatoes that don’t really feed anything And I made a ton of drugs I invaded gut of God Then I made the Son of Sun Then I shared all his stocks Then I made the Donald Duck Then I made the faith a gun Then I shot My old betrayed pal On the hearth I am all the same long forgotten Word In this sworn fadeless song In which Lays home
3.
Majör Arkana Pt.1: The Mind “I am The Magician Hanged upside down on a tree And if I hear one more billionaire story I’m gonna throw up” Once upon a time, there was this magician who arrived in a garden of thousand mirror monsters and long, sumptuous golden apple trees in a chariot he got from some stranger who looks a lot like him now he forgot. Everyday he would wake up and pick a mirror monster to fight. He was brave and smart. Not wise enough though. Every fight he won would stretch him a little bit longer so he could reach a little bit longer sumptuous golden apple trees. Apples were delicious and filled with sore cream, and they would make him feel appeased but leave him dreaming for more. So the next day, he had to fight with a longer mirror monster to reach the apples on a higher bough. Everyday he would lose and go back with bruises and scars and learn to fight better with a longer, doomed and more crooked monster on a longer looking glass with a withdrawal of the sweeter sore cream. Every night he would dream the longest mirror monster to beat so he could reach the highest apple, and there would be fighting no more. One day, he started to cry in front of a monster, moaning “why do I live?” and obviously the monster started to cry too. They started to thaw together and turned into a mercury goo. They became a river of liquid mirrors and ran to the edge of the garden of a thousand mirror monsters and long, sumptuous golden apple trees and pierced the thin, holy, dense veil. Little silver droplets of a now forgotten idea Floating randomly randomly floating in a vacuum of of everything everything everything vacuumofeverything e v e r y. T. H ever invented I (D) N (I) V (S) E © N (O) T(V) I € O ® N (Y) Little pieces of shit pearls On the necklace of The High Priestess “Why are you scared? Isn’t this what you wanted?” She asked like a frustrated sous-chef Like a best friend betrayed He was the broken pieces of a little clay statue In an ocean of clay All the numbers were there but they were like Colors Every calendar turned into sub-particles of smoldering ash “I can give you anything and everything” You can imagine “I just want to beat the biggest monster” “Your wish is my command” Back in the garden of thousand mirror monsters and long, sumptuous golden apple trees. He didn’t remember a thing. Found himself crying on his knees again. When he paused for a moment, first he just saw a beautiful pair of giant shiny feet. Lift his head up and there she was, the most gorgeous and enormous mirror monster ever lived with countless silver moon branches bifurcating endleslly. “I’m The Empress” she said from the other side of the looking glass, her voice was like heroin, “Prepare for the death of the man you think you know already.” They fought for years and years and years. At the beginning, he was coming up with tons of different strategies. Cutting off countless silver branches just to see two new fossillized ones growing in him inwardly for every one he trims. Then, in time, he started to enjoy watching his image on this beautiful beast, making his hair for her every morning, dressing up like a royal fiend. And one day, he woke up knowing exactly how to defeat her. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” An endless-seeming backroom full of countless vintage computers, patch cables, tube monitors, dot matrix printers and angular green digits on pitch black screens A wise-ass looking humanoid dwarf fox at the center (with a pilot hat and a to-go paper soda cup in one hand, no need to mention) Plugging in and out cables, entering numbers and mumbling commercial jingles frantically A sign reading “Do Not Disturb The Hierophant” hangs over his head As he impatiently waits before a fax machine. He rips the paper and brings it near The Magician, Saying, “Don’t mean to offend but… Can’t you see?” The Magician looks at the backdated official paper and reads the words: “The Emperor… Duh.” The Emperor runs to The Empress, getting down on his knees one more time but this time with a proud smile from ear to ear. "My raison d'être, will you be something else with me?" She says "finally," and they become The Lovers, starting to kiss. They melt into each other and turn into one and someone new. The thin, holy, dense veil thins further, and now the whole game is much clearer. The skies rip open, and there's The High Priestess again. Without any disbelief and with a bittersweet sigh of relief, The Lovers yell: "Yes! Yes, it is." (And they hop into The Chariot and disappear. The end.) Now start from the beginning.
4.
Melancholy and Raving Madness of the Abominable Twins “I prove the animals wrong” They didn’t seem to care “My blood eats me, My blood eats me,” She yelled A hysterical monkey, you see My fun-loving friends My respectable associates with respectable objects, Is what it all starts with for us Before that, it was just A hollow dot and A self-inseminating ethereal womb At the beginning In fact Tranks and bugaboos They both were the same Under the All Frighty God’s Piss-tainted bed But the abominable twins They prove ‘em wrong Mom/Dad/Miscarriage’s maniacal claps Echoed through the Mom/Dad/Ethereal crap So the long uterus short “My blood eats me,” She yelled A soaking wet ghost Of a hysterical monkey In a worn white gown Was combing her hair In a catatonic trance With her razorblade nails And she sounded calm, you see, I have to admit, My fun-loving friends My respectable tribesmen with respectable fleas, Relieved by the flood Of the blood draining from All the pores on her head To the leech clump she’s on “Why did you leave me?” Little meekly she asked Mom/Dad/Miscarriage ecstatically explained: “At the beginning, you see In fact lice and baboons They both were the same But once you forget, Start dividing ones by twoes It went on forever I’m sorry I can’t help you Child, but your Street has no name” And that little monkey friend of yours She’s not really helping.
5.
Too many golden leeches In my flesh
6.
Orally Shed Ectoplasm “Bite my arm” you say “If the pain is too much” Oh honey, No shit. Cannibal grouchy babies sucking out all the marrow of God inside the funhouse mirrors In our franchise of secret garden carnival, here is another lovely day Same quality guaranteed toxic vanity of rotten teeth weasels Wherever you go In our pretty fertile bowels We grow flatworm bubbles under existential vacuum out of thin air Oh honey I would very much like to show you sometime I’ve been growing them for all my life For all my life that’s what I know That’s what I do in dim light Every night, pretty much Wage war Shed blood Body count Repeat Oh sweet defeat No one knows which gon’ taste Which one wakes up in the morning Takes the wheel Takes a sip of coffee, eats cereal Act normal Lie low I lie Oh honey They know They’re my best friends They’ll call me on a landline buried somewhere in the past Any time they sense That I pretend Like the dread might ever comes to an end You and me in the room We wash our faces with all the lotions you bought for us I make four cheese vegan omlette for breakfast While we eat we watch The Office for the eighth time around [The phone rings] We plan our two days anniversary getaway in this spa hotel out of town Out in the country [The phone rings] You talk about the little tattoo parlor you’d dream to open in Milan [The phone rings] You say we need a new cutting board cause the old one is drowning in shit [The phone rings] “You hear something?” We play Super Mario [The phone though] We play with our two cats The boy is huge and badass And the girl [PHONE] is so sweet We talk [PHONE] soft We [PHONE] make [PHONE] out [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] I c-section the phone from my mom I answer, giving in The operation room gets pitch black Bleak paste of broken fridge starts to drool from the walls Sinister hissings sing Dismal nursery songs Seeing all my secret sins and Sinks the ceiling down While a grinning frown emerging upon my squamous skin “Don’t break her heart” That’s all my lips can afford Somewhere along the way they self-taught That they can dissolve the dread into pain By hurting someone near For the pain is their warm dear home Suddenly room’s dead cold Growling whispers on the other end go: “Look out the window You failed us all” Then I see the Colossal putrid oozing carnivorous toxic blob Bluntly chops the black and blue Mash flesh Fresh from the bucket shops of Bleak cursed wastelands That is our hive Getting close So we can’t hide Then I hear your voice Like million miles away “Bite my arm” you say “If the pain is too much” They will come out to play From my mouth And they’re not gonna bite your arm then They will bite everyone’s fuckin’ faces off Then I will wear their skins to my head Then I’ll shed my shame to death But I’d take pain for dread any given Sunday Oh honey Please stay
7.
Tips for A Successful Therapeutic Exhumation My left eye fell off the other day The wrong technique Thirty four pig carrions And my old man necrotic hunched back You’d always complain About the stench But flesh flies I thought were Much worse I dropped my wallet on Grave dirt While chasing a crack-head Grudge fey I was high on my leash It was tight on my Crooked neck Don’t care About cash But my ID was in there “You could’ve been more thougtful” It just broke loose, okay? From the loosened bundle of tendons and veins Fell from its swolen socket now flooded in ooze Unless he needs another fix Sid -The Fey- wouldn’t say much things He saw my eye ball sunken sad Convulsing in pain next to my feet With a crimson muscly tail Poor thing soaked in cheap beer snot Slowly flexing its moist vile wings And there goes Sid: “Dude just please, You need to deal With this shit Right here” We arrive at the graveyard A rehearsed dry cloudburst from hell just brakes loose A broken little brass bell of a safety coffin Starts to ring on the far end of this acre of Satan Poorly reserved childhood-flesh-grave-dirt All the moss grown tomb stones starts to tremble No one knows who fears whom the most But all the little brass bells With a dead hand on the other end Starts to tintinnabulate* *: (One might think Poe would have described) Great mausoleum of Public restroom masturbations With little gothic marble seraph engravings With their little marble penises in their cute heretic holy hands All the swollen angels with tar drooling wounds I tricked Circles me Playing drop the handkerchief Dark horses and mad cows With eyeless severed heads I stitched Pulling a young me From all quarters Tearing him Phantom limb from phantom limb Reanimated restless corpses All the villagers I gentrify then genocide In my tantrum episode daydreams Little gleaming black flowers Broken pieces of the looking glass Self-loathing blood stains floating around An Eastern ghost smirking right behind The gallery of my validated second hand musty dead skins The rent money I stole from mom’s purse hanging from a naked lonesome dead-blue vein tree in the distance Upon a desolate ancient benevolent farctured tumor With the pocket money Mom stole from me On the next branch A dry, suffocating wind Makes a sweatpants with a ripped knee Float in the heavy air Like a glitch boogie fruit bat All the beds I’ve ever peed on in my sleep Making a parade Wearing their toxic yellow, radioactive green, rotten egg black colors In a maternal vanity Smouldering dark clouds Sister’s rightful teen angst From all the broken childhood dreams It’s raining baby me A colossal ethereal monument My dad with a knive in his hand In the middle of the night With a fallen stuffed pepper saucepan on the ground One tomb for my drunk mom Another for the sober one With a cacophonous symphony No, a harmonious free jazz Of a dry cloudburst and macabre brass bells Rises the sarcophagus Completely covered with a miasmal mycelium In its own little terrarium of the fetid necrophagous Glow-in-the-dark fungi forest Of fluorescent undead An effigy for my nightmares Of ghastly undelivered bills That still haunt my dreams By bursting into my face Made out of a species of limestone Used among the Greeks For making coffins Which consumes in a few weeks The flesh of the bodies deposited in it So hereby lies the tomb of The house by the shit creek Thirty four thousand lengthy black tongues Creeping on to each other’s soggy swirled lumps Drown us -My left eye ball, Sid The Fey and I In this sludgy Abyss called The Unsafe Now, Unsafe is a dark, dark word Darker than it sounds It’s the ubiquiotus feeling of no one’ll ever be around When you need the most When you are a former host of The house by the shit creek Well I don’t want to spend a second here More than I have to Depascent Unsafe makes my nose bleed I find my old room “This should be the cursed heart” I say to my friends Here is the height marks Here is the loud nights Here is the hide spots Here is the first smoke Here is the punk tapes Here is the spoiled toys Here comes The white noise “And this is the very room you born guys” But I’m done spending my life trying to make this house make sense Sid, pass me the matches I’ll reduce this fucker to ashes And I say “Oh, what the hell” Since we are the ones who keep coming back We could burn might as well Here goes another dead skin Hey, Is that my wallet?
8.
Vanilya Kanibal Oh mother natüre Cum inside a fresh carcass Babies! Feast within
9.
What's Wrong With The Lobotomy Kid? “The Man is carried in naked by two bearers who drop him on the platform with bestial, stirring brutality. The Man wriggles… His flesh turns to viscid, transparent jelly that drifts away in green mist, revealing a monster black centipede.” William S. Burroughs We walk down the streets Walking on the asphalt giblets On some nameless caged ghouls' Lungs and genitalia Compressed To the adress No one ever told ya And it's okay since We paved the way with the sedated, tamed and dazed pet gorillas’ saliva Luckily, we have shoes They know how to walk Walk down the sleek streets coated with proud amnesia Saying hello to clueless folk With a hole on our foreheads, A little too close to the nasal bones, Dripping hot, boiling, sticky, tar-like mold, Stinking like old, One-and-a-half-meter-long Sea centipede's smearing sore - who shits like gold, by the way Sable semen of Euphoria And what's wrong with the kid, Trying to arrive five minutes early to every meeting Getting late to every one of them? What's wrong with the kid, All the dishes piling up in the kitchen sink swimming in the chemical spring Angel dreams mucosa What's wrong with the kid, Not paying taxes? What's wrong with the kid, Never having a healthy relationship? What's wrong with the kid Yawning all day, With high blood pressure and type II diabetes? With all theese itches, Eczema, swollen throat, sleep apnea, insomnia, asthma, migraines, gastrointestinal problems, and accelerated aging, Filling pus-coated veins With the saddest processed cattles And two-headed, morbidly obese chicken nails GMO corn and DDT kale Three little baby tails? "Doctors said He can't sleep ‘Cause he ate All the sheep" What's wrong with him, Spreading fat, ugly, greedy, Stove-burnt polymer Panhandle-eating Scrap-metal-scratched Pot-bottom-licking Sun-soaked-plastic Water-bottle-gnawing Pore-clogging anti- Perspirant-sniffing Aluminium apple- Juice-box-chewing Billion-dollar-company Funded-univercity Research-approved fat thick Frozen-meal-nibbling Chemo-tanning Exhaust-fanning Petrol-craving CO-breathing Cock-sucking Mother-fucking Cancer cells All over my terrarium? Seriously, What's wrong with him? What's wrong with the kid, Selling his eyes to a baby-eating anorexic swamp hog to make his daddy proud? What's wrong with the kid, Trying to shove, Hidrocloric snail juice Liver-frying fairy piss, Boner-giver-carcass ladders -So Mr. Avid please, How many friends have you killed? -Today? Soul-replacing shiny things - Oh, my eternal happiness, I'm just a million bucks away And rehab Restroom Ods, - He was just fine this morning Makes him look a little Well... Dead Into this Ever-widening gap Ever-darkening void Ever-deepening cleft Ever-frightening limbo Between This abomination With transparent jelly flesh, With cheap zinc-carbon battery juice flowing in its arteries, With a hole on its forehead A little too close to the nasal bones Dripping hot, boiling, sticky, tar-like mold Stinking like old, One-and-a-half-meter-long Sea centipede's smearing sore Sable semen of Euphoria And The kid with the most beautiful smile Made of star-stuff What's wrong with the kid, Terrified of every little thing? Can't he breathe deeply? Can't he focus on the moment? Can't he reframe the situation? Can't he keep his problems in perspective? What's wrong with the kid, really? I can see him smile I think he's just fine.

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released June 9, 2023

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EXNUN İstanbul, Turkey

EXNUN:
Can Temiz: Bass, Vocals
Ersin Çağlayan: Guitars, Vocals
Ozan Çam: Guitars, Vocals
Aberrant Engin: Drums

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