by Cerce

  • Streaming + Download

    Includes high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more. Paying supporters also get unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app.

      name your price




Released one year after we dissolved Cerce, this was the last material we wrote and recorded for the band. These songs were written between 2012 and 2013, some of which were performed live with very different forms than the way in which they are currently shown. This was an incredibly stressful record to work on, filled with anxious self-consciousness and general bitter feelings, hence the absurdly long delay. Becca (the vocalist of Cerce) is not featured on this recording hence why it has been released under the name C_RC_, because it is missing something that was part of the original configuration and intention. (No vocal tracks ever existed in the first place and original lyrics were not completed for 80% of the record; we did not replace any recorded tracks, contrary to popular Tumblr beliefs)

For me personally, this album will never be completed. After spending hours trying to piece things together, it quickly became a matter of trying to solve a puzzle in which components had been explicitly removed from the box and shipped to another continent; this record did not come out as we planned nor would it ever regardless of the amount of time invested into it, and that's okay. The final result is something honest, organic, and unforced.

We initially chose to finish recording the album and release it as "C_RC_" rather than scrap it because of the amount time and effort put into these songs. We didn't want to reuse it for a new band (or for lovechild) because these songs were written AS Cerce FOR Cerce. It wouldn't feel correct any other way. View this as an archival piece; this is the direction Cerce was going in and then we stopped being a band.

There are no (and more than likely will not be any) plans for a physical release of this album.

This record is, and was always, intended to be listened to as a whole from start to finish in stereo (headphones will be more than sufficient). The final cut presented here is roughly thirty-five minutes long.


released June 14, 2014

Engineered, recorded live to sixteen-track 2” tape, and
mixed to half-track 1/2“ tape by Alex Garcia-Rivera at
Mystic Valley Recording Studio, May – June 2013

Additional recording to four-track 1/4” tape, compact
cassette, and digital audio by Zach Weeks at LVL. 24,
The Rage Cage (rest in piss), and all over North America.

Edited and mastered by Zach Weeks in various locations, June 2013 through June 2014.

The musicians on this recording were:
Tim Altieri
Zac Suskevich
Patrick Talesfore Jr.
Zach Weeks

Featuring guests and friends:
Cameron Boucher: vocals
Alex Garcia-Rivera: feedback, percussion
William James: spoken word

Zach created the original photography and layout of the record, which has since been scrapped and will likely be reworked for another project of some sort.



all rights reserved


Cerce Boston, Massachusetts

2011 - 2013

contact / help

Contact Cerce

Streaming and
Download help

Shipping and returns

Track Name: Love Song
if you find yourself lying in bed with me,
let's lie through the back of our teeth
we’ll reap disappointment and go back to sleep
and mature as patron saints of weak self-esteem.

it seems like nowadays, he or she is always saying:
“yes I am trying to break your heart in an attempt
to repair what has been done to mine.”

it wasn’t slander when i said the pleasure was mine
we’ve shared the same spit with our bodies entwined
there has to be some good intention behind
two human beings swallowed whole by wasted time.

you love this city more than it will ever love you back
i hate this city more than it will ever love me back
we’re home and homesick.
Track Name: Slowdance
at a standstill between long-distance jealousy
and unattended phrases omitted from speech,
I can create illusions of self-sufficiency
and convince myself of it when in reality,
I'll let you in and make you feel at home.
you'll never get me alone because I'm always alone,
but you can call me anytime if you want to.
we get comfortable with each other's mouths
so when coffee starts to taste like bad blood,
we'll switch to water
though my cup is already shattered
and can't contain what history books said
I should "need," or "desire."
I never knew what that was.
I'm exhausting myself and you're falling asleep
we can settle for uncomfort if you want to.
Track Name: Untitled 2 you hear that? there's something
coming. sounds just like a storm. no...wait.
that's not right. too clean. too sterile.
too much like instruments unwrapped
for amputation. this here, this is more like
rust scraping off iron spike. more like
steam pipe. boiler room. furnace. more like
"tear the fucking sky in half, pull god to earth by the throat."
more like inferno. blast radius. engine grinding hard against
stuck gear and the diesel is dripping near open flame.
every drop of blood in your veins is screaming to be spilled.
it's three a.m. and everything is closed except the parking lots.
everything is washed in flame. or is it fog? every light in
the sky is a town crier's torch.
three a.m. and all is not well!
I have been spitting out all of my teeth one by one,
spitting to make mud, and Jesus Christ is
screaming at me in my sleep, so
I don't sleep much anymore.
the voice on the radio speaks to me through crackle,
he tells me about the black helicopters.
clandestine operations, the secret drug trials
experimenation under cover of night.
coffee helps to keep me awake in the darkest moments
but as of late its been swishing around my mouth
like tin. like something warm and rotten. spit it
back into my wallet where blood should be.
give me new skin to crawl back to where it's dry...
listen. do you hear that? something's coming.
sounds juts like a storm.
Track Name: Replacement Parts
plagued with an imagination in a land of dream destruction
pavement running true north and south, inundated in self doubt.
when you were young, the unfamiliar could’ve been anything
but as you grow older, you realize it’s all the same fucking thing.
block after block after block
grid after grid after grid
lines leading to nowhere and nothing.

life is nothing but comfortable in the populated no-man's-land
flashing lights stain the suburban sky and god lives and dies inside crushed coke cans.
coming home from a crowded church to an empty house with an empty head
lying in your bed in peace and quiet but still afraid of death.

I’ll start letting my chest rust out in an effort to make myself lighter
I am mine if I want me to be and that’s all I need.
Track Name: Surface Area
the rain always seems to come at the opportune moment to start again.
after so many “one of these days,” came and went,
the feeling of looking at your ground drenched in downpour
omnipotent gaze through the screen door.
a dejected pile of your recent pasts, last middle-of-street collapse
rushing over the mound in the middle of the concrete
washed down opposing gutters on the edge of the street.
making their way to drains at the bottom of the hill
emptying everything but you and yourself.
Track Name: Sistine Chapel
i stayed up all night trying to think of the "cutest" way
that i could possibly say the words to "win your heart,"
or a sentence that would impress.
but instead i'll just be frank, it’s not that easy to say it to your face,
but I’d be a liar if I didn’t say you’re so fucking fake.

with fingers crawling on top of dry skin, is this what love / life / lust / spite feels like?
it used to be familiar but now we forget,
confusing comfort for happiness.

you tried to erase “me,” and all your precious memories from human history.

i took a month off to take care of myself but I'll make things worse in the meantime.
keep the parts that you like the most and collect them in a bookshelf with your fractured bones.
keep pretending and assuming and that you're concrete and ignore that you'll shatter with a single heartbeat,
or lack thereof, apparently, as you rip apart at the seams.
it's still getting harder to tell if you’re helpless or just useless.
Track Name: Life Etiquette
truly nowhere, we have nothing.
blood on my hands: born dead / still birth.
truly nothing bleeding you dry.
(I am nothing.)
Track Name: Blocked Out
I’ve been writing a lot or at least I’ve been trying to. I think it’s because you’ve been doing the same but my output doesn’t compare to words so eloquently pieced together. I can’t translate the input in the first place: I’ll pick up a pen and force a soliloquy of fragmented words mixed with the intention of cryptic feelings in poor penmanship and contrived ballpoint ink.

I’ll drive down the all too familiar roads and highways with you in the passenger seat until our car runs out of gas. I know if we’re together, we’ll never find a home and that’s exactly what we’re never looking for: not in New England, and not anywhere.

I’ll feel sequestered for the rest of my life
because I don’t know any better,
until you’ll come around again
with words that make me feel some kind of worth.
you'll decide to grow up, but I’m inherently going in reverse.
Track Name: Harsh Consonants
I still get terrified of who I have become
I still don’t sleep most nights because my dream is that I don’t wake up
there are ghosts inside my lungs, there are devils in my head
here are pieces of me that are better left dead.
I’ll keep my head in the clouds and one foot in the grave
in hopes that someday I might change.
I’d be the brightest light that you have ever seen,
but I’ve grown too dark, I’m just a shadow of myself.
Track Name: Semblance
the story of where the concrete came from and what it suffocated
could you not see me tempted by oncoming traffic?
placing my head through two posts in a rusted fence,
pretending it was a rusted vice
throwing up a decades worth of unwanted education.
when your stomach is finally empty, ten decades of bullshit fills it back up.

how many hours does it take of wandering alone not to lose it all upon going back home?
how many realizations gone from waking up to another day?
rip out my arteries and make me sick just to prove I’m a porcelain jar that you can break.
Track Name: Ides of March
i’m eternally prone to get caught up in cold blood
but in these and foyers and corridors and bedrooms,
it doesn’t feel quite the same.
we’ll never call each other anything.
we’re bitter kids and we hate our names
but I’ll continue to break my legs
for a whole lot of nothing
I'll be a muse: nothing less and nothing more.
another state is calling your name but there’s nowhere calling mine
and that’s just fine.

you look at me like a piece of paper ripped out of your notebook.
you write me down like a scripture
you let me down like a scripture.
there won't be any photographs to prove that we existed together.
i'll keep a secret
i'll be a secret.

for a whole of lot of nothing we sure are something.
for a whole of lot of something we sure are nothing.

I can linger and confuse myself forever if you want or ask me to,
but before you decide to leave for good, I must ask:
what happens if i disappear first?