Exercises in Futility

by The Fig Mints (of Your Imagination)

supported by
  • Streaming + Download

    You can buy the CD direct from thefigmints.com/music, or you can download it here.

    The CD is hand numbered in a limited edition of 100 and includes full color booklet with lyrics (check out the pics corresponding to individual tracks for a preview), as well as a hand made collage, found picture or photo taken by Bobby inside the sleeve.

    Email thefigmints@gmail.com
    Purchasable with gift card

      $5 USD  or more


  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    Hand numbered gatefold compact disc sleeve with handmade collage and full color lyrics insert. Limited edition of 100.

    Includes unlimited streaming of Exercises in Futility via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 5 days

      $5 USD


  • Full Digital Discography

    Get all 6 The Fig Mints (of Your Imagination) releases available on Bandcamp and save 40%.

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Revitalized Parts // Halo Lacerations, Hugs & Smiles, Bad Choice Brigade, Pretend to be Proud, Say Okay, and Exercises in Futility. , and , .

    Purchasable with gift card

      $10.80 USD or more (40% OFF)


We set out and we got wrecked at a speed that would break your neck, and the rough-and-tumble radiographers agreed to see what they could find. We didn't mind that they seemed out of their minds. It's a long and well-worn road, and we've shown we can brave the cold, cold winds that blow around. Astounding sounds will wake up all our senses now that we've opened our ears. And we've wasted all these years, but that's behind us now; for now we'll just wait here. And we believe we've done our best for those who need the help, but lest we forget we're not so self- sufficient anymore we'll open doors to all the helping hands we haven't shaken yet. And we're unspoiled and under wraps. Under the influence of that which can't be named without a rousing cheer from those who drove us out of here, and we must get away.
Thought bubbles scrape when troubles abound your sinking ship. Your loose lips split; hence stutter to make sense at your own expense. An innocent quip fired from cannons on the opposite side of the room scale. Collide in midair, and disintegrate into love. They cancel each other out. From your pocket spills unending apathy kept in seeds that were close to the stream. They started to grow straight through the rainy season. Now I can't wait for a change of season.
My days at university have been so grey and fraught with such calamity that in no way do I foresee relief. And some would say, "You must take it as it comes," but no attention do I pay. My nerves have come undone, and now everyone can read my deepest thoughts, but that's alright. Cos something's got to give. Decision comes at last to try no more for things I care not for. My fears compound exponentially in these trite years, and feeling such indignity is sure getting old. Wisdom is finally here. Brought fiercely with ear-piercing frequency. Your brains belie your eyes. The sunshine waits for no one, so let us be free from this university.
Holding hands and making faces at the moon. And all the phases I've been through don't make a lick of sense. I'm trying to look innocent without letting on that I'm just naive. Popping pills like they was cherries; all too eager to see where our desires collide, and why it don't feel right to feel this good anywhere at anytime, uh-oh. I don't care where my head is headed, but it seems to me that it's between a rock and a hard place. I'll catch 22 lashes from the ashes of my conscience. You brake for anyone, at least that's the way the news spun the story. And of course I'll retort with distorted logic and a skewed view of a few key facts. After all the brain draining, it's a shame I'm complaining 'bout the same old same old. Though we know that we're so disposable, isn't it just horrible that we got tossed away so far past our prime? And they will mill about with a fixed, blank expression as you so awkwardly fall on your face every time you try to pick yourself up.
"Hold the fort down," they said, "the righteous will be slightly ahead in the end, and you can bank on that!" You can bank on that. Y'see, it's unrelenting and unrepentant. And it all depends on the kinda winter you're into. Here comes the holy-rollin' told-you-so squad. Here comes the halfwit gimme god. But we have no change or wisdom left to spare. And we've been blasted a billion times, and tread through the undead idea mines with no regard for the situation's gravitational pull.
Pressed for time, don't press your luck. It's always running out. We wasted a lot of both on hope. Hope just disguises exercises in futility, the wisest laymen turn away at the break of every day, and they'd say, "Those that came before you would think the same things you do." We like to ride the wave of shady ways and means. We'll try to earn your trust, but it's just too much to expect. But every now and again you get surprised, though there's not much hope for those who don't mind our kind. They're the bravest you can find. And nothing if not honest, but so afraid of progress.
Rubbed eyes reach to find some season past, presenting platitudes. Ponder posture, pomp, and circumstantial success. Never look over a shoulder, do not concede we're getting older in spite of all the evidence that's laid at our feet. And if we live to love the lives we've labored so to call our own; although we'll wish to wander, we will not be shown the way home. Recurring themes split seams, and things think thoughts beyond what we would dream. We cradle time so careful so as not to wake our fate. Tiptoe slow, though they do know your every ever-loving move. Racing feet will face defeat so we may use their shoes. And bear in mind how we felt empty standing guard for strung out sentries. And oh, how we cared for the things we can't bear today.
October sun/November moon. No love of labor, no change in mood. Tough love and protest, no facing fear. Not likely laughing without a lot of lubricant to grease those grimy gears. So much sooner: be locked in love. A little later is better than never but never is good enough. Reaching out, not taking hold. Freaking out for time untold, And it's all I can do to stay awake. Your race is run, son. You're done run down. Whatever reason, whichever town. Waiting patiently with pounding pulse. Wasting gracefully, or giving up. And I don't believe it won't be worth the wait.
I agree, I'm grateful. I believe in a time for everything and everyone to get together and decide on a time to shine, but we don't want more. No brand new blood for the well-guarded halfhearted holders of all that we've been looking for. And this time, I don't even want to see you smile until you tell me what's so goddam funny. But c'mon, you can make it up as we go along, cos I could use a laugh. It's a fact, I'm fucked. Free flowing and freaked. I been fucked up for days, and paved the way for a brand new holiday. And darker days have dawned. A simple song, so long. They're playing catch up, kid, and everything that you did to avoid the paranoia only made you feel sick. But c'mon; I've been losing track of the times that you've undermined my peace of mind. And you know as well as I that I'll never learn much of anything.
I stumbled home, hit my head on the floor. I don't feel so alright no more. No, it's not you that I'm talking about, so don't jump the shark and let whatever you've got to say to me out. Though the load's extra heavy, your heart is a super-plus size. They're even screamin' like demons when all you wanna do is get by. I know what I said, and I know what you thought it meant. It's moments like these that make you so uneasy that you can barely stand it. And little by little, your will wears away. So you take what you can 'til you stop where you land, and you've said all you came to say. Oh, but don't stay there.
Coppin' out, cavin' in, so I'm turning on my seventh sense again. To get by, you've gotta have some faith in friendly fire. Let's get wired to the goings on outside. Oh, and ride our footsteps to the breaking dawn. I'll fight the craving and face the facts until I feel my future self look back at me and laugh, and curse the fact that no one ever knows what they could've had. It feels like one more lesson learned is one more thing forgot. And speak of which, forget yourself just for a bit. Cut the shit, I ain't such a pushover no more.


Paul Burnout played drums on tracks 3, 4, 9, and 11. He also wrote track 2.

Bobby Rogan wrote and played everything else, in addition to recording and mixing the whole goddam thing.

Mastered by Lyman Christensen at Gecko Recording Studio in Clinton, NY.


released May 5, 2009


all rights reserved



The Fig Mints (of Your Imagination) Utica, New York

The Fig Mints (of Your Imagination) is some guy named Bobby Rogan. When not playing songs written by someone else, he prefers to write his own for what it’s worth, and has recorded nine albums and one EP of (mostly) original material inspired by youthful indiscretion; severe anxiety attacks; heavy drinking; and of course, girls. Sprinkle a little self-loathing in there, and you get what you hear. ... more

contact / help

Contact The Fig Mints (of Your Imagination)

Streaming and
Download help

Shipping and returns

Redeem code

Report this album or account

The Fig Mints (of Your Imagination) recommends:

If you like The Fig Mints (of Your Imagination), you may also like: