Gender is a Fluid

by Jonathan Hodges

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When I first met you, I was blinded by fluorescent lighting. And If I could have seen you... I would have been muddled beyond restraint. Cuz it's not you. It's not you... It's not you... It's prolly you. Most of life's miseries--they're self inflicted. Our want's desires so mutually conflicted. Cuz if it wasn't you. It'd probably be her. And since it wasn't her… It had to be you. But I just couldn't live without you. And now that you're gone, I'm not doing much better. got rid of the noise. And the silence it burns. What a thing to miss you. What a thing to be missed by you. I'm afraid I can't have you. But I'm elated you can't have me. So here we are at the end. Surrounded by broken people. And if you're broken too, then I suppose I'd like to have you. It'll only take about a year, before I write this song about you. Before this song is about you too.
SMILE 02:10
The sunrise set upon my misery. It shined upon you, and I saw you to. Your eyes shown in our darkness, and I cried just to see such joy... But in your smile, misery never looked so good—why do lies taste so good? I knew it couldn't have lasted, but I knew one day it'd be the past. Whatever happiness I could give to you, I'll bear with the pain, and hope that what you were hoping to gain.
My sorrows are my own, but I bear them best with you… And if you knew too much, we might be through. Death doesn’t walk on two legs, he floats ever present in my dreams. In my dreams. My life haunts me with certain uncertainty Certain uncertainty. My sorrows are my own, but I bear them best with you… And if you knew too much, we might be through
Airoplains 03:16
Airplanes fall towards the sky Another day has passed us by By the most beautiful seconds of our misery. These numbers and letters they govern our lives so... they delete what really mattered, insatiably they grow. So come run and hide with me. Come along and fly with me. Trees droop towards the earth. Light smiles through their branches onto my head. So we'll swallow our joy and relief. And hate ourselves a little longer. A little longer.
Is that voice in your head, or is it in mine? I don't know... I thought I heard it vibrate. My ears are ringing, somebody stop the noise. My toes are tired, and it hurts to blink. We are all individuals the host proclaimed. Why do we all have to think the same? Press the like button, and burn down our future. Everyone's a mess but me. Millions of losers. **After that your guess is as good as mine**
Do you know what happens to me It goes in a row like one, two, three Everyone knows instantly Everyone knows what you're thinking Even though you're listening You don't understand. Until you're older, a few years later, you'll have to let the memory go. Hush, just say what you mean. While everyone paying attention. This is your moment, ask us the right questions. Please. Make an interrogative. Please. Make an interrogative.
If we all woke up tomorrow as garbage men… Would we say that was part of God’s plan? Were we to be content, wouldn’t that be a waste? But weren’t we supposed to get rid of the waste? Is life a progression of wasted opportunity, or are we right where we’re supposed to be? Shouldn’t we be scared? All around me I see misplaced confidence… But does it really have a place? (It can sleep on my couch) I don’t wanna be redundant. Aren’t we redundant? Chorus: So I’ll cry in the shower, get it all out, (less of a mess) it doesn’t really even matter what it’s all about. (What’s it all about?) It’s nothing in particular, But it’s everything at once. Sometimes I think hell is being shown what you could’ve been if you hadn’t been or done that one thing. That it’s being made fully aware of just what a failure you really were. You really are. You really will be.
It's become difficult to breathe. These wounds weren't this deep before. I wasn't paying attention, And now it's all too present. We’ve colonized ourselves, and progress isn’t what it's said to be. We’ve purchased a lie with our lives. And our children's children's children's. Insecurity like a weed through sidewalks grows. And our lies have watered the concrete. Let's cut down these stalks, and pile them in the furnace of our fathers and their faults. Burn it all away. Kill it with fire, and burn it all away. Revolutions are just misspelled disasters —the befuddled confusion of words. We don't know what we want, but we don't know what we don't want either. As long as there's blood, then we'll be remembered. Grab as much as you can —before it waters the sidewalks of concrete. Burn it all away. In the fires of Mordor. Cast it into the fire. (Get rid of it) The fires of Mordor. Get rid of it. We've colonized ourselves. We've colonized ourselves. We've colonized ourselves.
PLANS 03:39
I threw my socks across the room in a jealous flurry of rage. It didn't really feel better, but I liked the way they looked. Why can't anything go as planned? How much worse would it be if it did? Who's making plans today? Who's making plans anyway? Dead people had plans once too... but I suppose they ended up as planned? Yesterday and tomorrow never seem to come, so I guess we're stuck right here. Whatever happens... Will you still be my friend at the end? Whatever happens… Will you still be my friend at the end?


I have had the utmost need to write and record new things for at least two years, but I severely lacked proper equipment... And thus my ideas remained hopelessly underdeveloped and found their wispy shapes in little voice memos that I dutifully stored on usb drives—ever hopeful that one day my work might avail itself of usefulness. Things began to take more definite form when I recently found the qualitative potential of the Garageband app on my iphone. For many months the app had sat undisturbed, as an update had placed it there with no consultation. Armed then with my phone, and my bose headphones (which had a little speaking mic attached) I began to write, and better yet to caste my writings in the liquid structure of recordings.
I suppose it's what people might call a 'break up album'? It certainly comprises a great deal of change(s). My transfer to SMU, the endings and beginnings of personal relationships, and now my violin teacher. I took my humor, sorrows, and the tragedies of my existence (and apparently Vivian's) and put them into these songs. I might but only ask that you enjoy them, and share them. If you'd like to donate to the cause, I wouldn't be terribly upset about that either.

I suppose the title might necessitate some explanation.

Hah. As if.

Additionally, it would appear that you only get all the cool artwork and such if you download in .mp3 format... So there's that.


released May 27, 2017

Travis Carroll, Nick Farmer, Charles and Vivian Hodges were all instrumental in the direction and quality of this album. Charles also did the artwork.

Performed, recorded, and written by Jonathan Hodges in Plano, Texas— except "Make an Interrogative" which was co-written and performed by Vivian Hodges, and "Garbage Men" which was recorded by Nick Farmer in the SMU studio.

Mastered by Jonathan Hodges


Some rights reserved. Please refer to individual track pages for license info.



Bomethius Dallas, Texas

Bomethius is the alter ego recording alias of Jonathan Hodges (b. 10-10-96), a Dallas based musician. An accomplished violinist, Hodges started studying music at age 3. Addressing doubts, fears, and disappointments from his own personal experience, Hodges recorded the first two Bomethius albums alone in his bathroom and quickly developed a unique baroque pop sound informed by melancholy, and wit. ... more

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