The Peter Hammill Book

Annotation
Thisisacollectionofshortstories,lyrics,poemsanddrawingsbyPeterHammill.Mostofthe
stories, poems and drawings were taken from «Killers, Angels, Refugees» and «Mirrors, Dreams,
andMiracles».
Please do not distribute this book commercially, since there was no permission granted to
reproducethelyrics.Thankyou.
GuidoHogen
Fromfb2author:Thankyoufordownloadingthisbook.Muchworkhasbeendonetoorganize
it into the fb2 format, I hope you enjoy the result. If you find a mistake in the text or if you know
moreHammill'[email protected].
OlegKoretsky
TheLyric
IFablesandFigments
Audi
Bill,BenandMede
KingTut
Catechism
Options
Adam'sconviction
TheBlackHole
Waiting
TheMadonna
TheSpider'sWeb
Balance:TheMine
TheMessage
Brasilia
IIPoems
Killers,Angels,Refugees
IIILyrics
TheAerosolGreyMachine(VdGG,1969)
TheLeastWeCanDoIsWaveToEachOther(VdGG,1970)
HtoHe,WhoAmtheOnlyOne(VdGG,1970)
PawnHearts(VdGG,1971)
Fool'sMate(1971)
ChameleonintheShadowoftheNight(1973)
TheSilentCornerandtheEmptyStage(1974)
InCamera(1974)
Nadir'sBigChance(1975)
Godbluff(VdGG,1975)
StillLife(VdGG,1976)
WorldRecord(VdGG,1976)
Over(1977)
TheQuietZone,thePleasureDome(VdGG,1977)
Vital(VdGG,1978)
TheFutureNow(1978)
pH7(1979)
ABlackBox(1980)
SittingTargets(1981)
EnterK(1982)
Patience(1983)
LoopsandReels(1983)
Skin(1986)
AndCloseasThis(1986)
InaForeignTown
OutofWater(1989)
Fireships(1991)
TheNoise(1992)
OffensichtlichGoldfisch(1995)
RoaringForties(1994)
NoneoftheAbove(2000)
Present(VdGG,2005)
Singularity
Trisector(VdGG,2008)
AGroundinginNumbers(VdGG,2011)
Miscellaneous
TheLyric
Thefollowingistheprologuetoarecentbookoflyricsthatcameoutin
Spain.
Idon'tknow…thesongisthesong.Itsaystoolittle,itshowstoomuch.Enough.
Difficult,whatarethevaluesofthelyricwhichdistinguishitfrompoetryperse?Whatareits
particularvirtues,andwhatshouldonelookforinit?
Inacertainsense,alyricismuchmoredisposablethanapoem,sinceitpassestotheearsand
across the consciousness along with the music. It's obvious that the symbiosis between music and
wordiscrucialinthisregard.Whileonenaturallywantsalyrictostandupinitsownrightaswritten
/spokenwords(inexactlythesamewayonelookstomusictobediscretelysuccessful),itonlyreally
liveswhenitissung.Thus,theessentialsoundofthewordsisascrucialasthecontent.Sometimesthe
meaning of the two can be identical; at other times, a tension can be set up by using dissonant
phonetics against tranquil sentiment. A similar «confrontation» can also be created between words
and the music with which they are inextricably entwined. These contradictions color the overall
«meaning»ofthepiece.Asonglyricthereforehas«help»inachievingitsemotionalorintellectual
aims which a poem does not; conversely, of course, there are certain qualifications which must be
metwhencomposingalyricwhichdonotexistinthewritingofpoetry…theabsolutedefinitionof
tune as word-matrix for one. Although I myself have an abhorrence for the repetition of choruses,
and often insert changes both in words and music to them, nonetheless fundamental distinctions
remainbetweenthefunctionsofverses,«middles»,andchoruses.Theuseofrepetitioninapoemisa
device;inalyricitisoftenanessentialpartoftheform.Somelyricsaresuccessfulwhileconsisting
almost entirely of choruses… as long as they are fully unified with or called for by the music a
mantraeffectcanbeachieved;thismaybebanalonpaper,buthavegreat,powerwhensung.Inshort,
it'smybeliefthatalyric'sexistenceisonlyfullwhentakeninconjunctionwithitstune…butnaturally
thelyricshouldalsobeabletomake«sense»whentakenonitsown.
Ultimately, though, what is this «sense,» or is there, indeed, any one «sense» to be had? As a
form,thesonghasextremelyopen-endedpotential,perhapsevenmorethanpoetryassuch,albeitin
different areas. Because music has an emotional significance of its own — and, as I've said, this
significancecaneitherbeenhancedorcontradictedbythewords—aframeworkissetthemoment
theintroductorynotesareplayed.(Tosomeextenttheintroductorynotesareplayedeveninthemind
of the reader, if he or she knows the song well…) A song — at least in my view — should not be
didactic…thereshouldbe«holes»init,intowhichthelistenercaninserthisowncomprehensionand
experience.Ofcourse,thisalsoappliestopoetry,astoallotherartforms,butsincethesongoperates
on(atleast)twodistinctlevels,theintersticesarewider.Thus,forme,thereisnoonetrue«meaning»
foranysong,butasmanyastherearelisteners;toputitanotherway,asongproperlywrittenshould
speaktruthswhichcanbeindiametricallyopposedwaysbydifferentpeople.Thesetruthsshouldalso
besuchthattheycannotbeeasilystatedinmoredirectforms;alyricmustneedtobewritten,orthere
canbenosong.
Surprise should always be an element in a song, as should a degree of uncertainty, doubt, or
question.Ontheotherhand,althoughonewantstofindsomethingnewinasong,theremustalsobea
correspondencewithwhatisalreadyknown,evenifitisonlyintuitively.Inmyview,oneshouldnot
beleftattheendofasongthinking«it'sjustlikethat,»butrather«sometimesit'slikethat.»Naturally,
these criteria also apply to poetry; songs, though, are subject to greater strains of repetition than
verse.This«that»maychangeondifferentlisteningsfortheaudienceor,indeed,performancesfor
the singer, who must be able to continue finding freshness in a lyric through many renditions. A
regularly taken journey is never the same — season, weather, and state of life always throw a
differentcastonwhatonesees—andmyfeelingisthatsongsshouldbesmalljourneys.Perhapsone
visitspoems,commuteswithsongs.
As a form, and excluding for a moment the (essential) interaction with music, the lyric is
probablyclosertotheshortstory(proposition/scene-setting;explanation/enhancement;conclusion
/twist)thanthepoem…thetonewhichthelattermustcreatetobesuccessfulisprovidedbythemusic
in the case of a song. Or maybe there is something of the screenplay about a lyric — the actual
mediuminwhichcharacterandeventareultimatelydelineatedisnotsimplythewrittenword.
Ifindotherargumentsstrainingwithinme.Isthisnotalltoomuch?Thelyricis,afterall,tobe
hummedrathermorethananalyzed.Formostpeople,onlytherepetitionofthechoruswillimpartthe
senseofthesong.Thusallpartsofthesongmustbepresentineachindividualpartsoadegreeof
homogeneity is called for, however «clever» one wants to be. For myself, a large part, of that
homogeneity exists in the conflicting currents of phonetics (sometimes even across languages),
meanings,andsimpleword-play,whichcanrevealacentralidentitynotnecessarilyapparentonthe
surface of meaning. Lyrics can be games as much as creeds, snapshots as much as portraits… and
sometimes the cartoon speaks more strongly than the painting. This speaks for at least a poetic
sensibilityinmyownapproachtolyricwriting.
Myself,IknowIhaveatendencytoover-analyzewhatisatheartanear-conversationalform…
although naturally it's important that I should apply all my faculties as best I can to writing lyrics,
sincethisiswhatIdo.IremaindeeplyenamoredofTheSongforitspotentialtospeakaboutallareas
ofexperience,withadirectlyhuman(emotional/cerebral)voice.Ontheotherhand,eachsongisonly
a voice on the wind… sung, and echoing off the hills, perhaps it reaches the heart, more than the
mind.
Inevitably,Isuppose,IfeelIhaverambledsomewhat.IhopethatI'veimpartedsomethingofmy
sensethatsongsaretransitorythings,forthemoment;thattheycangivesomethingoftheuniversal,
butshouldnotbe«readasgospel,»howeverserioustheirintent.Eachlyric,aseachsong,willhavea
particularresonanceataparticulartimeandplace…dependingontheempathybetweenitsjourney
andone'sown.Thisithasincommonwithpoetry(andotherforms);but,inmyviewatleast,theyare
verydifferentdisciplines.
Idon'tknow…thesongisthesong.Itsaystoolittle,itshowstoomuch.Enough.
IFablesandFigments
Audi
Mannheim,Saturday
DearAudi,
Iknow:it'sbeenalongtime.IcouldsayI'msorryfornotgettingintouchwithyou—yourlast
lettercheeredmeinatimeoftrial—butitwouldn'treallybehonest.Icouldpleadpressureonmy
timewhichis,asalways,crowded,butthatwouldonlymakeyoufeelcrowdedoutandunimportantto
meandthatisuntrue.Forallthetimeanddistancebetweenusyouarestillclosetome,butIfindit
lessandlesspossibletogetthroughtoanyoneinthesedarkdaysandI'mafraidI'msomewhatoutof
practiceincommunication.Somehowit'seasierhere:hereweareinourlittletime-bubbleoftheband
and the roadies and the equipment and the van… with everything outside that bubble seemingly
unreal,itmakesitlesspainfultoreachyououtthere;and,ofcourse,ifIgooverthetopatanypoint
inthisletter,Icanalwayspleadtemporaryinsanity.
Iwishthatsomeonewouldgiveanaccuratewrittenrepresentationofourlifeinbands.I'vebeen
reading a ridiculous paperback I picked up at the airport which blares from its (extremely lurid)
cover «The Groupies! The Drugs! The Orgies!» and, inside, rambles on for page after page of
appallingEnglishaboutthefantastic(literally)adventuresofagroupcalledtheHotCrossBunswho
'hitthehighspotsofthepopscene'!Yaknow,I'masuckerforthesebooks,althoughIneverfinish
morethanaboutthreechapters.Istillkeeponhopingthatoneofthemwillbecoloredwiththefaintest
veneeroftruth.
Whoever reads them must have a very strange impression of our lives: rushing from town to
towninflashylimousines,performingtowildlyenthusiasticcrowdsandpickingupafewbeautiful
andnubileyounggirlsforravagingbackatthehotel,aided,ofcourse,bybountifulsuppliesofallthe
drugsknowntoman.No,perhapsI'mmixingthingsupabit:theabovehasaslightringoftruthin
thattheactivitiesarecyclicalandultimatelymeaningless:inthesecruddybooksthereisalwaysthe
semblance of a story line, and always a certain element of change in characters' actions and
reactions… in reality, nothing much ever changes here. Am I getting too confused for you? It's
because the reality is so hard to pinpoint… yes, we arrive in our car, but it's a Cortina, and not a
Mercedes;therearedrugssometimes,butthey'retheonlybufferagainstharshnessavailabletous…
theyletusliveandsimultaneouslykillus.(Mentally,Imean:Idon'twanttostart,youworryingabout
me physically, I have no intention of stringing myself out on the modern crucifix.) There are
groupies,too,butneverthenymph-fantasiesoffiction.Inthatorderedpicture,thegroupie(bearing
close resemblance to those plastic inflatable life-size dolls you see advertised in Marvel comics)
makesapresentofherbodytotheband;inreality,therolesarereversed,andonecanalmostfeel
one'sscalpbeinglifted.
We'rereallynotthekindofbandofwhichsuchfictionsaremade,althoughIhavenodoubtthat
there are bands which might be. All bands are different, as all individuals, but there is something
runningthroughtheallbutthetiniestpercentageofthemwhichcanneverbetracedtoearthamidthe
gorydetailsofthenovels:itisthemusicthatisimportant.Andifyoucouldtalkaboutthemusicina
bookthenwhatwouldbethepointofplayingit?Perhapsmusicisthegravitywhichholdsclownthe
writtenwordandpreventsitfromflyingupintotheregionsoftruth.
You'll be probably wondering why I'm writing this to you; well, it's a question of pressure
valves,asiteverwas.(RememberthattalkwehadinManchester,lasttimeIsawyou?Isitreallytwo
years?) You know that, for a long time, the songs are my safety valve; but, also, you know that
sometimesnothingwillcomeout,andIcansitandstareforhoursatthefretsandkeys,orthepenin
my shaking hand; but they won't deliver to me their untapped secrets. Anyway, now, locked in the
heartofGermanyandthetour(twoweekstogo)Icanhardlygathertheenergytoallmyselfopento
allthat.
Ihadadreamaboutyoulastnight;itdoesn'tmatterwhatitwasabout.Believing(asImustifIam
tosurvive)thatallthingshaveareason,ifonlyanegativeone,reasonsprangtomethatthecomfort
ofyourimaginedeyeandunderstanding,listeningtomeacrossthemiles,mighthelpmethroughmy
burdens.Icould just tell you what I intend to do, for documentary evidence, as it were, but I really
want somebody… just one person… to understand, even if (and I know it is so) I am incapable of
spellingitout,andcanonlythrowaglimpseoflightthroughthedoor-jar.
Letmetellyouaboutthegigwedidtonight,asthatseemstoepitomizealltheterrorsthatbeset
meandthreatentodragmedownintoIdon'tknowwhat.Tostartwith,wewereprettyoutofit:we'd
spenttodayentirelyinourhotel(Mannheimisn'taveryinspiringtowntotourevenifwe'dbeenable
to organize ourselves and our energies to that extent) and the last of our pooled money went on a
bottleofTequila.(There'sbeensomecrazymix-upoverourwages,andtheyhaven'tcomethrough
fromLondonyet;theyweremeanttoarriveyesterday,butwecanonlyhope…)So,havingsprawled
aroundonthestarchedwhitesheetsallday,andconsumedthewholebottleofТ.,wewereaboutas
ready to face the gig and set as we ever are. It looked promising: a low, modern building, with
fountains,atea-roomwithumbrellas,modernsculpturedottedabout,thegrounds,whitechesspieces
arrayedagainstblacktrees.Inside,itwasequallymodernandluxurious,butwithonemajorproblem:
thedressing-roomheatingappearedtobejammedfullon.Itwasabasementroom,withwindowsat
ceiling level, and like an oven. However, we were so exhausted by our clay of inactivity that we
slumped on the low leather sofas which went around two of the walls, and gazed at our hollowed
facesinthemirrorwhichstretched,wall-width,belowthewindows.
The «Free Music» punters arrived and, kneeling and crouching on the ground outside the
windows,begantheirusualharanguingtobelet.inthroughthedressing-room.Theybecamemore
andmoreirateaswerefusedthementryand,afteraphaseofalternatebeggingandinsults,actually
attemptedtoforcetheirwayin.Westoodonthemake-updeskandpushedupagainstthewindowsto
keepthemout,finallymanagingtolockthecatches.Wegrimacedthreateninglyateachotherthrough
theglassbeforetheydisappeared,doubtlessinsearchofsomeotherpossibleentrypointtoforce.I
wonder about, the ethics of it all sometimes, for I would dearly love to play for free. But it's
impossiblewithourweeklybillstopay,theroadies,thevan,theequipment,ourownwages.Ethically,
ifsomehavepaid,it'snotfairtoletinanyothersforfree;butthelogicalextensionofthatisthatif
one person is prepared to pay k50 to see us, everybody else should. Haha. It's just another
imponderable;Ican'tseemtopenetratethismorass.Ienterintothis,asinsomanyotherareas,atone
pointwhichIfeeltobetrue,andcomeoutsomewherecompletelyalientomeandantipathetictomy
feelings. It's a lot easier to chant slogans than to think about their implications.
FREEMUSICFREEMUSICFREEMUSIC!
OneoftheguysfromNimrod,withwhomwe'remakingthistour,cameintothedressing-room
andtoldusthathe'donceblankedoutforthreedaysonTequila,withnomemoryofwhathappenedor
whathe'ddone.Davidgotabitfreakedandwentoutoftheroom.
ThenDorothyappeared:she'shalf-English,half-German,andhasbeenfollowingusaroundfor
thepastweek,encampingherselfindressing-rooms,occupyingthelobbiesofhotels,lurkingonthe
side of the stage during sets. Dorothy has brown hair, beady eyes, and piles of blubber bulging
aroundherthighs,midriff,andarms.Shehaspuffycheeksandsmells.Shecomesintoourdressingroomand,mostofthetime,justsitsthere,ignoredbyusand,doubtless,inwardlyseethingatbeing
so. We've talked about her a lot because she hangs us up so much. She is the original immovable
object.,andnoneofusseemtohavethecapacitytobeirresistableforce.Talkingtoherdoesnobody
anygood;nordoesignoringher,andnoneofuscanquitebringourselvestogoall-outnastyonher,
even if that would do anything towards obliterating her from our lives, which I doubt: she would
probablycurlupinamasochisticorgasm.Wecan'tdoit.toherbecauseshegenuinelyseemstobe
completely into the music, and is prepared to travel hundreds of miles just to see us perform. The
boosttoouregosissimultaneouslyadamperonouroutrageandourinstinctsforself-preservation.
Consciously,weareawareofallthis,but,itseems,thereisnothingwecando.Usuallyshejustsits
thereand,infact,untiltonight,bycarefulavoidance,Ihadnotexchangedmorethanahalf-hearted
hello' with her; but when the door opened I had been expecting David's return, and so had already
flashedhalfareassuringsmileinthatdirectionasshecameintheroom.Shecaught,itlikeawicketkeeperandflounderedovertowhereIwassitting,undergoingsomeverystrangethingsinmyhead
asaresultoftheTequila:Iwaspowerlesstostopherastheinevitableonslaughtsmashedagainstme.
«Hello!»shesaid,andcrackedherlopsidedgrinatme.Igruntedandtriedtolookelsewhere.
«Where do you live in London?» she asked. I pretended not to notice, but she repeated her
questionmoreinsistently.«Well,IliveinSussex,actually,notLondon…I,um,preferthecountry…
the…peace…»
Shewaspullingabookoutofhervoluminousshoulderbag.Itwasheraddressbook.Shewanted
myaddressinEngland.Iaskedherwhy.Shewantedit,shesaid,towritetome.Itoldhertowriteto
therecordcompany,andthatthey'dgettheirlettertome.
«Idonotliketherecordcompany,»shesaid.Therewasapause.
ShewantedtocomeandseemewhenshecametoEngland.(EverybodycomestoEngland.)She
wascominginamonth'stime.Shewantedtocomeandseeme.Itoldherthat,becauseofwork,Iwas
rarelyathome.Shestillwantedmyaddress,andstillwantedtocomeandseeme,andshewasnow
getting angry. I blinked at her stupidly and tried to work out what was going on. Guy gave me a
cigaretteandbriefrespite.
Shechangedhertack:wouldIwritetoher,herewasheraddress,wouldIcomeandseeherwhen
wewereinDusseldorf?Itriedtoholdoutwithfurtherevasivegrunts,butshewouldn'thaveit,and
finally I was forced into a tentative 'Maybe'. She gave me a neatly folded piece of paper with her
addressonit.Nowcouldshehavemyaddress?GuyletoutawhistledsighasbothheandHughwent
outtowatchsomeofNinirocl'sset..Deserted!
Dorothy edged towards me along the sofa. I can handle any physical assault, I thought to
myself:Icanalwaysrunoutoftheroom…
«Doyouwantsomeheroin?»sheasked.Ideclined.«There'ssomethingIwanttoaskyou.»
«Uh… what's that?» I was hoping for a manageable, analytical question about a song, a
performance,ortheband'sfuture.Shesurprisedme.
Audi,thischick…thisrevolting,obsessionalchick…justsatthereandaskedmetogivehera
baby. Can you believe it? She said she knew it would be the most beautiful baby, it would be an
amazingchild,wouldIdoit?WouldIdothissmallthingforher?
Youcanimagine:Ifreaked.Mutteringsomethingabouttheroombeingtoohot,Imadeadivefor
thedoor.Shewasonmeinasecond,clingingtomyknees,begging,pleading,beseeching…
«What'swrongwithme?What'swrongwithme?»sheblubbered.
Guycamethroughthedoorandstoppeddeadinhistracks:Iwassaved!Hergriprelentedfora
second,andIwasawayoutofthedoor,tohideinatoiletuntilthetimecamefortheset.
Youseethekindofpressurethatcomesonus.DidIeverasktoletmyselfinforanythinglike
that?Isitallworthitifoneputsanotherhumanbeingthroughthat,howeverunintentionally?What
couldIhavedoneorsaid?
The set was adequate, and I spent a lot of my by now bursting aggression in the performance.
Steamseemedtogooutof,andtirednesscreepintoit,though,inthemiddleandbytheendwemight
aswellhavebeenplayingindifferentroomsforthelackofempathyandmutuallift-off.Iclungon
for the last chord of the encore, exhausted mentally and physically. It isn't easy, sometimes, to get
throughthathourandaquarterwhichis—supposedly—allofourworkingclay.Itisstill—thank
God—adifferentworld,parenthesizedbetweenso-calledrealities;butcomingawayfromit,withall
thechangeswroughtinone'smindduringthestay,isashardasgoingin.
Wealmosthadaveryheavyargumentovertime-keepinginthedressing-roomafterwards,but
this was averted by the arrival of three or four young Germans come to question us. We seem to
argue a lot these days… perhaps all topics of conversation have finally dried up, and the only
communicationlefttousisshouting.Maybeitisonlyaphase,andwehavehadsuchinthepast;but
soonerorlateroneofuswillinevitablygoovertheedgeinslightorpersonalinsult,andthenwe'll
all tumble off the tightrope that we walk in our self-imposed family group. We squabble like any
family,andsoonerorlatermustallleavehome…
Thebatteryofquestionswasarrayedagainstus,butIcouldmanageonlytheoccasionalgrunt
bywayofnon-committedanddarkanswer;inregainingrealityIwasoncemoreshakinginthewake
ofmyencounterswithDorothy.«Whatisyourfavoritesong?»«Whatphilosophershaveinfluenced
yourwork?»«Whatareyougoingtodointhefuture?»
Whatarewegoingtodointhefuture,Audi?WhatamIgoingtodo?Thefutureseemstobethe
endlessroadandtheendlessgigsandsets,whicharesometimesinterminable,too,althoughatother
times they are pure joy. How much joy do you have to experience to compensate for the various
assaultsonyourbeing,inflictedinachievingit?HowmanymoretimeswillIsitinthecarandthink
«Maybe this is the last journey; maybe this time we'll meet that coach overtaking a ten-ton lorry.»
How many arguments will there be? How long before they become hate rather than difference of
opinion?HowlongbeforeweneedsixbottlesofTequilatoinsulateusfromtheoutside?Howmany
moreDorothysarethere?
I'm sitting here in this shabby hotel room and it's a quarter to four. Tomorrow we're going to
Nuremberg.IfIhadmywagesIthinkImightleaveeverythingbehindandjustdisappearinMorocco
orPakistan.WhenIstartedoutonthisroadIthoughtIwasgoingtobuymaximumfreedom,butnow
our responsibilities to other people grow and grow, and freedom is murdered weekly by our datesheets.
ButIdon'thavemywagesand,evenifIdid,I'mnotsurethatI'dmakeit;toofarin,now…too
farin.Iprobablywon'twritetoyouagainforawhile,andalmostcertainlywon'tseeyouuptherein
yourDundeeretreat.Butthankyouforlistening…writingallthisdownhasanesthetizedme—Ionly
needonepersonoutsidetounderstandhalfalongtheway.
Takegoodcareofyourself…
I'msorryforlayingallthisonyou,butatleastitshowstrust…
Bill,BenandMede
Read the questions carefully. You are advised not to answer any or all of them. Marks will be
awardedonlyforempathywiththeprotagonists.
ThreeresolutemerchantseamenarrangedtorunaracefromSouthamptontoWinchester.They
agreedonnorulesbarthefact,thattheyshoulduseonlythemainroad,andnotthepavements.
Bill, a stoker, choose to run in the gutter on the left hand side of the road. Ben, a second
lieutenant, elected to race on the right hand side, also in the gutter. Mede, whose rank, status and
mentalattitudearetothisdayunknown,ranclownthecenteroftheroad,alongthedottedwhiteline
andatthebrowofbothcambers.Incommonbetweenthemallwerethreethings:anunshakablebelief
in their own victory, and in the justice of such; acknowledgment of the fact that a run of seventeen
mileswouldexhaustthem;hopeforthesightofthespireofWinchestercathedral.
Eachhadadifferentstyleofrunning.Benwasafastsprinter,andhopedtoburnuptheothers'
will by his initial speed. Bill was not particularly fast, but the power in his legs and chest and his
overall stamina would, he believed, see him through. Mede was neither hare nor tortoise, but a
tactician, and hoped to carry away the victory by conserving his energy for the final burst into the
cathedral precincts. There were advantages and disadvantages for each of them in their chosen
positions.Billhadaclearviewaroundright-handbends,nonearoundleft-handones,butwasinno
clangerfromoncomingtraffic.Hewasthreatened,however,bycarscomingfrombehindhim.Ben
had reversed advantage as regards his view of the road, and had no need to concern himself about
trafficcomingfrombehind,butwasindireperilfromeveryvehicleoutofWinchester.Medehada
relatively unobstructed view of the road ahead at all times and, furthermore, was in no danger of
beingdisqualifiedbyaccidentallyrunningintothepavement,asweretheothertwo.However,every
car and lorry stood a good chance of running him down and he therefore had to zigzag along the
roadinordertoavoidthesethreats.
Itshouldbementionedatthisstagethattheentirecomplementoftheirshiphadbetheavilyonthe
outcomeoftherace,fromthecaptaintothelowestcabinboy,andthislentfurtherimportancetoa
contestwhichwasalreadyofvitalinteresttothethreeparticipants.
Theraceproceededmuchashadbeenexpected:Bentookoffatanincrediblepaceandwassoon
ahundredyardsaheadoftheothers.Theywere,however,unconcernedatthisapparentsetback,Bill
sureofeventualtriumphduetohismassivestrength,andMedeusinghimaspacemakerandhaving,
ashewouldhavewished,aclearviewoftheraceasawhole.NeitherattemptedtomatchBen'sinitial
burstofspeed.
One mile out of Compton, on the Southampton side, Ben's energy was almost spent and he
glanced round despairingly as Bill and Mede pounded up to level with him. By now Bill was
confidentlyintorhythmandMede,too,hadhissecondwindandcouldseethattheracewasrunning
accordingtohisprojectedplan.
They ran precisely even for about two hundred yards before Ben, sensing his imminent and
abjectdefeatandrollingfromsidetosideintheagonyofhisonwardmstitch-tornrush,steppedonto
theeasiertreadofthepavementinhisdesperation,brazenlybreakingtherulesoftheirgameinthe
process.Ben [note: prob. should be «Bill». HJ], seeing him, was momentarily furious but then, not
wishingtorunatanydisadvantage,howeverillegallywrought.,ranontothepavementonhissideof
theroadand,indopingso,changedtherulesbyatwo-to-onemajority.Inessence,thislittledrama
merelyexemplifiedthearbitrarinessofrulesandtheperversityofhumannaturebutitleftMedeata
decideddisadvantage,fortherewasnopavementtowhichhecouldtransferhiscourse,andhehadto
continuezigzagginghiswaydownthecenteroftheroad:suchwasaninnatefailingofhisoriginal
choice.
So they continued, three abreast across the road, Bill keeping a sure and steady pace, Ben
clinging desperately to that speed, Mede inwardly seething but all the more determined to win.
Perhaps there would have been disputes in the close of the cathedral; perhaps (it was not unlikely
fromthestart)theywouldhavecometoblows;perhapsthevictorywouldhavebeenwithheld.The
resolutionofthesevariousoptionsisunknown,foranothertripartitedramawasalreadyunfolding.
AGlobeTourscoachtriedtoovertakeaCarterPatersonpantechnicon,whileabrightredSprite
drivenbyaSouthamptonveterinarianonhiswaytocureasickboaconstrictorwasapproachingon
theoppositesideoftheroad.Thestretchwasnarrow,andtherewasnoroomforthethreetopassin
safety:lorryandsportscar,inascreamingduetoftorturedtiresandbrakes,swervedofftheroadand
tookoutBillandBen.Medewascrushedunderthefrontnearsidewheelofthecoach.Therewasno
victory.
Somequestionsarisingfromthematter…
DidWinchesterexistand,ifso,whowouldhavegottherefirst?Whatdifferencewouldithave
madeiftheywererunning
i)fromTubingentoUlm?
ii)fromBethunetoCanterbury?(assumeallcrossedtheChannelontheHovercraft)
Whathappenedtothecrew'sbets?
Whowasguilty?
Isthereanypoint?
KingTut
Forsanethaecolimmeminisseiuvabit.
Virgil:Aeneid
«Ifthereisanythingyouwouldwishtospringtomind—and,remember,tomindonly—then
nowisthemomenttoopenyourselftoit.»
'Ican'tgetanyfurtherthansixorseven.Everythingbeforeisblurredorstolen.I'vestolenmy
picture of babyhood from the photograph album. There is nothing real there, only dark, terribly
gloomypictures.
«WhereamI?WhowasI?DoInotexist?Istherereallynopast?Andifso,thenwhatisnow,for
I can only have been made by what has been and I can only be what I have been made? Is there no
momentformetodefineasachangingone?HowaloneIfeel…»
Therearenodesinallourlives,highpeaksofactivity,excitement,relationship,confrontation.
Memorycatchesthemthroughthemistsoftheyears.Inthefarpast,theonlypastthatwecanbriefly
callsuch,onlythenodesarevisible,andintheirtemporalmomentswearebothmadeanddefined.In
subliminalchasmsofantinode,reactionisfelt,registered,translatedintoascratchonthewall,anote
whichwilljoinwithotherstomakeourindividualchords.Fardown,ajunctionswitchesfrom«yes»
to«no»andtheworldchanges.Howimportantistherootnote;howcriticaltheplacementofthefirst
switch!
I, too, have pseudo-memories of/from photograph albums with funereal black corner-pieces,
angry fists, surrenders to hunger, creative swearing, and I can attribute the blanks in my memory
aboutthemtomorethanextremedistanceandtotallackofdata.Theyarenotcelebratedinme.They
arenottheSaints'clayofmycalendar.Theyareofwhite,cream,pastel;neithertherose-and-goldof
joyous triumph, nor abstemious, sinful black and purple are theirs. They receive no extra
benedictions,processions,consecrations,HallelujahChorusesorDiesIraes.Theyaretheblankpages
inmymissal;noentriesintheliturgicaldiary.
'Ohbutwait…yes,yes!!Itreturns…goodyoungproto-Catholicsall,firstprayerbooks,white
andgoldleaf,milkatbreak,feudingwithrivals,kissingtheonegirlintheclass…andrunningaway.
Iwasshyandclinging;laughedatwordslike'wee-wee';frightenedofthedark;alreadyawareofmy
ownvulnerability(fromwhere?fromhow?fromwhat?);putty.
Ashiningsummerafternoon,breaktime—butfourofusarefoldingupandpilingawaychairs
from the kindergarten room, attended by Teacher. She is, somehow, difficult to visualize; only the
auraofpower,ofdisciplineispresentofher.That,andthedeepattractions,thedespairingurgesthat
areherinme.
We finished piling up the chairs, and are impatient to be outside, playing French cricket. Ah, I
noticeit:ablackseamonastockingrisingoutofablackshoe!Ah,teacher!
I'mfeelingtherootofmymousewithmytongue,exploringtheseamygeographywiththetip,
pressingupwardswiththeflatwholeandsuckingoutthesalivafromthejunction.Somethingtellsme
Ishouldnotbedoingthis.IfIsuckenoughsalivaoutIcanmakemytonguetricktothecaveofmy
mouth.Teacher'swordsdriftin:somethingaboutonefinallittlejob,movingtable…
I can't slide my tongue loose! Ah, but if I pull hard I can jerk it away from the roof. The seal
comesapartwitha«cluck»whichspillsoutintothesuddensilenceoftheroom.Tomeitsoundslike
a «cluck'; to teacher, a 'tut» of disapproval and rebellion. She's spitting words at me/face of
thunder/physicality/nerve-endsmulti-pulsating,screaming/myguiltytongueunabletomanagemore
thanasingle'But…':stunnedintoimmobility/mindtearstodenyherassumptions.
It'sgoing,going,blurringintograyagain.Whatthen?Wehavetostayinforthebreakperiod.
Myfriendsareveryangry.Teacherisveryangry.Grey.AndIam..?Iwas..?'
WildmanLogo,nastychild-molester,failedattemptedmurdererandcrypto-tortologist,stumbles
intothecontinuanceofhisgloomysilence.Themanintheblackhoodhaspulledtheswitch,witha
'tut'.
Catechism
Iamtwenty-threeyearsoldandaplagiarist.Istealmyfriends'andenemies'andacquaintances'
livesandputtheminmymind.SomeclayIwilltakethemalloutagainandusethem.SomeIhave
used already. I have no need of comfort; I have no need of company. Everything exists inside my
mind.Outsideexistsinside;realityisonlywhatIchooseittobe,andifIchoosetomakerealityalie,
thenitisso.IknowIamrealbecauseIhavedecidedIam.Ithink,thereforeyouexist.
Whoareyou?
Youaresevenyearsoldandatypewriter.Youarecrystalandosmoticbarrierandironcurtain
and drug. You are everything that never existed; you are the sum total of human knowledge from
infinity to infinity. You hold the final clue to the ultimate mystery. You are the glue that holds me
together.
WhoamI?
I am several fragments of my several accumulated lives; I am the total of my fragments. I am
heldtogetherbybloodandboneandglueandmystery.IftherewasnomysteryIwouldfallapartand
ifIfallaparttherewouldbeamysteryandsoIwouldfalltogetheragain.Ikeepfallingapart,and
puttingmyselftogetheragainbecausewheneverIfallapartIfalltogetherandsoIamamysteryand
mysteryiseternal.Ithappenstousall.
Whoarewe?
We are the fragments when I have fallen apart. We are the spaces between the mystery, the
mysteryofthespacesandeverycellandmoleculewhichthreatensitself.Weareselfdestructionand
genocideandretribution.WearetheLawandthehangmanandthehangedman.Wearethedeadand
theriotandentropy.Wearethetracelinesonanoscilloscope,nothingmore.Thereisnothingmore.
Whatisnothing?
Nothingisthemomentwhenweknowwhatweare.Nothingisthemomentwhenwehavejust
fallen apart and have not yet fallen together. Nothing is the song that has never been heard, but is
compiledthroughinfinity.Thesongisthepuppetmaster's,andisirrepeatable.Nothingisthebridge
betweenthefutureandthefurtherfuture.Nothingiscertainty.Nothingisanydefinitionofanything.
Whatisadefinition?
Adefinitionisthemomentwheneverythingends.Adefinitionisdeath.Adefinitionistheanswer
towhichyoumustlookupthequestioninthebackofyourbook.Therearemissingpages.Pagesare
prisons,andmissingpagesareinescapableprisons.Allisconfusion.
Whatisconfusion?
Confusionisananswer.Confusionisacertainty.Confusionisanendwithoutend.Confusionis
all the fragments and the coming together and the falling apart and the moment when it is neither
togethernorapartandthemomentwhenitisboth.Confusionisthefrontispieceandthefirstchapter
andtheappendix.
Whatisbetween?
Fragments.Glue.Answers.Definitions.Me.You.
Whoareyou?
Me.
WhoamI?
Iamtwenty-threeyearsoldandaplagiarist.
Options
Whatoptionsareopentous!Whatchallengesweallfacedaily!HownoblearaceisMankind!
Howincomparable!
We are all born equal, with nothing, with the same, with zero, with one hundred per cent
possibility. We can all make of ourselves whatever we want, whatever we believe in; and what we
believe is ultimately what we are. We can all draw from the fathomless wells of human knowledge
andexperience.Everyday,wedoso,andeveryindividualmet,probedandfeltisanotherequation
solved in our self-examinations. We can all transcend. We can all achieve peace, or turmoil, or
boredom,oraGoodLife;whateverweself-destinateisours.Wecanallbecomewhole.Hopeisnot
dead.Mansurvives.
Pananderexamineshischininthecrackedmirror.Themirrorhasstreaksofdirtacrossitlike
thetracksofproudandununrepentanttears.TherearenotearsinPanander'seyes:theyarehardand
coldgray.Thepupilsaresmall.Thewhitesareblurredandcapillariedwithblood.Thereisaday's
stubbleonhischin.Thestubbleisdark,butpatchedanddappledingray.Thechinistautandfirm.
Pananderdecidesnottoshave;ithardlyseemsworthit.Hefeelstherootofabacktoothwiththe
tipofhistongue.Hischeekrumplesanddistortsinthemirror.Thetoothfeelsloose,butheiscareful
nottodislodgeit;histongueisfunghiedandfurred.
Thereisapacketofuntippedcigaretteslyingonthebedsidetable,withfiveleftinit.Anempty,
crushedpacketliesinthewastepaperbasket.Ontopofthesuitcaseonthebedsidechairisapackof
twohundredduty-freecigarettes.Twopacketsaremissing.Thereisabottleofduty-freeScotchon
thebedsidetable,andahalf-fulltumblerbesideit..Pananderpicksupthetumblerandgulpsfromit.
Hedoesnotshudder.Hepicksupacigarettefromthepacketandlightsit.Heblowsthesmokeout
veryslowly,withawhistlingsigh.Heiswaitingforsomebodyorsomething,andhehasalotoftime.
Itistwohourslater.TheleveloftheScotchhasdropped.Thereisanewpacketofcigarettesby
thebedside,andtheoldpacket,crushed,hasjoineditssiblinginthewastepaperbasket.Pananderis
lyingonthebedwithoutshoesorjacket.Hissocksneeddarningandthematerialattheelbowsofhis
shirtisthreadbare.Heiswatchingamothdocircuitsaroundthelightbulb.Theshadesisplasticandit
iscracked.
Pananderissittinginthisdirtylittlehotelroomwithcrackedlightshade,withdustymirror,with
wallswhichseemtohavebeenpaintedthecolorofthedirt,withaceilingscarredbymanyplaster
repairs,withshaking,decrepitbedandmustysheets,anditallfits.Pananderfitsintheroom.Heis
comfortable here; he is blending with his environment like a chameleon, like a sand crab, and the
onlypartsofhimwhichtrulyremainvisibleagainstthesombrebackgroundoftheroomarehiseyes,
whicharehardandcoldandgray.Behindthosehard,cold,grayeyesheisthinkingaboutwhatheis
goingtodowhenheleavesthisplace.Heisthinkingaboutthecolorshisskinmustchangetoinorder
toblendwithnewandgaudiersurroundings.
Heistryingtodecidewhichoftwodaydreamshewillinhabit.Botharecrystal-bright,sunny,and
washedoverinsheetsofwhite.Onehasdarkconifersandscabsofout-croppingrockthroughsnow.
It has speed and steaming breath, exhilaration and endless parallel lines biting across the white
surfaceofthegroundinpalegray.Theotherdreamishorizontal,inactive,thegentlehissofwateron
burningwhitesand,sparklinglightontheendlessdeepblueofthesea,coolingpalmfrondsandlong
alcoholicdrinks.Inneitherdreamisthereanywaiting.
Anotherhourhaspassed.Themothisnolongerflyingaroundthecrackedlightshade.Ithasdied
underthemercilessonslaughtofarolled-upnewspaper,andisnowmerelycrushedtissueandmoist
juicesspreadoverthecrossword.Thecrosswordhasbeencompleted,andsohasthemoth.
Pananderislyingonthebedandthinkingabouthislife.Heisnotsurethathelikesit:thereare
certainmomentsandactionsthathefindalmostunbearableeventothinkabout.Otherpartshelingers
overwithadullsenseofpleasure.Hehasbeenbothathoughtfulmanandacruelone.Sometimeshe
has been gentle; sometimes he has been stupid. He is wondering what being happy means. He is
wonderingwhatGoodis.Heisthinkingthatmaybehisdreamshavebeenbetterthanhislife.Hisonly
comfort,istheabsolutecertaintyofthepronouns.
The door bursts open, and four men come through it. Three of them are wearing sombre,
anonymousuniform.Thecolouranddenominationdoesnotmatterintheslightest.Theyhaveblack
belts and sub-machine guns. The other man has on a badly-fitting, belted raincoat of sandy gray.
Under the raincoat is a badly-fitting black suit. The cut and fit of his clothes do not matter in the
slightest..Hehasblack,greasyhairandanautomaticpistolinhishand.
ThisisnotwhatPananderhasbeenwaitingfor.
Thesearenothisfriends.
Thesepeoplewerenotincludedinhisdreams.
Pananderlickstherootofoneofhisbackteeth.Itisloose.Hepusheshardonit,anditcomes
awayfromthegum.Asmallcapsulefallsfromitshollowontohistongue.Hepuncturesthecapsule
betweenhisteeth.Suddendreamscometohim,suddenacridityandacidity.Hecrumplesoverontohis
side,andhishandstearathisstomach.
Themanintheraincoatwalksovertotheshabbyfigureonthefloorandkicksitinthekidneys.
Pananderdoesnotworry,wonder,think,dream,orfeelanymore.
Of course I do not know any spies. Of course I have never seen a man standing in a doorway
wearingasandgrayraincoatandblacksuitwithanautomaticpistolinhishand.ButIvalidatemylife
bywritingaboutdeathandIfillmylifewithinterestbywritingaboutinterestingdeath.
Ofcourse,physically,itisnodifferentfromthelastasthmaticgurglingcough.Ofcourseitisno
differentfromthescreaming,distortedunionwithmetalandupholsteryonafoggymotorwaynight.
The only interest lies in the last frame of the mind's movie. The only conclusions to be drawn are
derivedfromthephotofinish,thedeadheatthatebbsawayintotheairandisgonealmostbeforeitcan
beanalyzed.Ultimately,noconclusions,analyzes,answers—onlymorequestions.
WhydidPanander,Rothschild,Kutz,whoeverhemayreallyhavebeenorbeenimaginedtobe,
explodehisbeingwithacapsuleofhydrocyanicacid?Optionsalreadyformtheirranks;thenetwork
ofmotiveandreasonstretchesoutinaspider'swebfromthem.Ononeofthethreadsliesthecorpse,
first,trapped,nowhusked.Howmanyoptionshavebredthisresult?
Whatifhethoughttheintruderswereabouttoshoothimoutofhand?Didhewishtodenythem
suchfinalcontroloverhim?Wasthislastassertionofindividuality,hislast,hisonlyhis?Didheside
withtheoptionofdecisionandself-determinismtotheend?Suicidetodenymurder?SuicideforFree
Will?Suicidefora'goodname'?Wastherereallyanychoice?
Perhapshesawitdifferently.Perhapshesawalreadythegrimlinesofprisonbars;drybread,
stale water, board bed, interrogation, lights, questions, questions, questions. Perhaps he saw
humiliation, public and private; pain; destruction, within and without; endless non-life, endless
anonymity,endlessdespair.
Was he already dead in the moment he saw all of this? Was he dead against capture, failure,
ultimate repentance? Was he dead in the destruction of self-respect? The fast against the slow and
tortured?
Do you think he thought at all? Do you think it could have been a charade, a joke, a game,
anotherdream?Areyoudeadyet?
Itisinevitablethat,oneclay,eachofuswilllie,crushedandinwardlyseepingblood,inourtrue
colors at last, pinned against the blank spaces we fill with clever but isolating words and the black
spacesthatareourmight-have-beens,ourbrokendreams,ourfailings.Perhapsweareallengaged
merelyinmouldingourcoffins.
Whatoptionsareopentous!
Adam'sconviction
«Thereissomethingmore,»shesaid,«somethingofwhichyoureallyshouldbeaware.It'sina
muchbroaderdirection,nothingtodowiththeindividualspheres…yourattitudetolifeintotal.»
Herhandsresteduponthegreenbaizeofthetable,enclosingbetweenthemthelay-outofthose
cardsinwhich,somesay,fortuneisconcealedandrevealed,ratherthanwonorlost.
«In what way?» he asked. «I mean, I know there is this conflict»… his hands making general
motions over the cards, where hers had darted decisively from one to the next in tight triangles of
intuition,logic,causality…«betweenthehigherandlowernatures,butwhatelse?»
«It's something outside, not specifically from an individual card, or the position. I don't know
whetherorhowtotellyoureally,but-well,thefeelingissostrongfromthishand,Idon'tthinkI've
everknownitquitelikethisbefore.Ican'ttellyouinstraightwords…Ican'texplainitintheordinary
wayofareading.»
«Well,whateveritis,ifyou'veseenit…Tellme,andI'llsayifitstrikesachordwithme.»
«Oh,Idoubtthatitwill.Still,IsupposeImusttellyou.»Shepaused,gatheringherthoughtsto
findastartingpoint.«Well,asI'vesaid,accordingtothecardsattheirfacevalue,youhaveandwill
haveagoodlife-afteradmittingtheconflictbetweenyourhigherandlowernatures.Onthematerial
andmentalplanesthereshouldbenothingbutsatisfaction;onthespiritual,too,totheextentyouwant
orneedit.Butthere'ssomeshadowhere,somechange…It'sfarmorethan,say,whattheTowerwould
havemeantifithadfalleninthehandinsteadof»—gesturingwithherfingertips—«Temperance,
alltheseCups.Idon't,reallyhavethewords,justthefeeling,andIcan'tshowyouinthecards,exactly.
It'stherethough.Youarelivingalifeoffruitionandplenty,yetwithoutconviction.»
ShelookedatAdamacrossthetable.Itwasastrangemoment,astrangeenvironmentforhim,
and he found it hard to hold her gaze with anything like the seriousness it seemed to demand. The
womanwasfarfromanyimageoffortune-tellerhehadpreviouslyfostered.Hehadneitherexpected
norfoundashawl,crystalball,oranythingsoessentiallytheatricalinnature.Still,hehadanticipated
some sense of beyond, some alien quality; perhaps even some dark sexuality…the woman who
knows, who sees, who makes one see. But she was nothing like that, nothing if not average; her
conformist clothes, her imitation pearls, her bouffant hairstyle, her suburban living-room, cheap
ornamentsandfiber-opticlamps.She,andthesetting,couldhardlyappearlessmystical.
Not, of course, that he was particularly mystically inclined himself; he would not have called
himselfabelieverinmattersspiritualandpsychic.Ingeneral,heneitherbelievednordisbelievedin
anythingforwhichhehadnodirectproof.Hismentalitywasthatofahermit,ratherthanaseeker:
feelingthewind,ratherthanthesky.Thewindofwordshadblowntohim,inthecourseofafairly
frivolousconversationwithafriend,therecommendationthathecometoseethisparticularwoman
tohavehiscardsread.Hehadbeenbored,inactive,at.thetime,sohadtakenupthesuggestion.Thus
hefoundhimselfhere,facingthisordinarywomanandherextraordinarywords.
Atthismoment,hewasconfused,anddidnotreallyunderstandwhatthewomanhadsaidatall.
Underherseriousgaze,hedecidedthatheshouldtrytodoso.
«But I give myself wholeheartedly to my work, my leisure, all my pursuits,» he said. «I do
believeinmylife…Idon'tknowwhatyoumean.»
«Yes,youbelieveinyourlife,»shereplied,«andyouliveitfully.Ididn'tsayyoudidn't.Forgive
me, words are not…but it is the right word: you do not have conviction in your life. No, don't say
anything.I'mnotattackingyou.Youdon'thavetojustifyordefendyourselftome;onlytoyourself.
I'm simply telling you what I see in and feel from the cards… it's for you to find understanding in
that.»
«I'msorry,»Adamsaid.Hedidfeelsorry:hefeltasthoughhewerefailingsometest,asthoughridiculouslyenough-hewerefailingthewoman.«Iunderstoodallthepreviouspartsofthereading,
butthisseemstobebeyondme.I'mnotsure…»
«No,you'renotsure;Ithoughtitwouldbelikethis.Still,it'stheresomehow,thisestrangement.»
Therewasaclumsypause,andheshiftedinhisseat.
«Look,Iknowit'sdifficultforyou,»shesighed,claspingherhandsinherlap.«Ontheonehand,
youwanttodenyeverythingthatI'vesaid,outright;ontheother,youwanttoprotectmyfeelings,and
topretendyouacceptitall.
Believeme,Imeetalotoffools,andI'mtreatedasafoolbyalotofpeople.Idon'tthinkyou'rea
fool.Neitherofthoseoptionsyou'vebeenthinkingaboutareanygood.Youcamheretohaveyour
cardsread;thatisnotalightthing,thereisdutyinvolved.Ihaveadutytoreadthemproperly.You,
unlessyouareafool,haveadutytodomorethanjustlisten…totrytohearwhatthereisforyou.»
Yes, he had been weighing up those two choices, and had been about to take the easy course,
leavingamidmutteredexpressionsofgratitudewhichhewouldrecantthemomenthewasoutsidethe
door. He had begun to feel uncomfortable, and wanted to withdraw his foot from the threshold on
whichhefoundhimself,thetreadofwhichherecognized,dimly,andwasfrightenedby,dully.Hehad
come here out of idle curiosity; now, as he was about, to probe for further clarification, if only to
hastenhisdeparture,thewomanblockedhiswords,too.
«IseeIhavetotellyouinanotherway,»shesaid.«Itistoodeep,toomuchapartofyou,tobe
uncovered in any normal words. I must be more oblique. Look, I'll tell you a story; I know that
soundsastrangewaytogoaboutthis,butbelieveme,trustme,it'stheonlywayIknow.Attheend,
maybeyou'llhavethequestion,thevisioninyourgrasp.Youhavetime?»
«Well,I…»
Allpotentialmoveshadbeenseenandpotentlydiscounted.Therewasnooption,andlimitless
time.ShemotionedAdamawayfromthetabletoasofa;whenhewasinstalledthere,sheherselfsat
on the edge of an armchair. He laid his head back against the cushions and fixed his eyes on the
ceiling; already he could sense hers locked onto him. For a moment he thought «Is this some
sexual…?»butthen,fromacrosstheroom,shebegantospeak,andhervoice,withquietassurance,
lulled him into complete attention. She spoke at a pitch lower than normal, and her words, though
measured, uniform, seemed to come to her at the very moment she spoke them. He glanced at her:
thoughhereyeswereonhim,theyseemedlost,faraway,drugged.Andnowhehimselfwasdrugged
byhervoice,bythestory.
«Thereispeace,butinitisstagnation.Thereispeace,afteryearsofstormandwar;unity,after
division; hope, after despair; love, after universal hatred. Change comes; death comes, and leaves
changeinitswake.Theworldhasbeenoverthrown;itsteadiesitselfandbecomeswholeagain.The
peopleofthelandarejoinedtogether;theylooktothefuturebravely.Thisinitselfisnotenough.
Nowthatthepeoplecansee,theymustlookuponeachother,andupontheirdivision.Thehands
onthesameplough,withthesameintent,movewithdifferingmotive.Thepeoplecansee,butlook
only on themselves: they are defiant against the need for wholeness of identity. The fractions and
fractioning of war are still splinters under the skins of the people. The world is razed, to be built
again;buttheplansforitarecarriedfromtheoldworld.Allpointstocycle,repetitiousend,failure.
Hopeisundimmed,butthepeoplecanseethatexultationisvanished.
Somewerecontent;thosewhoweredominant,inthenewworld.Othersdidnotcare:thosewho
hadtradedtheirhopeforapathy,theeasytrade.Othersdonotforbearfromaction.Theyhaveseen,
participatedinthedestructionoftheoldworld,helpedtofashionthenew,desireditssuccess.They
know that already it carries the seeds of its own destruction. Dissent and stratification have already
begun.Thosewhoseethischoosedrasticaction.ConvincedoftheirTightness,theychoosetodestroy
ratherthantoacceptdecay.
Theyselect,byballot,fromamongtheirnumber,amanandawoman.Thesetwoepitomizethe
valuesandvirtuesforwhichthenewworldhadstriven.Theirlivesandinterestsarethefullest,their
attitudesthepurest.Theyarethoseleastlikelytopassonthegermsofdivisionanddiscordtoothers.
Thesetwotheysendtoasafeplace,tobegintheworldanew.Themselves,andalltheothersofthe
land,theydestroy;andonlythetwotheyhavechosensurvive,topopulatetheworldoncemore.»
Shestopped.Adam,insemi-trance,lookedather,andwasalmostsurprisedtofindthathervoice
stillinhabitedthesame,homely,middle-aged,middle-classbody.Thatbodywasstilltense;thevoice
stillhadafewmorewordstosay.
«Thereisaquestionallofusshouldask,butneverdo.Itistimeforyoutoaskitofyourself.
You,Adam,couldyoubesuchalastandfirstman?Areyousatisfiedenoughwithyourlife,theliving
ofit,forthat?Wouldthefurthergenerationsfromyou,bearingyourimprint,yourlife,beagood,a
betterhumanity?Doyouhavetheconvictionthatyourlifeislivedtoitsfullestextentandtoitsfullest
meaning?Doyouhavetheconvictionofinheritance?»
He knew it. He knew that ultimately he regarded as life as a diverting game, something with
whichhechosetobeinvolved,ratherthanwithwhichheranginharmony.Heknewthatbeneaththe
surfacesparkleandurbanitylayshallowself-destructiveness.Heknewthathewasfarfromgrace.
Andshewasnowfarfromthatpower-ofvoice,ofpresence-withwhich,butamomentago,she
hadbeeninvested.Sheslumpedbackintothearmchair,seemingtolosestrengthandsubstancewith
each second. Adam, now, was strong and grim, at least in clench of jaw. She attempted to say
something:«I…»buthervoicefellshortagainsthisgraniteexpression.Tense,angularminutes;then
eachgatheredtheirnormalselvesaboutthem,anditwastime,hightime,forhimtogo.
«Isit…important?»
Therewasnoaffirmation,therewasnoritualgratitude;therewasnothinghecouldsay.Heleft,
quicklyandthunder-headed.
Thethunderdidnotlastforlong.Adamhadseen,orbeenshown,somethingdeeplywrongwith
himself,andhadresolvedtochangeit.Buthedidnotbrood-thatwasneitherinthenaturehehad,nor
thattowhichhenowfelthemustaspire.Afewdayslater,hefoundhimselfvisitingthatfriendwho
hadrecommendedthefortune-tellertohim.
Hewasasked,ofcourse,abouthiscards,butgaveonlythemostcursoryofreplies.Hewould
not have been able to explain what had passed, and his friend would have been incapable of
understanding it. Before, these two had been close, even if Adam had always had a touch of envy
towardstheotherman.Hehadseemedsointerested,soknowledgeable,soexperiencedinallthings:
music, magic, science, drama, psychology, films, society. But Adam's range of vision had been
widened by his insight into his strange central disinterest, in life and living: now he saw that at the
kernelofhisfriend'sexistence-whereinhimselfwasthisforcefulindifference-layvacuousboredom.
Thus,inordernottodiminishit,hestilledhisexcitement,andmerelysaidthathisvisittothewoman
hadbeenworthwhile.
Inanycase,hisfriendwasnotmuchinterestedinhisexperience.Hehad,ofcourse,beentosee
herhimself;butheknewmanyclairvoyants,ofdifferentordersanddisciplines.Theonlyuniqueness
he saw in her was, perhaps, the very incongruity between her suburban lifestyle and her houses of
cards. Possibly it was for that very strangeness that he had sent Adam, the avowed non-believer, to
her.Nowitallseemedtobeoflittleimportancetohim.
Asalways,thevideocastwasonintheapartment;Adamknewthatitwasleftrunningsothateven
whennothingelsewashappeningintheroom,animpressionofvibrantactivitywouldbecastintoit
fromthescreen.Itwasoneofthenewchannels:aconstantfluxofevent,observation,report,eachone
leadingimplacablyforwardintothenext.Roundandrounditwent,thecircleofperpetualfearand
destruction(suchthepolitical,socialandpopulationalclimate),ofnigglingaggressionandfire-flash
war.Thepassingoftheyear2000hadbroughtManlittlesavemoreofhimself:moreofhisgreed,his
rapacity,hislustforpowerandindividualisolation…aboveall,moreofhiminnumbers.Theworld
wasnowapressure-cooker;therewasstillnosafetyvalve,stillnoendtothefeedingflame,andnone
in sight.. For there to be one each struggled more ferociously than ever for self-preservation and
enlargementtherewasnochancewhatsoeverofthathappening.Sincethedissolution-intotalchaos-of
the United Nations in 1993 there had not been even a pretence at accord or unity. It was now each
countryforitself;and,sinceallsavemilitaryspaceprogramshadlongsincebeenabandoned,land,
thepossessionofearth,wastheprimegoal.Thusthenewschannelswereconstantlyfullofconflict.,
aggressionanddisaster…preciselythekindofpanoramaAdam'sfriendneededtosweeptheghosts
ofinactivityandboredomfromhisroom.
Normally,heonlyshoweddesultoryinterestinthescreen,butonthisoccasionAdamhadbeen
therebarelytenminuteswhensomethingcaughthisfriend'seye,andheleapttothevolumecontrol.
The propaeaster's delivery changed from a whisper to a shout. The story was of a new defense
system,thegovernment'slatestdevelopment.Onthatclay,itseemed,agiganticforcefieldhadbeen
putintooperation,skirtingtherimofBritain'scoastline.FromBecclestoBude,SouthamptontoCape
Wrath, the island was sealed behind an impenetrable, invisible barrier, impervious to all matter,
curving round from all sides to meet at a ground-locked point miles above the country. Nothing
wouldnowgointooroutofBritain,eventoitssatellites,theIslesofMan,theHebrides,theChannel,
Eirland.Thenewswascelebratedonthescreen,althoughnoneoftheworkingofthesystem,oneof
itsimplications,werementioned-leastofallthatthecitizens'freedomhad,onceagain,beencurtailed
inthenameoftheirownsecurity.
Itwassimplythefurtherprogress-ordecline-oftheworld:Adamcouldnotseewhyhisfriend
was so excited. As soon as the item was over, he had leapt, to his library shelves and, after a short
search, taken clown a book. Muttering, «Amazing! Extraordinary!» to himself, he switched off the
videocast and inserted the cassette in his viewing panel, holding down the fast wind until he had
skippedthroughnearlyallthepagesofthebook.Whenthescreenstilled,itshowedapageofprint,
evidentlyancientandequallyevidentlymostexcitingtohim.
«Ithoughtso,»hesaid.«Isn'tthatfantastic?»
«Whatisit.?»askedAdam.
«It'soldstuff…aprediction,youcouldsay;veryextraordinary…It'sfromtheapocryphaofthe
MatterofBritain,althoughno-onecanbeabsolutelysureitbelongstothat.Thereisonlyonecopy,
andveryfewcassettes.ItwasfoundintheremainsofanAbbeyattheendofthelastcentury.No-one
knowsitsdateoforigin,itcan'tevenbepinnedclownbycarbondating.Thisfragmentisallthatwe
haveoftheApocalypsed'Arthur.»
Adam,somethingindefinabledrawinghimtowardswhatwaswrittenonthepage,begantoread.
It was in English, although a certain cramped nature, an alien dissonance between concept and
expressionledhimtobelievethatithadbeentranslatedfromanothertongue.Atfirst,hethoughtthat
theunknowntranslatorhadprobablyembellishedandromanticizedthestory.Quicklythough,itcame
to him that this was not the case: the embellishment was, in fact, its opposite, a paring down to
essentials,givinganimpressionofsuperfluity,butinrealitybeingvitaltothemessage.Norwasthisa
fragment,heknew-thepagewascomplete,evenifitwasacipher,agrain,apieceofapuzzle.There
hadbeentranslation,yes,butfromnotonguehe,oranyotherhuman,hadeveruttered.Thiswasof
supremeimportance;anditwasforhim.Hereadnowashehadneverreadbefore.
«Andthentheybuiltthewallaroundtheland,sothatno-onecouldpassthroughit,thoughthe
wall could not be seen. And they could not pass out of the land, nor could those enter who would
invadethem.Andthewallwasfromcoasttocoast:whereverseametlandwasthewall.Therewas
peaceintheland.Thepeopleforgotallthatwasbeforeandallthatwasoutside,andmetandspoke
onlyamongthemselves.
Butthekingsoftheworldoutsidethelandthentooktowar,andthefightwassoterriblethatall
theearthshook.Feelingthis,intheland,too,theyfought.Andtheearthmovedwiththefight,andthe
groundandtheairthemselvesjoinedinthebattle.Themountainscrasheddown,andtheskyclouded.
AndthentheicefromtheNorthandtheSouthmelted,andthewaterpouredoverontotheworldand
drownedit.Thenallthoseintheworldweredrowned,savethoseinthelandbehindthewall,forthe
watercouldnotpenetrateit.AndsothepeopleofBritainwerethelastonearth.
Then from the North, from the melted ice, came Arthur, who, it was known, would return. He
wasfreeoftheice,freetocometohiscountry.Sohecame,inhisblackbier,withhisattendants.But
hefoundthepeopleindisarray.Stilltheyfought,butnowtheylivedinagreatfear,becauseofwhat
hadbefallentheotherlandsofearth.Theyknewthatnoneoutsidethelandcouldsurvive,fortheysaw
thewatertoweringagaintheshieldofthewall.
But Arthur took the people to him, and they had him as king. And he caused them to cease
fighting,andsetthemtowardamoregloriouslife.Therewaspeace,anditseemedthatthelandwould
beforeverserene.Yearspassed.
ButthenArthurfellill,histhumbpiercedbypoisonedthorn,andhedied.Andthepeoplewere
dismayed, and they walked and spoke in fear. And soon they took sides, and fought again, and the
countryfacedtheravagesofwaroncemore.ItbecameamongthemasithadbeenbeforeArthurand
theFlood.
Anditwasthenthattheysawthewateratthewallfalling;andinthesedaystheyknewtheicewas
formingfaraway;andthatsoontherewouldbelandsontheearthotherthantheirown.
AndthenmanyofthesewhohadbeenclosetotheKinglookedatthelandaroundthemandsaw
that this was not the way it should be. This was the same as the old. It was not the life they had
searchedforunderArthur.AndthentheythoughtthattheFloodandArthur'scomingandthehopes
forpeacetheyhadhadwerefornothing.Theninangeranddespairtheywenttothecoastsoftheland,
andtheretheydestroyedthewall,sothatthewaterrushedinanddrownedallinitspath.Soallthelast
peopleoftheearth,thelastpeopleofBritain,werekilled.
But first those who had planned this thing had sent two of their number away, a man and a
woman.Andtheysentthemtothehighestplaceintheland,wheretheyweresafefromtheFlood.And
thesetwosurvivedtopopulatetheearth.»
Adam'sinhisroomnow,ashehasbeenforclays.It'stimetotaptheverychatterofhisbrain…
Well,yes,itisonme.
Strangeandjustthatthefortune-tellerfeltandknewhermessagetobesoimportant;strangeand
just that the pieces fell into place through my friend's ephemeral interests. They way that the
knowledgecamewasbalanced.I'mbalanced.
Oh,nowImustprepare.Whoknowswhenthecataclysmwillcome,whatformitwilltake?Who
knowswhatmanwillcomeforwardasArthur?HowsoontheFlood?
ButIknow…mywillwaxes,mypowersincrease,mycertaintycangrownomore…allthese
thingswillbe.SoImustmakeofmyselfandmylifeallIcan.Iamamirror.WhenIshatter,splinters
willfallallovertheearth,eachwithanimprintofme.
Icannotbeaperfectman,butImusttrytobeaperfectme.It'sthesameforallofus,thelot,the
trial. But I've got responsibility. Not just to myself, like everyone; to all past, present, future, to all
Earth and humanity. To that Beyond that has sent me this knowledge in advance. I can't be
superhuman;Imustbehumantothelimit.
Oh still nagging doubt. That tone of question in the fortune-teller's voice. Not the ordinary
woman? Not her voice, a far deeper one. The Voice, asking if I realize the weight of my
responsibility?Thedeepestconcern…is«Isitimportant?',really'Doyouunderstandhowimportant
itis?»DoI?
Stillthatpreyingfear.Shespokeofalackofconviction,adistancebetweenspiritandintellect,a
basiclackofcaring.Isitineradicable?Withinmecancerously?Inmygenes?
Imustfighttomakemyselfready.EvenasItearateachknotofthegrowthIknowthatthereis
yetmorebelow,wheremyhandandeyehavenotyetreached.Howdeepismyindifference?Iwill
pass on my seed to a new world…will it still be one of destruction? Not of discord, division and
dogma-butofvacuousness,lethargy,lackofconvictioninself,inworld,intime,inreality,evenin
life?Whatworldistocomewhenmytimecomes?HaveItimetomakeabetter,moreof,me?
HowlongdoIhavetoprepare,howsoonbeforeIamtrulyAdam…?
Perhapshe'scracked,perhapshe'sgonemad.Perhapshe'sright.Anyway,heandhisproblems
areinafuturenoneofuswilleverknow.Evenso,it'shardtoknowwhattothink;whetherwefeel
sorryforhim,laughathim,cryforhim,hopeforhim,tellhim«goodluck»or'getstuffed',oreven
failtobelieveinhimatall…he'llstillbeoneuponus.
ForAdamnowlivesintheconvictionthathislifehaspurpose.
TheBlackHole
OhallyouwhoareframedinthehologramofTime,thatitshouldcometothis!That,finally,
mystorycanreachyouonlyonthispage!Youhavehearditalways,embeddedinthefabricofthe
galaxies,inthespider'swebofallexistence;butnonehaveeverlistened.Vibratingdangeranddesire
to you from the future, you have heard it always, all of you, but none have ever understood, too
preoccupied were you with the dull mechanics of your boundaries, that preoccupation which seals
youinaringofdimensionwherethereisnone,avoiceofreasonwherethereisonlychaos.«Turn
back!»Ihavealwayscried;«Toolate!»theechoofmyvoicehasreturned.Andfromyou,nothingbut
silenceandignorance.
Ohallyou…I,strungacrosstheyawningintersticesofexistence,cannowattempttoinformyou
onlythroughthismost,primitiveofmeans,inthismostearthboundofpasts.Thoughitistheecho,
notmyvoice,whichringswithconvictionandveracity,stillImusttry.ThoughIknowalreadythat
youwillnotbeinformed,stillImuststretchyourincomprehensiontoitslimits:Imustshowyouthe
endofallthings.Ifyoucower,soshallI;asyoucringe,sodoI,foryourinadequacyisalsomine.
Now,too,mydespairmustclutchyourheart,forthisisoursharedheritage.Here,fromthefuture,I
am.
They marooned me. Senses incapable of bearing the self-confrontation with which they would
havehadtocopehadmydestructionbeenimmediate,unabletofacethetelepathictorturemydeaththroeswouldhavebroughtthemhadwebeeninanyproximity,theyconsignedmetotheshuttleand
ellipsedawayunderplasmadriveinthemothership.Astheydroveacrossthevacuum,Idirectedmy
loathingafterthemasabeam,feelingthetwingesoftheirmindsasitmadecontact,butknowingthat
thesewereasnothingcomparedtothosetheywouldhaveexperiencedhadtheyexecutedmeonthe
spot.Anexecutionmorepersonal,morehuman,morejust,thatwouldhavebeen-fornomatterwhat
mycrime,nomatterwhatmymutiny,itcouldsurelynotdeservethis,theabnegationofmyrightto
inflicttoinflicttheanguishofmydeathonthem!Yettheyhaddeniedmethatright;theyhadgone,
andtheinfernoofmyexecrationcoulddonomorethanfaintlyreachthem;butitsustainedme.
Indeed,hatredalonesustainedme,fortherewasnohope,nochanceofsanctuary:myphysical
life was as good as finished at the moment their ship pulled silently, pulsingly away from me in
endlessacceleration.Onlytheenergyofthatvesselwouldbeenoughtoreachthenearestbase,human
life, salvation, all that I could hope to grasp, from my position in the void, was further void. The
meagrepropulsivesystemofmycraft,evenhadIinfinityoftimeatmydisposal,couldnotbringme
tosafety.Here,condemnedtothisfarthestflungsectorofexploration,Iwasalready
The shuttle craft, having a secondary function as a life-raft, was well provisioned: I could
survive for months, years before the stocks of food, drink and air diminished. But my emergency
signalswouldgounheeded.BymerelysurvivingIwouldultimatelyfindtheworstpossiblewayof
dying: gradual decline and certain madness, sustenance exhausted, lungs sucking at non-existent
oxygen,life-supportsystemsfailingonebyone.Ofthechoiceofdeathstowhichhadconsignedme
thismostlivingonewasthemosthorrendousinprospect.Isupposetheyhadexpectedmetocommit
suicide,andifmyonlyalternativehadbeenthatprotractedtormentitwouldhavebeeninevitablethatI
wouldhavedoneso.However,Iimmediatelyresolvedthatmydeathshouldnotcomewiththeeaseof
a hypodermic in the private, discreet quiet of my craft, not with a deliriously insensate, hand-jet
propulseddriftawayfromitintospace:suchrelativelypainlessoptionscouldnevergiveventtothe
violenceofmyemotions.Mythoughtsturnedtorevenge,andtothesearchforsomeendwhichmight
match them in intensity. Scalding myself with the pitch of my feelings, I scanned the star charts,
looking for anything which might aid me in this, my final purpose. I found it, and instantly set my
course.Ifoundtheblackhole.
As I began the crawl across infinite night towards that negation of our cosmos, my plan was
formed. At the point of entry into the black hole-swirling vortex of anti-matter from which there
couldbenoreturn-Iwouldfusemypowersourceanddisintegratemyvessel;then,surely,somegerm
of catastrophe would spread out from the shadow-zone where matter and energy of diametrically
opposednaturemet.ThevesselfromwhichIhadbeencastadrift,Iconjectured,wouldstillbewithin
rangeofsomecataclysmiceffect,nomatterhowfastit.travelled,nomatterhowlongittookmeto
reachthis,myfinaldestination.Perhaps,atthemost,shardsofanti-matterwouldsplinteroutthrough
thevastnessofspace,ensuringthedestructionofthosewhohaddoneformeinparallelwithmyown;
at the least., surely, the energies involved would be enough to amplify my anguish and send it
screaming out. telepathically towards them across the void, so that the very phenomenon they had
hopedtoescapebymarooningme-thesympatheticvibrationoftheirmindstotheobliterationofmy
own-wouldcomeabout.Perhapstheeffectswouldbeevengreaterthanthese:therewasandisnoway
ofgatheringdataabout,blackholeswithoutbeinggatheredoneselfintheprocess.Lightyearsaway
thoughthenearestlifewas,it,too,mightbetouched:butbynowmyhatred,asmyexistence,knewno
bounds,andIdidnotsomuchasdoffthecapofconscienceinthedirectionofanyaccidentalvictims.
Was not my punishment a crime against the humanity in me? Therefore, were not all humans
culpable?
Myjourneytookweeks.Icontinuedtosustainmyselfonhatred,growinginintensityasmyend
approached. I would never know the actual taste of vengeance, and contented myself with its
burgeoning,burninganticipation.Iwascarefulnottostretchmyreservesofpower-for,attheend,I
wouldhaveneedofthemtocreatetheenvisionedcataclysm-andcutoutmyenginesassoonasIknew
that I was likely to die, physically, before the optimum point for self-destruction, compressed by
gravitybeyondtheimagination;soIprogrammedmycraft'scomputeraccordingly.Shoulditsense
myimminentdemiseitcouldthencarryoutthefinalactofmyplanforme,rippingtheshuttleapart
in fusion. My distilled hatred, my pure lust for revenge, I knew, would still be with me, the very
essence of myself, even as my body failed; and in that moment it would sear out across the void,
clutchingforthemindsofthoseinthemothershiptowhichIhadoncebelonged.Isettledforthelong
dropintothevortexofanti-matter:theplanwasset.
Allspaceisvacuum,butthereisnonetocompetewiththeenormityofthatwhichsurroundsa
black hole. Since all things began, it has sucked every grain of matter within the vast power of its
attraction into itself, so that the emptiness which surrounds it can no longer be measured even in
terms of the speed of light: it must be in that of dark. Into this absolute void I tumbled, ever
accelerating,butwithnosenseofspeed:withnomatteraroundmetowhichIcouldrelate,itwasas
though, for weeks, my craft remained stationary. But I knew, exultantly, that I was hastening ever
inwards:nownothingcouldhaltmyprogress,nothingcouldavertthespecificofmyend.
Ibecameawareveryslowly.Atfirst,Ithoughtitwasatrickofmyadmittedlyfeveredmind,a
phenomenonduetotheevergreaterproximityofnothingness,somehowreflectingmythoughtsand
giving me telepathic echoes of myself. The closer I drew to the black hole, the greater was the
intensityofthemindwaves;realizationafterrealizationcameuponme,untilfinallytruthdawned.My
essence,whichhadbeenhatred,changedtodesperation,thedesperationtosendamessage;andthe
pitchofmyemotionnowwasgreatereventhanithadbeeninmyearlierwillforrevenge.
Amessage:itisthatonewhichhasbeen-asIoncehopedmyhatredwouldbe-imprintedthrough
allthefabricofspaceandtimeandallthefurtherdimensions.Itisthatmessagewhichyou,andIin
mytimewithinthecageoftime,haveheardbutneverunderstood;itisthatwarningtowhichyou-wehave been so oblivious. Now this obliviousness forces me into this most inadequate of attempts at
communication:theimplantingofmystoryinthemind,andthereforethewrittenwords,ofoneof
your time, your constrictions, your inabilities. It is hopeless, I know already: you, I, we all cannot
deviatefromthelineonwhichweareirrevocablyset.Yetstillthereisstruggle;yetstillmyscream
reachesfartherthanevenIcouldhavedreamed.
Theessence,thetelepathicoutputoftheblackhole-no,itistimetodoawaywithsuchinanimate
imagery-theantimatteritself,theonecompositeantithesisofallweareandknow,isnotintelligence,
norwill,noremotion.Eveninthematterofessence,itisutternegativeIsensed.Iknewwithevery
limit of sense, that that negative of negatives was utter oblivion, utter obliteration for us. In the
materialsense,ofcourse,Ihadalwaysknownthistobeso;nowIalsoknewitineveryotherone.I
drewcloser,andthemindwavesbecameevenmoreintense;bythistimeableonlytoabsorb,notto
fight,Iwashelpless.Theenormityofmycrimebecamecleartome.
Theanti-matter,initstotality,isalsoanti-mind,anti-soul,anti-brain,anti-spirit;then,itwasstill
dormant.Theoblivionwhichtheblackhole,thewindowatwhichwepeeredbutcouldnotpenetrate,
hadtendereduswasarbitrary,impartial;thesuckinginofmatterthroughalltimehadbeenmerelythe
breathingofaSleeper.Thisistobenomore:thenoiseofmyapproach,theintensityofmyhatred,
hasintrudedintheslumber,anditstirs.
Of what use if dull, lifeless matter as sustenance when wakefulness comes? Now it rises from
sleep;now,inme,isabouttotastetheaddictivesweetnessoflifeandofspiritforthefirsttime.Now
itwakes,flexesItsmuscles,beginstofeelthefullextentofItspoweranddominion.Itsmillenniumis
come:soon,now,ItwillbegintofeelItswayoutacrossthecosmos,acrossalltime,alldimension,in
thecravingtosatisfyItsendlessgreed,tosatiateItsendlesshunger.
Waiting
'Iwakeup;withoutashadowofdoubtIhavedoneso.Thehandsofthebedsideclockshowan
hour well before my accustomed one of consciousness; the alarm has not yet gone off. For once,
ratherthandriftingbacktosleep,Ireachoverandpushdownthelever,sothebellwon'tringlater.
Myheadismuzzy,thebrandyoflastnightisstilltracedaroundmymouth;thereisthesuspicionofa
swollenglandontherightsideofmyneck.Ihavepassedtheborderline,trulyawake,andnowillto
returntosleepcanberealized;soIobeytheunaccustomedimpulsetorise.
The day is so mediocre that it cannot even be called hostile. The greyness and the wet are
uniform, but in an almost clandestine way. I can look at the day and say «This is nothing»; but my
eyes, turned away, will be all the more bleary, damp, and unfeeling. It is — dull, ambiguous,
anonymous-awaitingday,andadayforwaiting.
Acupofblackcoffee,madeinautomaticfashion;waterhasspilledovertherimofthecuponto
theworksurface,whereitalreadystartstocongealintoastickypastewithoddgranulesofcoffeeand
sugar. I have opened my mail, glanced at opening paragraphs, signatures-and postponed proper
reading to a later, more aware, time. Slumped in my favorite chair, I drink the coffee, smoke two
cigarettes, read the morning paper. There is nothing of surpassing interest in it-an earthquake, a
football result, two foolish mistakes in yesterday's crossword, listings of another evening of
valuelesstelevision.Ineedthepaper,though,asjunctionwith,normalizationfor,theday;withoutthe
ritualofmorningreadingImightwellpassthroughtheentiredayinadreamstate.
The ritual is clone, and I have arrived at what I like to pretend is a condition of full
consciousness.I'mpleasedthatit'sstillearly:afulldayawaits,packedwithpreciousminutes;timeto
wield,bend,fashiontomyownpurposes.Toooften,thesedays,timehasitsownwaywithme;today,
now, I am up before it is ready, have a head start, and so, perhaps, can master it for once. Soon
enough,Iknow,itwillbesnappingatmyheels-IdeterminenottolosethisadvantageIhave.StillIam
a little queasy, a little slow, still there is that lump below my jaw, intermittently throbbing; perhaps
timehasanillnesspreparedformeinitsarmoury.
Ignoreit;itmaynotcome.So,anothercupofcoffee,andIlookatthelettersproperlywhilethe
kettleisboiling.AtsometimeIwillreply-inamonth?Two?—butnotnow,nottoday,notwhilethe
grainsoftimearealreadyjoiningeachother,remorselesslyready.Itakeittomyroom,clearaway
mypapers,smokeanothercigarette;nowtowork.
Afreshsheetofpaper,andImakesomenotes.Anotherandsomeguidelines.Another,andsome
connections.Alreadythreesheetsofpapercoveredwithscrawl,impregnatedwiththought:theirsum
totalisconfusion.Thisissilly—Imuststop,clearmyhead,trulythinkofwhereI'mgoingifthere's
thepossibilityofseeingthelieofthelandinadvance.Now:letmegetmyselfstraight.
Stare out of the window. Still an indifferent day, gray, dull; spittle of rain added to it now.
Abstraction,meanderingthoughts;oncemore,concentration.
Iknowexactlywhatthispieceismeanttobeandmean,butIjustcan'tseehowtogetitout.Ican
feelitprowlingaroundinsideme,acagedcat,clawingandscratchingtobereleased.IfI'mnottobe
savaged… no, I'm the only one who can do any savaging, either to myself or to the work, by
mistiming or mal-execution. Still, unless I become aware of the position of the door in this cage I
would be as well to be a prisoner myself. I could simply begin writing? That would at least bring
somethingintotheopen,fleshbothbeastandbars.Butthen,Icouldcallmyselfnokindoftrainerfor
thecat,nowielderofpower.OnceIknowwhichwaythebeastwillrun,everythingelsewillfollowthat is the vital problem. I know how the thing should be, surely I can find its physical direction.
PerhapsifIjustgivemyselfuptoit,allowmymindfreerein…
Totalblank.
Perhapsanothercigarette;perhapsatea,orsomethingtoeat.Perhapsanythingtobeoutofthis
room,offthischaironwhichI'venowbeenslumpedforanhourandahalf.Ah,thedog:awalk!The
fresh air, the wind will clear me of my stiffness, mental and physical. When out walking the clog,
alone,Ialwaysthinkmostlucidly;I'msurethatIwillbeabletosortoutallIneedtoknowinorderto
writethestory.
Shoes,coat,lead,keys.Onceoutside,thedayislessneutral,moreinhospitablethanitseemed.
It'sarelieftolettheclogoffhisleadatthefields;hehasbeenpullingonitalltheway.Mywristis
chafed,theexposedskinbelowmysleevescoldandsoaked.Haircontinuallyblownintomyeyes.My
bodyfeelsthecoldincolor:nosered,knucklesblue.Watershakenfromthetreesdripdownmyneck;
lashingsplintersofwindandraininmyface.Thrustmyhandinmypockets,huddleupmyshoulders,
walkautomatically.Thedognowahundredyardsaway,chasingsquirrels.Thestory-ah,yes,plenty
oftimetothinkaboutthatonthewayback.
Foamingwaterrushesclownanopendrain,whitenoise.
A slug inches with barely perceptible motion across the path, white, glistening, moving on his
slime;withatwitchofhishornatsomethingunknown-perhapsmypresence-hechangescourse.Time
issomethingdifferentforhim.
Arag,caughtinayoungfirtree.Closer;no,apigeon!Itswingsareoutsplayed;thebranches'
needlessnareandripatthefeathers.Ablackandstaringholebehindtherighteye,theneckjarredand
twisted.Probablyitflewatobliviousfullspeedintothedeath-trapspineofthetree.Thedogbounds
up,nostrilsepilepticforthesmell,triestopullitclown.Ishoohimaway,butleavethebirdtorotin
thetree:awarningoftheclangerofhaste.
Walkon,thinkon.People,events,plans,futures,dreams.Nowthehouseagain.
Theclayhasgainedmomentumbutretainsidenticalinertia.Idrythedog,andmyrain-soaked
hair;Ichangemyshoes.Thatcupoftea,thatcigarette,andbacktothatroom.IknowthatIamnow
severalmovesfurtherawayfromtheworkandthatImustsit.itout:thereisnootherway.Thinkof
thestory;mymindwellsupwiththeechoesofobservationandconjecturefromthewalk.Outsidethe
window,thedayseemsworsethanever;itisnotyetnoon,butthereisalreadyafeelingofduskabout
it. Think of the story. A word comes to mind: look it up in the dictionary, in the thesaurus. There's
another interesting word, look it up, mark it: half a dozen random chains through the words of
reference.Anothercigarette.Thinkofthework.Blank.
Exhaustion: fold my arms on the desk, rest my head on them, try to absorb and concentrate
throughrelaxation.IknowthethingI'mworkingtowards.Iknowitverywell.Thecharacters,their
actionsstandoutclearly,buttheyareseparatedlikepiecesofajigsawpuzzle.Icannotseehowthey
allfit,howitfitstogether.IcannotseeanylinewithwhichIcouldpossiblybegin.It'sready,it'sbuilt
upinsidemeforlongenough…butthere'snowaythatIcanletitout,thatIcanwriteasinglewordto
start,it.So:thatmustmeanthatIhaven'tfullyunderstoodorgraspedityet.Try.Blank.
Sometimepasses,dimly,quasi-consciously.Ihavegonetothedarkplaceinsearchoftheroots
ofthisfiction;Ireturnempty-handedtothesameunyielding,unchangingrealityoftheviewfromthe
window.
Startagain.Afreshpieceofpaper.Mapoutideas,connections,causalities.It'sjustscribble,even
lesscomprehensiblethanthepreviousnotes.Noneareratall.Inafury,ballthepaperupandthrowit
towardsthewaste-paperbasket,misseventhat.Runmyhandsthroughmyhair:dirty,greasy.Massage
myforeheadwithmyfingertips:itfeelsbulbous,nodular…likemybloated,aimlessthoughts,likemy
brain.
Makesomethingtoeat:toast,friedeggs,creamcheese,tomatoes.Moretoast,butter,marmalade,
anothercupoftea.Playwiththeclogandhisball;improvise,clumsily,onthepiano;playonesideof
analbum.Withoutthinking,turnonthetelevision:anhourofafternoonsoapopera.Morecigarettes,
more tea, more toast, more time. The precious minutes spurt away and down the drain; the white
noisebuildsupuntilIcanstanditnolonger.TimeIworkedagain.
Back in the room; stare out of the window. Day yet more neutral, total absence of color or
vitality.Headonthearms,think,gropeforanswers,lookoutofthewindow;headonthearms,strain
forthestory,blindsearchforword,meaning,motive.Nonearer.Nowtimehasgainedascendancy;
nowitslipsfrommewithincreasingmalevolenceandspeed.
By now dark outside. With the onset of darkness it is possible to relax, if you know you have
triedduringtheday.Icannothavetriedhardenough:Ihadastart,aholdontheday;andIhavegot
nowhere…thereisstillmoreefforttobemade.
Still the room. The numbing, dim shunting of the story, the story, the story around my head.
Timeaches,sucks,yawnscollapsesaboutme.Thoughtextendsintodaydream,todissipation,tonearcatalepsy.Eyesclosedeyesopenheadonmyarmslookoutofthewindow:everywaythesamedull
voidoftheday.Nonearer.
The main meal. Have I clone nothing but eat all day? Fish fingers, frozen peas, instant potato.
Sludge.Coffee.Isuccumb,atlast,tothebrandywhichthedrinkscupboardhasbeenofferingmeall
day.Isuccumb,again,totheT.V.:thenews,thesamenewsasalways;someboxing,programmeson
motoringandrockclimbing.Iamnotinterested,butIwatch.Ahomily,andclose-down;thescreen,
too,confrontsmewithgrayvacuum.Iamhauntedbyguilt,thatIhavenotgivenenough.Inwardly,I
rageatmylackofeffortorconcentrationorcapacity.Anotherday,anotherpieceofworkisalmost
lost.
The room again. If only I could start writing, have something, anything to show for my day.
Tomorrow, I might be able to build on it. Effort. Ten half-complete opening lines, all manifestly
inadequate; one closing one, so ambivalent that it might as well be the first. I re-read these things;
direction and content are hopelessly wrong. More paper for the basket; my hands rake, tear at, my
hair.
Re-assemble all previous maps, conjectures, diagrams and plans before me on the desk. Reconsignthemtothebasket.Handsbetweenknees,headondesk,blank.Elbowsondesk,headonarms,
blank.
PerhapsIamnowworkingonlywithregardtotime,nottothestory:ithasalmostdefeatedme.
Headup.Stretch,yawn,eyesopen.Thenumbingbeatoftimeatmytemples.Thestoryisnow
almostforgotteneveninintention;noneofitseemstomakesenseanymore.Maybeitshouldbejust
onepartofalargerone,orbedividedintosmallersectionsitself;maybeitisnotastoryatall.Maybe
thereisnothinglefttosayorworthsaying,nothingthathasnotbeensaidbefore,nothingIcanwrite
that, is not risible and/or pointless. Now a numb despair. Even though I know that it is the day, the
frustration;itisnotthestory,nottheformwhichfails,butme.
Allthiswritingthough.Headonthearmsonthedeskeyesclosedfreerein.Hardlyevensureany
morewhyorhowIamhangingon.Anyflickerofdistractionenoughtodiverttheattention.Ihave
full knowledge that there will be nothing here, but dogged hope drives me. Harrowing the soil of
memory for experience, hallowing the soul for meaning. Oh does it come? No: drifting a way…
waitingforthestory.
Likeawomandesiredinawayresonantwithfutureknowledgeoffirefedandquenched;like
waitingforher.Atfirst,allhope,belief,vibration;thenburgeoninganticipation,therecurrenceinthe
mindofherface,herbody,herpresence,soon.Timeslipsby,anumbnesscomes,theknowledgeof
absence,ofsolitude,grows.Finally,resignation,acceptance.
Oh, yes, waiting for women, often it has ended so: alone with the purest emotion, the most
distilledsentiment,fedonlybythefireoftheimaginationandunsulliedbyactuality.Atothertimes,
ofcourse,thewomanhascome,anddesirebeenquenched;yetsomethingelse,somemystery,isalso
extinguished,andafterwardstherecomesthatotheremptiness,thatcolddoubt…allisasitshouldbe,
but all is not enough. Some wish, less personally directed or motivated remains; perhaps for more
cogentimmolation.Thesolitudethenisdeeper,thefear-thatnothingisimportant-greater.Thetender
embracesuddenlybecometheghosttouchofamirage.Thedreamofaperfectmoment,thewaiting
forit,isoftenbetterthanitsarrival;foritisthenthatillusionsareshattered.
Yes,andtherehasbeenwaitingforstoriesbefore;whenmysharehavecometome,ithasnot
beeninasingleincandescentmoment,butinhoursofwritingwheretimeisaphysical,ratherthana
spiritualconstraint.Andafterwards?Afterwards,likethesex,whenitisdone,achapterclosed,itno
longerseemstobeofimportance.Always,Iamnostalgicforthemomentwhenitwasneitherhere
northere,whenitwasstillonlythepuregermofanideainmyhead,forallthechillpainofstriving,
wanting,waitingitcausedme.The«work»towardswhichіtrytobedutiful,ofwhichIamsojealous,
ismerelythecopyingdownofthatidea,stretchedinthesand,beforetheoceanoftimeclosesonand
eradicatesit.
Still we wait. So we all wait through our days for one moment of passion, knowledge,
enlightenment.Werecognizetriviaandritual,butareunabletorelinquishthem;weyearnonlyhalfcomprehendingly.Fromtimetotime,inthecourseofbriefwalksoutsideself-obsession,wereceive
signalsandsigns,butrarelytakethemtoheart.Insteadwewaitforonemomentofvision:aninstant
inthewakeofwhichallinstants,whicheverwayitgoesorisorwillbe,willbeofnoimportance.
Perhaps,forafewofus,itwillbetheperfectstory,theperfectorgasm,theperfectdeath.Formost,
there will probably be disappointment in the end, and anticlimax. But there is something in the
waiting, the will and effort which it requires, which must be at least as valuable as the ecstasy or
mindlessnesswhichfinishesit?'
Sothereheis.Hehasbeenwaitingforastory:itcouldhavebeenasong,apoem,apainting.It
couldhavebeenaplan-howtomakehimselfamillionaire,orhowtohijackanaircraft,orhowhe
wouldblowawayanairport.Itcouldhavebeenhissuicide.Doesithavetobesomethingsodramatic,
justbecausethethoughtsarehereonpaper?
Andnow,attheendofit,hashewastedhisclay?Hehaslivedit.Onwhattermsarewetojudge
that?
TheMadonna
Hehasnoideaoftheprecisetime,butthedarknessandsilencetellhimthatitisthemiddleofthe
night. Outside, a city alien to his slumbers. The hotel room into which he wakes is known to him:
lumpybed,ancienttelephone,crampedshower,anonymous,peelingwallpaper.Thebedsidetableis
knowntohim,andwhatrestsonit:toothglass,bottleofgrappa,ashtray,packetofcigarettes.Hehas
beenplayingagameofdoublepatienceinthisroomforsomeclays,andhisopponenthasbeentime.
Now,althoughnothingsoannoyshimasbrokensleep,heisawakeandrestless.Herollsonhisback
andhismindisflushedemptyevenofannoyance.Adrenalinfloodshim.
Beside his bed, over him, there rises a shape almost that of a human being. In some dim and
distant way, he feels he should know what it is, but cannot place it. He stares up for a seemingly
limitlessminute,hissensesunabletofocusproperly,incapableofsendingadequatemessagestohis
brain.Itisasifhehasbeendazzledbyheadlights,orsufferedamildconcussion.Whereverhelooks
thecentreofhisvisionhassubstance,buttheperipheryshimmers;itisasthoughthe«corner»ofhis
eyehastakenoverallbutthemostdirectlineofsight.Hecouldbelookingclownatranslucenttube,
all distortion save through the aperture at. the opposite end; or staring at oily water into which a
pebblehasbeendroppedatthecenterstillness,butarounditdisturbance,insanityofshapeandform.
Hecastshiseyeinalldirections.Eventually,heformsacomprehensibleimagefromindividual
pointsofcohesionandfocus.Thefigureisthatofawoman,andsheisdressedinblack.Exceptfor
thecolorofhergarments,sheisexactlylikeoneofthoseplastermadonnasfromtacky,materially
pious religious shops. He feels something of church as he looks up at her, yet he does not react,
reverentially.Excepttobedumblyastonished,hehardlyreactsatall,andthoughtheadrenalinrushes
himtototalawareness,heisstrangelyafraid.
Her face is the only part, of her body he can see; when he does so he looks nowhere else. It
hangsabovehim,framedinthecowlofherrobe.Thefamiliarityhehadfeltinhermerepresence
shinesfromherface.Itisasthoughhehasknownit,beenclosetoit,aclayorayearbefore;oras
thoughheknowsthathewillknowitinthefuture;orthathehasseenit.,onceonly,inadream.The
featuresandlinearealmostunbearablyperfect:sharpandsmooth,coldasmarble,flushedwithfever.
Theexpressionisoneofrepose,butsuffusedwithsomeinnercalm,somedeeppurpose.Theeyesare
dark,intense,hypnotic,andhefeelsthatiftheymeet,his,headon,hewillsurelydrown.Butthereis
nochanceofthis:thoughsheisonlyinchesaway,leaningoverthebed,hereyesremainsteadilyfixed
at the horizontal, as though examining something of surpassing interest on the wall opposite. She
looksacrossandbeyond,ratherthanatorthroughhim.Notasinglemovementofhereye,head,or
bodydisturbsthesilence,theessenceofthemoment.
Andyethedoesnotreallyseeher,itismorethanthat;insomemostsensoryandsensuousof
ways,hefeelsherinthismoment.Theinstantseemstolastforhours,asthough,inorderforhimto
absorbherpresencefully,shehasstoppedtime,orspeededuphisrateofabsorption,untilnowhis
everyawarenessisher.Andnow,onlynow,shespeaks,hervoiceseemingtocomesimultaneously
fromeverycorneroftheroomandfromonetinyvibratingpointinhisownbrain.
'«Takegoodcareoftheknife,foryouwillhaveneedofit.'»
She is gone. For a being of such tranquility and calm, her words, redolent of threat, and
violence,hadbeenincongruous;thisislostonhimintheawfulnessofhersuddendisappearance.For
amoment,theutmostanguishofloss.Butnormality,therealityoftheroom,reassertsitself,andthe
brainbeginstoquestion.Heraiseshimselfonhiselbow,shaking,andforfullyfiveminutessearches
outtheshadowycornersoftheroomforher,hercontinuedpresence,herreality…oratleastsome
evidence of her having been there. The room is empty and silent. He is unquiet with a feeling of
othernessandthefaint,unstatedmenacethatitbrings.
Thereisfearinhissoul,buthismindracesforcomprehensionandassurance.Heknowsabout
dreams; he thinks he might have been dreaming. Several times he has woken from one dream into
another,andnotknownthatitwassountil,finally,hehaswokenup.Butheisnotdreamingnow,and
therehasbeennomovementbetweendreamandrealworldsinallthis.Atonemomentshehadbeen
standing over him, and at the next he was searching the contours of the room for her presence;
throughout,hehadbeenfullyawake.Heisawakenow.
She was too real, he cannot accept that she was a hallucination, a projection from the dream
world into the real one. He reaches for the sanity-albeit inconclusive-of a Vision, an Apparition,
thinksofSaul/Paul,Bernadette…Hissoul,asitdidlongsincetosuchthings,demurs,andresponds
tothegroped-forconclusionwithquestions.Iftherearedreamswithindreams,worldswithinworlds
belowthelevelofconsciousness,couldwenotalsoimaginestatesofexistences,andthatfromour
position in it we can only see what lies below, can only guess at what towers above? Had she been
fromahigherstepinsuchasystem?
Hissoulwhirlsinsupposition.Itdoesnotchangehisknowledgeofwhathehasexperienced.
«'Takegoodcareofyourknife,foryouwillhaveneedofit.»'
Theurgencyofsearch-firstforher,thenforreason-diesaway;memoryandemotiononcemore
takeholdofhisuneasyspirit.Herwordscareer,pin-balllike,aroundhishead.Theybouncefromone
potential though or meaning to another, flashing lights of recognition and presentence; then, under
theimpulseoftheirowngravity,theyfallaway,onlytoreturnagain,stimulatingthesamethoughts,
thesamerecognitions,thesameuncertainties.
Heisexhausted;sleepexertsitsowngravitationalpull,andsuckshimdown.Thewordsstillrun
throughhisbrainashefalls,nowmadeallthemoremeaninglesstohimthroughrepetition.Thisis
all there is: he can no longer keep the game of conjecture in motion. He has been awake-most
intenselyso-forbarelytwentyminutes;nowthesleepintowhichheplunges,too,holdsmysteriesfor
him.
«Theglobehangsintheairbeforeme.Irecognizeit.Ihaveseenitherebefore.Itisatadistance,
but seems so enormous that I can see no other detail of where I am. I can hear the sea. With sight
alone,Icansomehowtouchtheglobe.Iknowhowitfeels,butitislikenothing.Thesurfaceisneither
smoothnorpitted,neitherhardnoryielding.It.islikeanamalgamofeverything,ofmetal,woodand
stone-yet none of these. It is dull and bright, soundless and thundering, acid and sweet. Implacable
motionthroughaliensky;itcomestowardsme.Itsmerepresencecrushestheairaroundit.Itloses
neitherenormitynorweightasitapproachesme,butallperspectiveisreversed;evennow,onlyfeet
away, I can still see it all, though its true size can only be appreciated at a distance. It shrinks, but
remainsthesame;perhapsIgrow.IfmylimbswerenotparalyzedIwouldtrytopushitaway.Only
my eyes and brain are not completely numbed by its presence. It comes on, now towards my open
mouth; I am powerless to clamp it shut. It yawns wide to receive the globe, wider, wider. Now the
thingisonmytongue,Iknowitstouch,anditisasmyeyessawit.Itisthenegativeofalltaste,ofall
tactility.Nowitexpandstofillmywholemouth,nowitcontractstothediameterofmythroat.Itis
stillcomplete,itisstillthesame…Iswallowit.»
Sothefirstdream.Hebreaksthesurfaceofsleepforamoment;itisjustlongenoughforhimto
differentiate this dreamed experience from the real one of the Madonna, just long enough for the
dreamtolodgeitselfinhismemory.Thenoncemoreintothedarknessofunconsciousness.
Hehashadthedreambefore.Itis,ofcourse,wellknown,anarchetype.Insofarasthesethings
canbebroughtforthintowakingreality,ithasevenbeenfixedinpaintandcanvas,bywhoelse?—
Magritte. But he does not think of paintings as he memorizes the dream, nor of those others with
whomhesharesit:thistime,itisspecificallyforhim,anditismorethanitseems.
There are things which must be understood. Since there are to be dreams following this one
whichweshallnotseeoverhisshoulder,eavesdroppingonhisslumberingspeechcenters,itisbest
thatthesethingsareunderstoodnow,inrelationtohisfirstdreams.Tlieyshallhold,also,forthose
whichfollow.
First,wehaveseenthathissensoryperceptionisbothacuteandatypical.Thathis«eyes»should
«touch»isnotunknownindreams:thoughonlythebrainisactiveinthem,it«receives»information,
andthelogicoftheknowledgefacultiesrequiresthatthis«comes»throughthesleepingsenses,even
ifthesearesometimesconfusedorcoalesced.Butinthisdream,andthosewhicharetofollow,these
faculties play no such charade, and his references to eye, taste, and touch are only the obligatory
dogmaofspeech-centersanity.Thesensationsinthesedreamsaretoostrongforsensoryevaluation:
heknowseverydetailofthescenariothemomenthestepsintoit;heperceiveswithasupra-normal
clarity.Thisinitselfwoulddifferentiatethesedreamsfrom«ordinary»ones.
Butthereissomethingmore,andmoretothepoint.Thisdreamhassomethingelseincommon
withthosewhicharetofollow:itis,initsbrief,butunfragmented,way,atest.Somepartofhimhad
known this even in his sleep. In the case of the first dream, the test was merely to finish it: on the
previousoccasionswhenhehadhadit,notablyinhischildhood,hehadnevermanagedtoreachthe
end,alwayswaking,tovomit,atthefirsttongue-touchoftheanti-matterglobe.Thistime,inorderto
passthetest,tofurnishtheanswer,hehadhadtofinditinhimselftoswallowit-and,ofcourse,since
thiswasadream,noamountofintellectorconsciousnesscouldhelphimtothataction.Thetestwas
thusofpureself,ofhisspirit,andofaspiritualorder.Therewasnopossibilityofcheating.
Hisconsciousselfobservesandrecordsthedreamsinhismemory,andhasnomoreinteraction
with them than to know the total nature of the experience-even though this cannot help him come
throughit.Hedoesnotknowwhatthepenaltyforfailureinanyoftheseexaminationswouldbe-not.
to wake, perhaps? — but he knows he must not fail. In one of his brief periods of consciousness
betweenthedreams,hewillthinkthatheisunderattack,ratherthantest,sofrequentandintensewill
theybe;butbeforehereturnstosleephewillknowthattheexaminingforceisoneofstrictness,not
vindictiveness. On this night, the crux of his existence lies in his own spiritual hands: in his
performanceinthetests.
I hope that this is understood; as yet, he himself is too much embroiled in the present to be
anywherenearunderstanding.
There are fifteen, twenty of these dreams of test. The pattern of dreaming becomes a routine:
darkness; instant and all-embracing light: awareness, experience, necessary information; test;
survival;waking;memory-retention;darkness.Thereisthefinger-bloodyingclingtotheneckofa
Pegasus, the knowledge of when to let go, to fall in perfect parabola. There is the walk over, then
through, the pit, where one wrong footfall would plunge him into nameless horror. There is the
balance on the beam, the linguistic puzzle, the numerical maze. There seems always another test to
followthelast.,eachanswertobefoundinhimself,hisowncapacity,withnootherdeterminantto
helphim.Atlast,thereisafinalitytooneofthedreams,andinhismomentarywakingrecognitionof
it,heknowsthatthisspiritualexaminationisdone,atleastfornow.Thenextdarknessisblissfully
deepandquiet.
Dawn.Hewakes,andthecrumbsofcomforthehadgatheredtohimselfattheconclusionofthe
dreams are brushed from his bed by the illness which suddenly sits in his body. His head buzzes,
ratherthanaches,withpain.Hardlyalimbfeelsasthoughitbelongstoanother:allseemhaphazardly
swollen or dessicated by turn. A cough crouches on his chest, his nasal-passages are bone dry, his
eyeswater.Thereisfeverinhim,andintense,exasperating,thrashingdiscomfort.
At first, he rages, thinking that this force of feeling will, by itself, drive out whatever inhabits
himsocruelly.Butheisnotnowintheworldofdreams,andhisangeraggravatesratherthandispels
theillness.
Nowheliesonhisbackandtriestoignoreitall:thesickness,thevisionsandtrialsofthenight
just past. He tries to concentrate on the fact that he is in a hotel room in a foreign city; that he is
passingtime,andthathemuststiffenhisresolveanddojust.that.Butitisnouse,thenighthastaken
toomuchoutofhim.Hehasnofurtherenergyreservesonwhichhecancalltobindhimselftogether.
Hestaresatthemustyceiling,atthecrackedlampshadegraduallybecomingvisibleinthegray
dawnlightthroughtheshutters.Hedecidesthathemustmaketemporarytrucewithtime,waittillthe
cityismoreawake,whenitsenergycanbeharnessedwithhisownagainstwhateverisuponhim.
Time is allied to silence, and silence is Judas to the heart. He remembers something he wrote,
longago,anadolescent,poemwhichestimatedthenumberofheartbeatshehadleftuntilhis(average
projected)death.'Neverthesame',ithadbeencalled;nowheknowsthatitisalwaysthesame,whatis
left,andthatitsnumberisbothrelativeandirrelevant.Hisconsciousnessisdrawninexorablytothe
beating of his heart, the counting out of his time. It seems the only organ in his body which is not
betraying him with malfunction; but, even in this truce, it is turned traitor, on the side of time. The
rush of blood, the beat, his body-clock. He has no real thoughts or feelings, they have evaporated,
goneintovacuum.Hedoesnotknowifheliestherefortwohoursortenminutes.
Hecanhearthestreetoutsidebegintobustle,butnoneofthehopedforenergyseepsthroughthe
shuttersortheroom.Hefeelshisfeverincreasing,hisleadenlimbsgrowingyetmoreweighty,his
discomfortbecomingexcruciating.Somehow,hefeelsthatbothhisillnessandhisinabilitytofightit
spring from the same cause: his experience of the previous night. The energy so drained from his
bodywasnotreallythatofcalories,butofwill.Hedoesnothavethestrengthofmindtofight.So:he
must bend, but not bow. He must go with the current, and strike land as and when he can; he must
conserveandchannelwhatthereisofhisenergy.Thismeansgoingintolimbooncemore.
Butlimbooffersmixedcomfort:hismindislockedtodaylighttime.Nowthereburnsinhima
momentoffullclarity,ofrealizationconnectingthedayandthenight:thisillness,too,isaformof
test.Hislethargyisjerkedfromhim,butthisinspiredknowledge,orguess,orfurtherhallucination,
cannotreallyhelphim:timestillhastobewaitedout,whatevertheillnessisormeans.Sonowhelies
still,andsuffers,butdoesnotresist.Hegoeswiththetide,andtoitsurrendershisbody;butnothis
spirit.Hewishesfornothing,andtriestothinkofnothing.Atonepoint,atreachorousthoughtcomes:
'Icoulddieinthisroom'.Butitisonlypassingfearandconjecture:theresolutiontoacceptwithout
givinginreturnstohim.Timepasses,begrudgingly.
Nowitcomesuponhiminallitsfury.Hehasbeeningreaterpainbefore,hasexhibitedmore
alarmingsymptomsatothertimes,butneverbeforehassuchafeelingoftotalsicknessfloodedhis
brain. It is as though it comes from cell level; from every cell aching, insistent torture. His bodily
mindcriesoutfordiscorporation,hisspiritscreamsagainsttheillness;butitchokeshim,andtime
dripsintohimlikepoison.
Hiscoughhassprungdeepintohislungs:dryrepetitiveandspasmodic.Feversuckscoldsweat
from his pores, at a pitch where neither movement nor immobility, even in the defensive foetal
position;assuageit.Exhaustionrunsthroughhiseveryfiberindeadeninganesthetic.Itseemsthathis
onlyfunctioningmusclesarethosewhichrackhiminthecoughing.Hisnostrilsandsinusesfeelasif
theyhavebeendustedwithgroundglass;hiseyesandlidscoatedwithmercury.
Itlastsatthisdesperatelevelforthreequartersofanhour;then,quickly,itisgone.Heisleft,
soaked with sweat, drained, with the legacy of the heaviest of possible colds, with a rasping
hoarseness in the throat. He is still uncomfortable, still ill; but this is as nothing compared to the
convulsionsofillnesshehasjustbeenthrough.
Nowheliesonthebed;attemptingtoread.Heisinneutral,physicallyandspirituallyspent,yet
fullyaware.Distancednowfromtheintensitiesoftheillnessandthedreamsofthepreviousnight,he
hasforgottenneither.
He does not have to stay alone in this hotel room. There are people he knows in this city: he
could go to visit, to be comforted by, them. He makes no move, even in the knowledge that they
would make him remember normality, forget what he had been through; no move, not even one
tentativetelephonecall.Heknowsthathehasseenandexperiencedsomething;heknowsthat,ofall
times,itisnowimportantthathedoesnotforget.Sohewaits,asaloneashehaseverbeen,allthe
more so for the fact that company is only a six digit number away, a number which his own hand
restrainsthefingerfromdialing.
As,insomeincoherentdepthofself,hehadknownitwould,itcomes.Itbeginswithanaching
lightness in his chest., emotion sat physically over his heart. Now a yearning begins, nameless and
causeless:thepotentquintessenceofhopeanddespair,ofuniversaljoy,ofinfinitesorrow.Nowthe
emotions start to roll over him in vibrant intensity. They feed back on themselves and on him,
runningthegamutoftheirrange.Theyvibrateinharmony,toachievemind-shatteringproportions.
They crash into him in waves alternately icy and scalding, stick him deep down into their
undercurrents.
Somethingofhismindhadbeenpreparedforthis,butthatisnowofnousetohim:hisbrainin
overrun,exploredtoeveryextremitybynamelessthoughtsandfeelings.Hehasnoreasonwithwhich
toholdthemback,nochoicebuttogowiththem.
Hefindshimselfpacingtheroommaniacally,threshinghishairwithwild,uncontrolledfingers.
Hefindshimselfpunchingadoorjambwithallhisstrength:bloodontheknuckles,blindnessinthe
crazedeyes,darknessinthemind.Hefindshimselfcastonthebed,faceburiedinthepillows,hands
clenching and opening to some unstated rhythm. Irrational tears stream down his cheeks. Between
sobs,hehearshisownvoice:«'Oh,no,notagain…notagain…notagain…»'
Thewavesofemotionsubside;themadnesswithdrawsinasteadilyebbingtide.Thedeafening
noiseofthebloodrushingthroughhisuncomprehendingmindisgone;heisquietoncemore,and
almostunderstanding.Hismind'sturntobetested,too,hascomeandgone.
Heliesprone,finallyandutterlyexhausted.Hehasbeentoocruellyexamined,butheiswholein
mind, body, and spirit. Too soon, too tired now to ask why, to find-even if it is possible-any true
comprehension.Hethinksofsomethingheonceheard;itseemslongago,itseemsthatithasbeenin
hisheadforever.
«'Takegoodcareofyourknife,foryouwillhaveneedofit.'»
Nowhedropsintosleep,intothefinaldream.
'Iaminaprisoncell.Moisture,littlelight,nocomfort.ItcouldbeMonteCristo,theManinthe
Iron Mask, de Sade. It is that time, that dark. No knowledge of crime. No knowledge directly of
punishment..NoideawhetherIamcriminalorinnocent.Thiscouldbeprisonorprivatedungeon.It
couldbeKafka.Itisthatdark.Thisisnotlife.Ihavebeencondemnedtolosemylife,tospendwhatis
leftofithere.
Thefacelessmancomesthroughthedoor.Heisheretomurderme.Asecretexecution.Icrouch
againstthesweatingwallbeneaththewindow-slit.Headvancedonme.Me,him,frommanypointsin
theroom.Thecorner.Heisoverme.StillIcannotseehisface.Hisformlurchesoverme,misshapen,
hunched.
My hand finds the knife that it has been clasping. I do not know how long it has been there.
Thrust into the knotted back, the side, the chest of the faceless man. He collapses on top of me,
suffocatingme.Iforcehimaside.Noblood,butheisdead.Iamfree.AtleastIamalive…Ilookatthe
knifeinmyhand.'
TheSpider'sWeb
«No,David,»shesaid,«youmustpromise…»
Hehadbeenthinkingaboutsomethingandsomeoneelseatthetime,farawayfromthere;itwas
only with effort that he brought his attention back to her, his focus back to her sun-bleached head
resting on his chest. It was evening; outside, the insects were tuning up for their tone-poem of the
night.Acoolgraymisthadsettledoverthevillage.Fragmentsofjuke-boxmusicdriftedthroughthe
openwindowandreverberatedfaintlyintheroom;thesoundechoedwithmelancholy,asthoughall
life, all people were very far away. Ghost voices carried through the dusk. The flagstones of his
bedroomcaughtthelastofthelightbythewindowandscattereditamongtheirridges.Alreadythe
rest of the room was draping such folds of shadow about itself as it could, later, be fashioned into
heart-nudging specters. White walls and alcoves merging into homogeneous planes with the black
wood of the high, carved wardrobe. The paintings, dark, brooding in their frames, offering
themselves as windows, shafts, or projections. The dark, angular night drew on, and the room
welcomedit.Onlyinonecorneroftheroomwastherelight.Yellow,fromanoillamp,itflickered
over a plain table on which rested a chaos of books, magazines, newspapers, files and manuscript.
Clotheshadbeenhastilyflungovertheaccompanyingchair:jeans,asweatshirt,alightsilkdress…
«David?»
«What?»
«Youmustpromise…»
«I'msorry,»heshrugged,«Imusthavebeenmilesaway…whatmustIpromise?»
«Thatyouwon't…oh,you'renotreallylistening.»Sherolledawayandlayonherback.Suddenly
shewasengrossedinfiddlingwithastringofbeadswhichhungaroundherneck.Therewasmore
thanalittlereproachinthisinterest.
He sighed wearily. The music from the cafe's juke-box wafted into the room, joined by the
percussionofherclickingbeads.Heleanedovertothetable,locatedhispacketofcigarettes,flicked
oneoutandlitit.Onelongdraw,onelongexhalation;oncemoreoffintothesmoke-filledpast.
HethoughtofSusan.Twoweeksago,theyhadbeenlyingnexttoeachotherbythesea,inhis
favoritecove;itwasthelastdayofherstaywithhim.Hisinvitationtoherhadbeencharacteristically
off-hand, and he had hardly expected her to take it up; but she had come. She had flown from
England, her captivating smile, her disarming frankness thrown in an overnight case with her
summerclothes,andbeenwithhiminhisvillaforaweek.Hehadbeensurprisedathoweasyitwas
toshare,beingoutofthehabitofdoingso,buthehadsharedwithher:hisboard,hisbed,hissecret
thoughtsandplaces…hissecrets.
Perhaps, he thought, he had been unwise to welcome her with his arms spread fully open; she
carried the seeds of the city within her. Cities in themselves held no special dread for him, but he
knew that he had attuned himself to, made his own, the Mediterranean life and all its tempo,
moderationandexcess.Here,fastthingshappenedslowly,andslowthingscouldlastbutamomentin
time,orforever.HeandSusanwerefromdifferentcultures,differentworlds,now.
Once,theirmindsandliveshadruninparallel;hewonderedwhereandwhentheyhadlostthe
lines,whetheritcouldhavebeenhelped.Thelasttimetheyhadreallyknowneachotherwastoomany
years ago to contemplate: the last time he had lived in London, observing, assembling, and finally
writing 'The Lost Keepsake'. So long ago? Susan-observed, desired, elusive-had been a central
characterinthatbook;butshehadbeenoneofhisimaginationratherthanexperience.Increatinghis
fiction,hehadmadehimselfanobserver,aside-player,nevertotallyinvolvedinthereallivesofthose
friendswho,camouflagedandmaneouvred,peopledhiswriting.ThushehadknownSusan,hehad
devouredher,intheprocessofwritinghisnovel,butthecharacterhehadgivenherwasskeletal,not
fleshed, more an extrapolation of his on ideas than a true representation of her. Now, he needed to
know.Theyhadmetagainbychance,ataparty,whenhemadeonofhisincreasinglyrareforaysto
hiserstwhilehomecity;hehadofferedherhishospitality,andshehadaccepted.Probably,shehad
beenlookingmerelyforthesun;hewaslookingforcompletion,foraffirmation.Somuchtimehad
passed:hewantedtopulltogetherthestrings,resolvethesuspendedchord,findwhathadchangedand
whatwasthesame.Hewantedtofindoutwhathehadneverknown.Toomuchtime:theyhadnotseen
eachothersincethebookwaspublished.Theinterveningyearscouldhavechanged,alienatedthem
totally;yetheretheywere,lazinginthesun,tipsyonredwine,theirfeetdanglinginthewater,alone.
Theyhadneverbeenalone,itseemed,intheLondonclays.Thentheyhadbeenadriftinanocean
ofhumanity,ferociouslytanglingthelinesoftheirlivesaboutthemselves-thosebecame,intime,the
verylineswhichthreadedthemselvesthrough«TheLostKeepsake'.Iftheyhadnotalreadydoneso,
their paths would certainly have diverged with the success of the book, with bis lionization and
resultant security. There had been four more novels since then, of course, in further capitalization:
onemoresetinLondon,oneinNewYorkandanotherofjet-setitinerance.Thelatest,'TheLimbsof
Purgatory', had been set. here, in the tempestuously easy pace of the lotus-eaters» society. He had
alwaysusedtheplacesandpeoplehehadknowntothefullest,andherehehadfoundarichveinto
mine; energy crackled around the Mediterranean days and nights, poised itself, flared, dissipated.
Everymonth,itseemed,anacquaintancewouldfindhiseffortscoinedintosuccessіwhateverfieldhe
avowedlychose;everymonth,anotherwoulddrowninthebottomofabottleofbrandy.Therewasa
simple,bleached-outdesignhere,aslownessoftimeanddistance,andhelikedit.Sohishomewas
herenow,anditwasherethathesiftedthroughthepan,lookingforrememberednuggetsofhuman
behaviorwithwhichtofillhisfuturework.
It was several worlds away from London. A young man, full to the brim with abandon and
braggadocio, he had felt part of the city once; now, an outsider, he found it cold, dirty, repellent,
closed,andheloathedit.YetSusanwasstillapartofthatcity,andeverysooftenamove,agesture,
wouldshowthatshecarrieditinherevenhere.Perhaps,afterall,ithadbeenamistaketoinviteher…
Onlyapassingcloud;onlytheheat,becomingpricklyandstiflinginthebreezechoppedfora
moment; only the effects of the wine, this sense of doubt and melancholy, up from the wells of
nostalgia.
«Pennyforthem?»sheasked;hesmiledquietly.
«Ithoughtso,youhadthatlookonyourface.»
«Whatlook?»
«That one you always had: „I am thinking very serious and important thoughts which are of
relevancetothewholehumanrace,sowilleveryonepleaseleavemealone.“I'vealwaysfounditabit
comical,actually.Anyway,I'venoticedthisweekthatitseemstocomeonyouwhenyou'rebrooding
aboutthepast.»
«That'snotquitefair,»hesaid,hisdignitylightlybruised.
«No,no,don'tworry,Iwasjustkiddingyou;gottokeepasenseofperspective,haven'twe?All
thesame,Ihadafeelingyouwerethinkingaboutallthat.»
«London?»
«Yes, London, those days, that book…I suppose it's inevitable that you should start, rooting
aroundinthatagain,withmebeinghere.»
«Ah, you've read the books, then?» he asked. There were studied overtones of surprise in his
voice,arootnoteofpleasure.
«Onlythatone,andlongago…»
Sheseemednon-committal;hepouredtwomoreglassesofwineandlookedouttosea.Aferry
passedlowonthehorizon.Briefsilence.Hefelttheneedtoprobe.Forhisego,hewantedtoknow
what she thought, of his novel. For himself, still wanting to «find» her, he looked for her feelings
about,thecircumstances,theexperiences,thelifestyle,whichhadengenderedit,andwhichtheyhad
shred.Heventuredalead;hishesitancywasamplifiedbytheobviousnessofitsnature.
«They were…pretty strange times, weren't, they?» «Do you mean as in the book or as in the
times?»«Wholething.»
Under her breath, she muttered something which sounded-he didn't quite catch it-like «Same
thing». Pressed, she would say nothing; but he had found one of «his» subjects, and warmed to it.
Already the signs of the aged semi-alcoholic bore were incipient. There was, after all, much of
personal revelation that he could say to Susan; be he rambled into areas of common and mutual
knowledge,reminiscedwithanostalgiaofwhichthewarmthwasnotthatofeventsremembered,but
ofstoriesmanytimestold.Herecounted,amidgalesofhisownlaughter,manyofthe«strange»and
«crazy» things they and their friends had done in the past. Some of these stories-those she had
forgotten,thoseheembellishedbest-shegreetedwithsimilarmirth,andacknowledgedotherswitha
wrysmileofrecognition.Tothebulkofthem,sheofferednoreactionatall.
He realized that he had allowed himself to be carried away by his past, and that, for some
minutes,therehadbeennoresponsefromSusan.Sheseemedpensive,alightfurrowingonherbrow,
asthoughsomeideahadcometoherwhichshewasnowdebatingwithherself,tossingitfromsideto
sidetogaugeitsweight.
«Whatisit?»heasked.
«Iwasjustwondering…»Evidently,shehadtobringherselfbacktothepresent,toconversation.
«Hearing you talk like that about the old days-do you find any difficulty sorting out who's who in
yourownmind?»
«Well, sometimes I have difficulty remembering the names of the people on the periphery,
but…»
«No,Idon'tmeanthat…notwhopeopleare,theirnames,atleastnotinthatsense.Imean,doyou
know who the real people are or were, and who are those from the books? You muddle them
sometimes,youknow-theirlives,theirnames…»Shegavehimacoysmile,«…ontheperipheryof
course.»
«DoIreally?I'msorry,it'ssolongago…»
«It'sadeeperthingthanjustmistakenidentity,youknow;Imeanitmorefullythanthat,itdoesn't
mattersomuch.Butcanyoutell?Doyoutell?»
«OfcourseIdo,it'sobvious.Look,Idon'tknowquitewhereyou'releading,ifanywhere,buton
alevelbelowrememberingpeople'snames,there'scleardifferentiation.Naturally,thecharactersin
thebooksarefictitious…»
Her eyebrows lifted in an expression halfway between amusement and admonition, but a
restrainedcoolnesshadcomeoverhereyes.Itoccurredtohimthatshewastryinghardtoputhimat
his ease. If this were an attack, and he had an uneasy feeling that it was, it was one which she
undertook begrudgingly, as though under higher orders than those of her own whims. Her
expression,itsquizzical/inquisitorialset,hadbroughthimupinmid-sentence;hervoiceoncemore
tookupwherehishaddropped.
«MaybeI'mbeingabitobscure,it'sdifficult…Look,Ireadthebook;totellthetruth,acoupleof
theothers,too,Ijustdidn'twanttoinflateyourego,makeyouthinkI'dbeenfollowingyourstar.ButI
didfollowit-yoursuccessinadetachedsortofway.I'mverypleasedforyou,but…ButIknowhowit
allworks:Ithinkyoumayhavetrappedyourself.IknowwhereitcomesfromandI'mworriedthat
youmayhaveceasedtoseeit.Imean,yourcharacters,they'reso…transparent.»
«Thin?» he asked, a note of hurt in his voice. It was not entirely feigned; he had, perhaps, the
presentimentthatthiswasonlythestart,thathewouldhurt,andhurtmore.Forthemoment,though,
thepaintouchedonlyhisepidermis,thatskinintowhichhesocomfortablyfitted:successfulnovelist,
manoftheworld;debating,socializing,conversing,alwaysuntouched.Really,hewashurtonlyinhis
self-regardastheWriter.
«Icanseewhatyou'rethinking,»shesaid,«butIdon'tmeanitthatway;notliterarycriticism,I
wouldn't dream, I can't offer you that. Not style, characterization, flesh, I don't mean transparent in
anyofthoseterms.Butthepeople…Look,youtakeanypersoninthebook-t.hemomentyouexamine
him,straightaway,youknowwhohewasinreality;orIdoatleast.Your„fictitious“people-they're
onlytooclearlytiedtotherealpeoplethey'retakenfrom.»
«Ah.Well,Idon'tmakeanysecretofthefactthatI'minspiredbymyenvironment,bythepeople
init.Actually,I'vealwaysthoughtthatthiswasoneofmystrongpoints,veilingpeopleover-making
themopaque,inyourterminology.Youdon'tthinkso?»
«Isupposemostpeoplewouldn'tknowwhoyouwerewritingabout;afterall,noneofuswere
famous.Butthat'sstillnotreallythepoint.I'vejustbeenwonderingaboutthedifficultyindrawingthe
linebetweenfact,andfiction.Iknowthatwritersingeneralhavethisproblem-they'relivingintheir
fictional lives for a great, deal of their real ones, aren't they? But with you… you treat people so
differently, the true and imagined must blur more than ever. I don't know…it just seems, seemed,
moreimportantthanusualwithyou,somehow.»
Itseemedshewantedtoterminatethediscussion.Itwasasthoughshehadentereditswatersupto
herdepthandnow,ratherthanswim,committedtothecurrent,wantedtoreturntosolidsand.Ifshe
didnotwanttomakethatcommitmentthenstilllessdidhe:thepast,beneathitsplacidsurface,was
cloggedwithsandbankandriptide,inexorableebbandflow.Hebegantofashionasentencetofinish
withthetopic.Itwasnothard;hehadrundownthislinemanytimesininterviews-thepatanswertoan
alwaysnaggingquestion,allthemoretriteforrepetition.
«Idon'treallyhaveanyproblemwiththis,youknow»,hesaid,affectingcharmingreassurance,
«it's quite simple. People are distinguishable in that they all have their individuality, their separate
lives.I'vegottoomuchrespectforthemtotrytoabsorborchangethat.Thepeopleinreallifeand
those in the books, they all have their different courses. I can't change things in real life; in the
writing,Ijustchronicle,extrapolate,watchtheinteractionofthelives.AsIsay,it'smyrespectforthe
individual-thereisn'tanyconfusion,Iknowwhichworldisfactandwhichfiction,becauseofthat.My
respectforpeople…»
«Oh,comeon,David,don'tgivemeallthat!»Hehadintendedonlyaclosingshot,alastdictum
toroundoffthesubject;infact,ithadre-energisedit.Herfacewasnowseriousanddetermined;he
felthisownindignationrising,hisdefensiveinstinctsstirred.Theyhadcrossedthethinlinedividing
debateandargument.
«Justthinkaboutitaminute,»shecontinued.«I'veseenitfrombothsides,remember?No,it's
notsoimportantthatthepeopleweknew-anddoubtlessthecharactersinyourotherbooks,too,whoI
don't know-are recognizable in the fiction, there's nothing wrong with that. But you seem blind to
people, to the uses you make of them; maybe even blind to yourself, you kid yourself that you've
giventhecharacterslife,thatyou'respecttheirindividuality',andIthinkyouactuallybelieveit.But
thereisn'tanyrealindividualitythereexceptforwhatyou'vetakenfromthepeopleyouknow.Sure,
you'vegottohavesourcematerial,butfromwhatIknow,youdon't,reallybuildfromit,expandit.
Youjustdrainthelifefromthosearoundyou,tartitupabitandgiveittheoddtwist-sowheredo
yourfamousfictionalindividualscomefrom?Asforrespect…*.»
«What,exactly,areyousaying?ThatI'mavoyeur?»
«Oh,ifit'sdefinitionsyouwant,thenI'dhavetosayaparasite:youdofeedonothers.Buteven
parasiteshaveapositivefunctionfortheirhost,usually…withyou,it'sonlyyouwhostandstogain.
Yourprotagonistscertainlydon't-well,apart,fromthoseegotistcretinswhothinkyou'vemadethem
immortal.Oh,Christ,that'snotit,either:parasite'sanastyword,andIsupposeallofhaveabitofthat
inus…It'syou,youdeludeyourselfso.»
«Well,IsupposeI'veimmortalisedyou.Isthatwhat'sbotheringyou?Doyoumindthatmuch?»
Hisdefensivetoneandposturewerewelltried.Brazenitout,makeoftheselfamirrorfromwhich
allattacksarereflected;absorb,remainaloof…observe.Itwasadefensebadlychosenandexecuted.
«Idon'tgiveafuck.I'mnotconcernedwithmyself;sure,I'vegotmyownproblems,butthey're
nothingtodowithallthis.Iwasn'tburning,itwouldn'treallyhaveaffectedmeifI'dnevermetyou
again;Inevertriedtogetintouchwithyouafterthebookcameout.Ididn'thaveanyaxetogrind.But
wedidmeetagain,didn'twe,andIcouldn'thelpnoticingwhathadhappenedtoyou;youcan'tseemto
seewhatyou'vemadeofyourself,whatyoudowithotherpeople,yousayyou'vegotitstraight,but
there'sreallynoborderlineforyoubetweenfantasyandreality.Youlookatrealpeopleinthesame
way as characters in a novel. Respect? Everyone's a puppet to you, fuel for your own glory and
gratification.»
«Doyoufeel»-themorepersonal,emotional,defence—«asthoughIlookonyouasapuppet?
Howcanyou?Youknow…»
«I'vealreadytoldyou,Idon'tcare.»Herresponsewastimedperfectlytodestroythis,hislatest
and last, line of self-protect ion. If it had been over-hasty, it would have exposed a sense of
affrontment, of caring very much indeed; over-delayed, it would have shown analysis at work.
Evidently,shewasspeakingfromatrueself,fromheartandheadtogether.
«I care about you, though,» she added, her tone mellowed, but still with an edge of irritation.
«I've been talking about, concerned about you. Me, I'm just a specific, — present-illustration in all
this.But…theyouthatwas,theyouthatcouldhavebeen,theyouthatis…Imean,once…»
Her voice trailed off. A cloud edged across the sun. She squinted up and shivered slightly,
crossingherarmsabouther.Anapologeticsmile,andstretchedoutahandtohischeekinagestureof
reconciliation.
«Talkingaboutallthis…it'sheavierthanI'dimagined;let'snotanymore.It'sgettingabitcold
—canwegobacktothevilla?»
Henoddedassent,andtheypackedupthepicnicthings:thehamper,thebottles,thetowelsand
theirexcessclothes.Sidebyside,theystartedtheclimbuptotheroadthroughtheolivegrove;close,
butverydistant.Occasionallytheywouldstumbleintoeachotherastheinclinebecamemoresteep
andthefootholdsmorecrumbling;theygruntedapologiesasthoughtheywerestrangersinthepress
ofatrain.Theydidnotspeakagainuntiltheywerehalfwayupthehill,andhadpausedforamoment's
rest.
«Once what?» he asked, in as casual a tone as he could muster. He stared at the lengthening
horizon,thegrayingsea.Shedidnotreplyuntilheturnedandmethereyesdirectly;whenitcame,
heranswerwasphrasedslowly,deliberately.
«Once, David, you used to see people in more than just two dimensions. I think you were the
betterforthat.Now,comeone,let'sgetback.»
Shesetoff;momentarilytakenaback,hefollowedherinsilence,apaceortwototherear.For
somereason,theimageofaknighterrantcametohim:herecognizedthenumbnessofawound,the
knowledgethathisarmorhadbeenpunctured,andthathewasinwardlybleeding.Tofightonmeant
lucklessoddsagainstsurvival;towithdraw,anendtoallhonorandself-respect.
«Ijustdon'tknowwhatyoufeelsobloodybadabout,»hecalledouttoher.Shepaused,andhe
cameabreastofher.«Yousaidyourselfthatyoudon't,knowthatmuchaboutmeandmylifenow;
youcanonlyrecognizewhatyouprojectofmefromthepast,youkeepsayingyou'retalkingabout
me,butIjustdon'tseeit:you'reonlygoingonabout,mytreatment,ofothers,really.What'sthatall
about?Imean,damnit,youdidn'tcomeoutinsuchabadlight,inthebook.»
«That'snotthepoint.»
Her answer was emphatic, but he was set on his course, following an argument which might
diverthersfromwhatevertargetitwasseeking.Hewasnot.tobestopped.
«Not.justyou,everyone…Look,you'dgone,butIwasstillinLondonafterthebookcameout,
and I saw everyone a lot. They all read it, and I don't remember anyone complaining to me about
misrepresentation, or parasitism, or whatever you're going on about. Is it, such a new thing that
you'vegottobringupnow?What'sthebigobjection-I'musingmylifeandmyvisiontocreatenew
anddifferentlives?»
«That'snotthepoint,butyouwon'tseeit.Youwon'ttakemyvisionintoaccount;you…»
«Nonetheless.»herodeon,oblivious,carriedawaybyhislineofargument,«Ireallyputdown
someofthepeopleweknew,Iwroteabout,andsomeofthemIdidn'teventrytodisguiseatall.That
initselfshoulddisprovewhatyou'resaying.Butifyourtheoryisright,andmyportrayalsofpeople
aresotransparent,thensurelythey'dhaveknownwhotheywere,andsurelyI'dhavehadbadscenes
withthepeopleI'dhadagoat?»
«Ofcoursetheyknew.»
«Why no confrontations then? You know me, I've never gone in for punch-ups, but surely
somebodywouldhavetakenitupwithmefacetofaceiftheyknewIusedtheminthewayyousay?
Butit'smywork,writing-youcan'tdenymethat,youcan'tsayIdiminishmyselforothersbythat!»
Shestopped,andhewasayardinfrontofher,lookingclowntheangleofthehillside,asshe
oncemorelockedonhim,eyetoeye.
«Don't you see, David?» she said. «Don't you really see that it's all the same thing, all part, of
you? You can't, tell which characters are real and which fictional because you live in a half-world
between the two. Respect for the separate individualities of characters and people? You just don't,
know!youjustdon'tseemtoknowthatyou'vedoneadealwiththedevil,norevenwhatyoursideof
thebargainis.yes,youcandoit,youcanwrite,and'well';butyou'veneverhadatruerelationship
withanyoneinallthetimeI'veknownyou-howcouldyou,knowingsolittleofthedepthsofothers,
breathe separate identities into your characters? And you're surprised when I, knowing the people
whotheyare,thinkthey'retransparent?God,Ihadn't,realizeditwouldgothisfar…butyouevidently
don'tsee.I'vegottofinishit.now.»
Onesword.Thethread.Nother,hehadit,waitingonlyforhertonudge.
«Those people we knew…naturally, they never let on that they recognized themselves: part
deference,partpride.Andwhyshouldsomeoneyouoffendedgiveyouthegraciousgift,oflosing
theirragatyou,alltobewrittenupinafollowingbook?Muchbetterjusttoforget,it.»
Shemovedtowardshim,herhandtookhiselbow.
«Therewasatime,David,»shesaid,«whenyouwerejustthesameaseveryoneelse.Butpretty
soon,longbeforeanythingwaspublished,everyoneknewwhatsortofwriteryouwereandwouldbe.
Fromthatmomentpeoplehaveactedwithyou,toanextentknowingthatnothing,butnothing,would
gounregistered.Theyknewthatyouweregoingtowriteit:onguardtime.Thisacting…don'tyou
seewhatitdoestoyou?»
«What,»hecroaked,«doesit,dotome?»Stingingeyelids.Thesword.Thethread.Thetruth.
«Itputsyououtside.Itdehumanizesyou.You,youknowthatyouusepeople,andthat'spart,ofit.
Hasitneveroccurredtoyouthattheymightbeusingyou?They-andyourwholeattitudeshowsthatit
goesonmorethanevernow-makeofyoutherecordingmachine,thediarist,thepersonalhistorian,
safelyoverthereinthecorner.That'sallyouaretopeople.Theydon'twantcloserelationshipswith
you because of the danger: you might learn, and write, too much. But around, in the thick of it,
observing but uninvolved, the scribe, seeing their profiles outlined…yes, that's fine. For shots at
immortality,it'sprettysafe:alwaysenoughdisguiseintheworkforthemtotakethepleasurewithout
the responsibility. Sometimes I bet people even beg you not. to write about, them, huh? They must
wantitprettybadly,thosepeople,don'tyouthin,tohaveitsomuchinthetopoftheirminds?Sowhat
have you got, apart from a gold-plated ego? People aren't real to you, and you aren't real to them.
Fairdeal.Butpeoplecangooff,relax,benormalandrealforeachotheranytimetheylike,youcan
onlygotothatlittleroominyourheadwherethetypewriterlies.You'vecloneit,David.You'renotin
therealworldatall.You'renotreallyalive.»
Notherwords,nother.Him,hehadit,yesitwasinhim.
Downtheswordthroughthethread.
—o—
Ohwell,lifegoeson,doesn'tit?SusangoesbacktoLondon,theclaysgoround,thesungoes
downandcomesupagain.Thebloodgoespoundinginthetemples,thetemplesgoechoingintothe
terrorofthought,andthemindgoesracingfromitintothego-go-goingoftheeveryday.Theworld
failstocometoanendasthethreadsofarationalattitude,aposetowardsitarecut.Moreimmobile
thanever,inthemidstofit,heheldoffthemotion.Hewasunabletofacework.Everythinghelooked
atortouchedseemedtohimbleary,pointless,facile.Theroomsofhisvillafedhimonlyacheand
absence,anybookhepickedupaggravated,ratherthanassuaged,hisdoubts;theprimitivetelevision
serviceannoyed,ratherthananesthetized,him.
It was a week since Susan had left, enough time to know that no scab would form over the
wound,thatnoamountofknottingwouldrebindthethread.Hehadtakentothebar,andbeguntosink
himselfinargumentwithhisoldfriend,thebrandy.Itwasthere,sittingatoneofthetablesoutonthe
cobbledstreet,thatheencounteredHector.
Hewatchedhimwalkupfromthevillagesquare,sweatingintheafternoonsun;hewasmopping
theperspirationfromhisfaceandforeheadwithahandkerchiefpulledfromthebreastpocketofhis
lightweightsuit.Hewasabigman,andfilledthatsuittotheseams.Therewassomethingofthecaror
carddealerabouthim,sharpanddull.Hisshirtwasofaviolentfloralpattern.Itwasopenattheneck,
toexposeagold«H»onagoldchain;athisleftwrist,moregold-asolid,extravagantwatchtomatch
hissolid,extravagantperson.
No-one knew the original source of his wealth, but it was generally held to be excessive. Six
monthsagohehadboughtoneofthelargevillasatthetopofthehillandimmediatelyconvertedit
fromitsplaingracetohisownfountain-filled,air-conditioned,marbledtaste.Nowitwasrumored
thathewasgoingintopropertyinasimilarspirit,buyingandguttingfineoldhousesto«modernise»
them.Forthis,hewasnotlookedonwithlovebytheexpatriates,whofearedthatthearrivalofother
residentswhowouldappreciatehisstyleofthingswoulddestroytheunspoiltvillagewhichtheyhad
discovered and settled in-conveniently forgetting that thus it had thus already been spoiled by
themselves.
David had heard the talk about Hector, but had never really been interested in such incestuous
speculation; occasionally, they had passed each other on the street, but had never exchanged more
thanaquietnodofquasi-recognition.Untiltoday,hefoundwhathesawoftheman,hisactivities,his
possible sins and sanctities, merely boring; but now, himself sunk in a pit of boredom, a bog of
inertia, he welcomed him through the beginnings of an alcoholic haze with a brotherly smile and
outstretched hand. Hector, perhaps improbably, responded in kind; maybe he had had a particularly
goodorbadday,stimulatinghimtowardsthecomradelypseudo-affabilityofthebottle.Inanyevent,
hetooktheprofferedhandwithaheat-beaten,gold-toothedsmile,andsatatDavid'stable.Thusbegan
anunlikelydrinkingallianceanddrunkenconversation.
Time and brandy slipped by; warmed by the latter, they moved through the traditional and
predictabletopics:thevillage,theweather,thetourists.Formuchofthetime,theykepttheirsilences,
andtheirsurfaces,inplace.
Suddenly,itwasevening.Theyhadforsakenindividualmeasures,andnowabottleofbrandysat
onthetablebetweenthem;alreadytheyhadpaiditafairdealofattention.Withthepassingofthelight
theirmoodhadchangedandnow,perceptiblyclumsy,lookingdolefullyupandclownthestreet,they
weregrippedbytheabstractmelancholiawhichcomeswithadvanceddrinking.Thealcoholdribbling
wordsoutofthem,theymovedtowardsself-revelation,albeitonlyofstrangers'minimalism:each
sought sympathy rather than understanding. They remained distanced, neither wishing to bring
himselftoofarforwardintothelight.Likeabsent-mindedactorsinarepertorycompanyoverworked
withpartsandproductionstheycuedeachother,deliveredtheirmonologuestoeachother-butspoke
lines from different plays. Only as the alcohol further numbed tongues and minds did they differ
from their normal selves enough even to agree on their topics. Question time, direct, crude,
irresolvable,had-asitalwaysdoes-arrived.
«Everbeenmarried?»askedHector.Hismannerhadbecomebrusqueandclippedasthedrink
came on him; not the most gentle or unabrasive of men at the best of times, there was now almost
somethingoftheretiredarmyofficerabouthim,inspiteofthegoldtrinkets,thefaintcockneyedge
on the voice. A man to mince hands, perhaps, but not words. When it came, David's reply was
accented,asclosetoawinkasvocalexpressioncomes.
«No,no…I,er,cohabitedacoupleof-short-times;butIneveractuallygottothevows.»
«Interfere with your writing, would it?» There was a note of spite, or contempt, in that, and
Davidwasabouttorisetotheimaginedbait;buttheothermanevidentlymeantitonlyasanaside.
Pouringhimselfanotherbrandy,hereturnedtohisoriginaltopic:«I'magreatbelieverinmarriage
myself;beenthroughitthreetimes,asamatteroffact.»
«Threetimes?Thatdoesn'tseemtosaymuchfortheinstitution!»
«Well, I've seen it all ways now, y'know: been a divorced man, a widower…» Hector's voice
tailedoff,plainlyintothepast,andDavidfeltaprickofdiscomfort.
«I'msorry,Ididn't,mean…»
«No,notatall,it'snoshittome,»saidthebigman,cuttingDavid,andhisembarrassment,short.
«Theywerebothcows,myfirsttwowives.OK,toughluck,Isabeldied…thathappens.Didn'tchange
thefactthatshewasacowwhenshewasalive.Anyway,that'snotthepoint:itwasn'ttheinstitutionthat
waswrong,it.wasthewomen…onewasabitchandtheotherwasaslutandtheywerebothcows;my
mistake…thistime,though…Well,I'mstillabeliever,staunchbeliever.»
Hector's head was wobbling and his eyes giddy. It was as much of a speech as he'd made
throughouttheirconversation,perhapsasmuchofhimselfashewasabletoreveal.David,however,
still niggled by the implied or implicit jibe at his 'writing', could not. resist probing for a quicker
touch.
«I'msurprised,then»-gatheringhiswords-«…ifyou'vehadacoupleoffailures,thatyou'restill
abeliever,thatyou'vegonethroughitagain.Maybe…Well,Imean,marriageisabout,people,really,
yeh,evenifit'sstrict,andlegal?Youdon't,seemto…Look,Idon'tknow,butyoucallthem„cows“so
easily-it's not a very human memory of them, uh? Perhaps you didn't really think about them as
peoplewhenyouweremarriedandthat's…»
«Theyweremybloodywiveswhenweweremarried!»Hector'sfistbegantobeatonthetable,
accentuating his points. «For Chrissake, all that stuff, that equality and sharing and making do and
reverence,that'sallrightbefore,everybodydoesit,yougottodoit.Butwhenthosevowsaretaken,
youjust,forgetit,thatwomanisyourwife,shebelongs…»
«Butthat'sapreposterouswaytolookatpeople!»
«What'swrongwithit?Bloodyonlywaytolookatmarriageifyouaskme,andyou'dbetterask
me,'cosyou'venobloodyclueatall!»
«Butit'ssuchatotallyobsolete…»
«Ifyoumeanold-fashioned,that'sallrightbyme,that'sthewayitshouldbe.Everyone-bloody
faggotsandliberals-wantstotearitclownthesedays,butit'ssimpleandobvious:manisthenatural
dominator, and any woman who challenges that belongs with the rest of the dykes and not in the
kitchen.»
«Which,presumably,iswhereyouthinkawifeshouldstay?»
Hector did not even need to move his head in order to nod his assent. Their voices had been
raised, but. they had been arguing with themselves, rather than each other; now they dropped
hurriedly into silence, anxious not. to throw away such-drunk-understanding as they had earlier
achieved.Happymendon'targuelikethat,andonlytrulydesperateonesdobeyondsuchastandstill.
Plainly, if the evening was to continue, they would have to steer the conversation away from the
volatilityoftheiropposedconvictions.ItwasuptoDavid,evidently,torestarttheconversation;itwas
inhisnaturetodosoonthesametopic,albeitonlessacrimoniouslines.Hector'sattitude,afterall,
wassodiametricallyopposedtohisownthathewasintriguedbyitbothpersonallyand(oh,yes,in
spite of Susan, in spite of his current ennui, he still regarded himself as a professional)
professionally.
Swirlingthebrandyinitsglassandthewordsinhismouth:«Sorry,I,er,oversteppedthemarka
bit-it'syourlife…anyway,yousayallthat'sinthepast…Thingsseemallrightnow?Howlonghave
youbeenmarriedtoyourpresentwife?»
«Jane?Oh,justoneighteenmonths…andyou'reright,thistimeit'showamarriageshouldbe.
Mind,I'veknownherforyears.»
«Really?»
«Yes,sinceshewassix,actually.»
«Huh?»David'sattentionstirred,likeasnake,shakingofftheskinofdrunkenness.«Howoldis
shenow?»
«Twenty.I'dknowherfather,yousee;hewasaclosebusinessassociateofmine,andIusedtobe
roundathisplaceagreatdeal.Shewasalwaysalovelylittlegirl…usedtocallmeUncleHector,I
don'tknowthatsheremembers.IusedtobealmostasmuchofafathertoherasHarrywas.Never
mind,nevermind,that'salllongago.WellHarrydied,y'know,andIdidn'tseeherformanyyears
afterthat;shegrewup,ofcourse,Universityandsoon.Meanwhile,there'sbeenIsabelandCarol…
metheragainathermother'sfuneral,actually…»
«How extraordinary,» David said, but there was no real need for him to draw out the story:
Hector,wellintohiscups,wasallfortellingitbyhimself,asiftomakeupfortheprevioustension
betweenthem.
«Yes…Anyway,shewasinahellofastate;she'dalwaysfounditabithardtofitinwithpeople,
andshe'dhadsomekindofnervousbreakdown…shewasjustajumble.Ihadabitofsparetime-asI
say,itwasjustafterCarol-soItookheronacruise,gethermindoffthings.Itjustsortofhappened:
she was grown up, of course, but all alone, and…well, I knew she respected me-and there you are.
Mind,I'mgladtosaythatmarriagehasmadearealwomanoutofher,notnervousatallnow,enjoys
parties,wonderfulhousekeeper…»
«Sothisistheone,isit?Thisisthewaymarriageissupposedtobe?»
«Seemsso.»
Therewassomethingtouching,almostchild-like,abouttheman'saffirmation.But…?
«Theremustbeabigagedifference,though?»askedDavid.«Whatareyou,thirty-eight,thirty-
nine?Isthataproblem?»
«Notsofar,anyway-Icertainlyhopenotinthefuture.»
«Butideas-aboutmarriage,forinstance-havecertainlychangedovertheyears.Aren'therideas
differentthanyoursbythedifferenceofyourages?»
«I suppose you mean not so old-fashioned?» They both allowed themselves a smile at this as
Hectorcontinued.«Well,shewouldn'thavestayedawifeofmine,aftermyexperiences,forverylong
ifshehadn'tchangedanideaortwo.Shedid;itworks;shedidpromisetoobey…»
«Whataboutsex?»askedDavid,althoughtohimselfhewasconjecturingwhetherornottheman
beat his wife to obtain that obedience; this tack seemed, perhaps, a by-way to that. It was met with
repressionitself,though.
«Quitefrankly,that'ssomethingbetweenmywifeandmyself.»Davidsuppressedachuckleatthe
unintendedwordplay.«It'snoneofyourbusiness.»
«I'msorryifIappearedtointrude.»Hehadmanagedtopullthemaskoverhislaugh,atleastto
theeyesoftheotherdrunkenman.«Itwasn'treallysexitselfIwasaskingabout.Look,wemightas
welladmitthatourattitudestomarriagearepolesapart…andyou'retheonlyoneofuswithpractical
experienceofthestate.Now,I'llacceptthatthereissomefundamentalchangeinarelationshipatthe
momentofmarriage…I'mjustinterestedinseeingwhereexactlyyourattitudefinallyleadsyou-to
gettothecoreofthatattitude,inaway,Isuppose.»
«Thatstilldoesn'tmakemysexuallifeanyofyourbusiness,doesit,though?»
«No, of course not. Let me put it another way, a bit more sideways. Perhaps if I propose a
situation to you-hopefully one you've never experienced, and won't in the future; perhaps your
reactionswilltellmemoreabouthowyouseemarriagethananystraightquestionsandanswers?»
«OK,shoot.»
«What would you do…»-a pause to emphasise the 'would'-«What would you do if you caught
yourwifeinbedwithanotherman?Obviouslyitwouldbeabetrayalforanyone,butsinceyoufeel
she'ssomuchyourchattel…?»
Hector, staring into the bottom of his glass of brandy, seemed oblivious to his words, and the
questiononDavid'slipstailedoffintothepotentiallydangerousfutureoftheirownpropositions.In
himselfuncertainwhethertochangetack,startafresh,orprobefurther,thedrinkpropelledhimon
intothelastoption.
«Surelyit'snotsoextremea…?»
ButHectorlookedup,andcuthiswordstothegroundastheyemergedwithahead-ongaze,with
eyeswhich,foramoment,cleared,hardened,brightened.Apresencewhichhadnotbeenthereearlier
dropped over his shoulders, and ruthlessness of whatever his original business had been sat in his
stance,aphysical,fightingdogstrength.Suddenly,hisarmsseemedtobealliron-muscled,hishands
allfist.Itwasatense,eloquentmomentofsilence,acoldvoiceinthewriter'sheadran«Ofcourse,of
course…» When the other man spoke, his voice came from far inside from some twitching brain
synapsewhich,inturn,triggeredtheflickerofmusclesatjawline,templeandwrist.
«Thatwouldbeobvious»,hesaid,gratingoutthewordslikeold,hardenedCheddar.«Ihavemy
guns,youknow;andifnotthem,Ihavemyhands…»
Thetensiondrainedfromhisframe;theelectricitydissipatedtoearth.Onceagain,thecomplex
maskofdrunkennessfellacrosshisfeatures.Davidsatopen-mouthed,amanwhohadclimbedintoa
ringexpectingboxing,onlytofindthattheboutwaskarate.Ruffled,ashiverofprimevalrecognition
runningalonghisspine,heattemptedsomemonosyllabicresponse,buttheotherman-nowhisturnto
drawtheconversationtonormality,todispelthemomentofpower-waveditasideandcontinued.
«Adultery…Isabel…» The distance, the disconnections of drunken talk were with him again;
once more, they were talking about some theoretical situation, and the presence of the previous
momentwassuckedbackintothat.Hismind'smind,nothisbody's,wasoncemoreincontrol,orsuch
approximationtothatasthebrandywouldallow.HepouredhimselfanotherglassasDavidwatched
andwaited.
«I've had my experiences of violence in my time,» Hector continued, drawing the stream of
words into sentences and straight lines once more. «I don't, think I'd have a moment's hesitation. I
don'tholdwithadultery…I'venothingagainstscrewing-theycallit„casualsex“now,don't.they?—
but I don't hold with theft. If someone screws my wife, then that's theft. I couldn't get back my
property, but I'd damn sure get my own back…I'd get my revenge, and right there…both of them.
Theywouldn'tdeserveanymore.TheSiciliansgotitright;it's.,natural.»
Hewoulddoit,thoughtDavid,hewouldactuallydoit.Thewordsandthereactionwouldcome
forthwithsucheasethat,inanotherman,theymighthavebeenmereshow,pose,calculatedenoughin
his beliefs to carry them through to their logical conclusion. Such obsessive dogmatism-ah, the
theory, the theory: intense insecurity as regards status, security, power, wealth, age. Two broken
marriages;anychildren?Probablynot-ifso,disowned.Andnow,thechildbride;almostcertainly,he
would beat her to buy her obedience and submission with fear. Classic. Yes, this powerful, wealthy
man,hewoulddoit,outofhisfear.Hehadcagedhimselfinalifeofimageanddoctrine,fashioneda
waytolivewhichwouldnotallowofdoubt.Itwouldnotbethedoubtwhichdrovehim,butthewellwornpathsofposturingwords,ofcertainty,ofbraggadocio.Nottokill,then,wouldbetheendofall
framework;tokillwouldbetheactionoffinalabsorptionintohisownblueprint.
AhollowlaughbouncingbetweenDavid'sears.Herehewas,observing,evaluating,storingand
summingup-thefactionalwriter.Heprobedfor,hetracedtheimageofthelostsoul;hesawittrapped
initsself-madecage.Yetwerehenothimselflosthewouldnotbesittinghere,swillinglikeapigin
thebrandy.Ohyes,hehadgoneouttomeethisfear,toforswearallcagesofconvention;buthehad
becomeevenmoretheprisonerforthat.Stillhewatched,ontheedgeofmockery.Hector,whohad
onlyonecoursetofollow,Hector,lostinthecityofsouls.Hehimselfwasinthedesert:alldirections
wereequal,andequallyworthless.Theywerebothtrapped.
No more, no more. Mutually, they steered away from the reefs, the whirlpool towards which
theirconversationhadtakenthem,andinsteaddivedintofurtherdrinking.Theytalkedgossip,trivia,
conjecture, and kept consciously away from further personal revelation. They talked, and drank,
alone:thoughbetweenthemtheyknewmostofthepeoplewhodriftedpasttheirtableasthebarfilled
towardstheeveningpeak,theyexchangednomorethanafewwordsofgreetingwiththem.Itwasall
tooevidentthattheweightofthenight,andthedrinkwasonthem.
Late,asitwaspronetobe,ashewaspronetodo.Davidbegantotalkaboutmovingawayfrom
thevillage,tryingsomethingorsomewherenew,cuttinghimselfadrift;hehaddonesooftenenough
before,and,previously,thishadbeenmerepretenseatfreedom,bythesimpleinvocationofitsname.
Butrecenteventsgaveitmoreimportthistime,andashetalkedherealizedthatmovingmightwell
providehimwithasolutiontohiscruxofpurpose.Themereactioninitself,ofcourse,wouldsolve
nothing, but a change of geographical location might well rid him of the self-accusation which
inhabitedhisrecentmemory.Tofindhimself,somereason,sometruelifeagain…
BythistimeHectorwasincapableoftalkinganythingbutproperty,andhisonlyinterestinthe
topic was the future sale of David's villa. It would be, they agreed, the easy and natural thing for
Hectortobuyit.IfDavidthoughtaboutwhatthatwouldmean,itmeantlittletohim.:theconversion
job(thatmarble?thosefountains?),newbourgeoisoccupants,thefurther«destruction»ofthevillage.
He,afterall,wouldbegone,tryingoncemoretoexistwithpurpose;whatheleftbehindmightaswell
notdosoatall.Theyleftthematterinabeyance:theywouldtalkaboutitsoon.Hectorwouldcome
andlookthevillaoversometime.
Afterthis,therewasnothingmuchmoretosaytoeachother:theyhadreachedthebottomofthe
bottle of brandy and of the possibilities of conversation. Hector slumped over the table, his lolling
gazedirectedattheboxofmatcheswithwhichhisfingerstoyed.David,leaningprecariouslyfarback
onhischair,oneleghookedoverthearm,staredclownthestreettowardsthesquare,rolledanunlit
cigarettearoundhislips.
«Hello, dear,» Jane, Hector's wife, came upon them suddenly and unexpectedly, having walked
clownthestreetfromthetopofthehill.Sheworeanenormousstrawhatwithascarftiedroundit
which made her seem an incongruous creature of the day to David's night-soaked eyes. She put an
armroundherhusbandandplantedakissonhisforehead;hisglazedeyesrolledroundtoher,andhe
gruntedagreeting.ShelookedacrossthetableatDavid.
«Hello.You'rethewriter,aren'tyou?DavidStirling?I'veseenyouaroundthevillage.I'mJane.»
«Yes,Hector'sbeentellingmeallaboutyou.Hello.»heanswered,withasmuchcharm,asmuch
ofacourteousnodoftheheadashecouldmuster.Shewaspretty;tohistiredeyes,sheshone.
«Ihopenothingtoobad?»Aninnocent/serioussmile.
Hectorstirredfromhisslouch.Far,fargone,heburbled,«Timetogohome,»andbelched.
«For me, too,» said David, and rose to unsteady feet. «Another arduous day's toil completed.»
ThatsamesmilefromJane.Inonedemonstrativesweepittookinhim,theemptybottleandthesemisensateformofherhusband.AlreadyDavidlikedher.
Thethreeofthemstartedtheclimbupthecobbledstreettotheirrespectivevillas.Theyhadnot
gonefarbeforeDavidwasforcedtosupporttheothermanashislegsmutiniedagainsthissenseof
direction;soonJanewasproppingupherhusbandfromtheothersideasitbecameevidentthatDavid
wasinnosteadystatehimself.Hewasdrunk;Hectorwasdestroyed.Theycarriedhimthusalltheway
uptohisdoor.ThereJaneofferedprofusethanks,apologiesforherhusband,andcoffee.Davidmade
nothingofthefirst,insistedthatthesecondwashisfault,andgratefullyacceptedthethird.
AftercarryingHectorintothehouseanduptohisbedroom,Davidwenttothetoiletandthrew
up,splashinghisfacewithcoldwaterandrinsingouthismouthafterwards.Hefeltinfinitelybetter
then, and the coffee revived him still further. Now, he was once again in a state to listen; and Jane
talked.Herstory:university,freedom,dissolution,drugs;arrest,hermother'shorrorandshame;the
cover-up, the mental hospital, the corrective treatment which sapped her of will and vitality; her
mother's death; the marriage to Hector, clutching at the proffered straw, while still oblivious to the
future,deadened,onlytechnicallyalive.Andnow,ofbeginningtofeelaliveagain.
Shetalkedtoomuch,Davidknew;camewithtoomuch,toosoon…itcouldbethegushingofher
youthortheirresistibleswellofwordsuntilnowheldclownandback.Probably,hethought,herlife
hadbeenmoreshelteredthanshemadeout;probablyshehadcomeclosertothebrinkthanshewould
admit.Still,shewastalkingnow;sheseemedtowantreality.
Hedidnotstaylong.Hemadehisthanksandhisexit;stillnotsobered,hestumbleddownthehill
tohisownvilla.Hefeltold,old…butwascryinglikeachildbythetimehereachedhisdoor.Andso
tothis.Thebeadsaroundherneckclickedunderherfidgetingfingers.Thedrunkennighthadbeena
week ago. Today, knowing Hector to be in town on business, and not due to return before early
evening,hehadgonetohisvillaandinvitedJanetojoinhimathisplaceforanafternoondrinkand
(theechoofhiswords:«Therearesofewwithwhomitispossibleto…»)talk.Therehadnotreally
beenaseductiononeitherpart:themovetowardsbedhadbeenmutualandexplicit.Andnowthose
palegrayeyeslookedintohisownandbeggedhimtopromise.Shewaswaiting.
Shewasworriedbysomething-ormotivated?ItwasnotHector,nothechancesofbeingfound
out…often, she had explained, she went out walking in the olive groves come the evening, so her
husband would think nothing strange in her absence from the villa. But there was some tension…it
niggledatDavidashewatchedher.Washerrequest-perhapsevenherpresenceinhisbedatall-anact,
just that order of act which he now, thanks or curses to Susan, knew to be intended solely for his
benefit,asobserverandrecorder?Heguessednot-surelyshehadnotknownhimlongenoughtobe
awareofthevampiricelementinhisart?Stillshehadunderstoodthat,therewasapossibilitythathe
mightwriteabouther…evenso,whythisinsistencethathepromisenottodoso?Wasshe,infact,
hopingforglorification,tomakehimfindhiswaytowardswritingabouther,inevitably,becausehe
hadsaidhewouldnot?Shewouldknow,then,somethingofhisperversity…andshewasnotdull,this
one…
«David, please…I don't, want you to say you love me, or anything like that! Just don't, write
aboutme?»«WhatifIsaidthatIdid,butwouldn'tpromise?»hetried.This-thementionoflove-was,
afterall,anotherangle.«Idon'tneedthat…David?»
So:therewastobenoilluminationofhermotive.Ah,well,ithardlymatteredanyway:onemore
promise,onemoremasque,onemoretryst…inanycase,soonhewouldbegonefromhere.If-there
was,hesupposed,theremotestofchances-heweretowriteaboutheratsometimeinthefuture,the
breakingofonemorepromiseamongthethousandsofothershehadmadeandbrokentohimselfand
others would not make much difference. There were other, more important things than this.
Ultimately,itwasofnogreatconsequencetohimanymore.
«Allright:Ipromise.»
«Youmeanit?»
«OfcourseIdo.»
«Youdon'tmind?»
«Ofcoursenot.»Ifshehadpushedhimwithjustonemorequestion,hemighthavetakenitback;
butnonecame,andhesmiledatherwithgenuinereassurance,opennessandhonesty.
«Thanyou,then,»shemurmured,laidherheadclownonhischestandtracedcirclesaroundhis
navelwithherfingers.Jukeboxmusic,drifting.
This, he thought, this is the true taste. The lines stretch out from this moment and this room.,
signalinglikethoseinthespider'sweboncethepreyiscaught.Herehewasnotobserver,recorder,
diarist,butaman;andherehislifewasreal,notsham,nottrickery,notacting.Hisfreedomloomed
beforehisimagination.Outside,aclockstruckthehour:seven.Sleepy,sleepyhewas,buthismind
wasracing.
He thought about Susan again, that day on the beach: of the awful, diminishing truths about
himself and his life to which, almost regretfully but not without venom, she had pointed him. The
despairattendantuponthem:thathehadbecomeundead,apariahamongsuccessivesetsoffriends
andacquaintances,neverevenallowedthetruestationofexile.Instead,hehadbeenbuffoon,jester,
thebuttofendlesscharades,thebolsterforeageregos.Theclown,withmake-upofdesolation;the
fool,brimfulwithbeliefinhisowngenius;theemperor,inallhispompandcircumstanceofmanner,
in all his nakedness. He had been left with no clothes, old or new, and time had all but closed the
doorsofpossibilityandhumanitytohim.
Yethehadfoundtime,hadclothedhimself,hadstuckhisfootinthejamboftheclosingdoor,
hadassertedhislifeaswellashisexistence…hefeltitnow,pulsingthroughhisbody.Hehadfound
thathecouldfacehisfearanddespair;inthefacingofthese,thesurroundingdesertwasasnothing.
He felt himself once more alive, free from that undeath in which all unknowingly-though not in
ignoranceorforwantofknowledge-hehadbeenburyinghimselfforyears;andheluxuriatedinthe
sight.
Hethoughtofthestreet,thebar,thelights,theinsects,thegloweringhillsidetoweringoverthe
villageincrag,rock,screeandscruffyvegetation,ofcracksandgullieswhereonecouldsoeasily
breakalegand,eveninthisidyllicsetting,dieofexposure.HethoughtofSusan'seyesintheolive
grove,ofJane'sbutamomentago,pleadingbutinscrutable.HethoughtofHector'ssizeandstrength,
ofhisfistclenchedonthetable,ofthemadrighteousnessinhiseyes.
Thesweet,fevertouchofgoldenskinonhisown;thesmellof,theyouthofher!Life,now!
Juke-boxmusic;distant,discerniblevoices;footstepsonthecobblesoutside.Aspiderspinsits
webbytheopenwindow,buffetedbythebreeze,butpersevering,determinedtocasthisnet.
HethoughtofthenotehehaddroppedinsideHector'sfrontdoorastheyleftthatafternoon:
VERY IMPORTANT I SPEAK TO YOU ABOUT MY VILLA: COME ROUND AND
SEEMEASSOONASYOUGETBACK.
DAVIDSTIRLING.
Hissuicidenote.
Balance:TheMine
Out,forward,beyondtheedgeofthecliffs,eternalskysweepsdowntocrashintotheseaatthe
horizon…brilliant,endlessbluebeyondthereachofeithermindoreye.Thelight,thegullsandthe
wavesmoveincircularrepetition,theritualoftime:halfthemechanicalturningofaclock'shands,
halfthefreedomofsummerdance.Thecliff,thevantagepoint,isadividingknife-edgebetweenthat
globaltime-scale,outthere,andourownlinearone.
Therearethosewhoaremarkeddownforthesea.Whentheystareoutlikethis,therhythmof
thewavestrapsthemintoatrance,andthewaternourishestheseedsofoblivionintheirminds.The
tranceisnotofhypnosis,orsleep,oranysuchstraightline:thesea,neithercruelnorkind,allows
onlythosealreadypartytoitsuniversalmagic,purifiedbyitsspells,toholdittothemselves.Thus
whenfinallytheyslideintounion,serenityandorderwiththewater,thereisnosuddenchange,no
sharpdividinglinebetweenthepastandwhatwillnotbe.Alaststringofbubblestrailsasfarewellto
the land, whose creatures they have ceased to be; part, of the whole, becoming wholer, they swell
alreadytoplaytheirpart,intheendlesscycleofocean.Onthelandsuicides,eveninthatmomentof
finalextremity,endthemselveswithsomethingofaneyeonthefuture:thediscoveryofthebody,the
mourning,thecontinuinglife,inothers'memories,oftheirlast,act,thelastframeinthefilmoftheir
lives.Thosethattheseaclaimsrelinquishnotonlylifebutallname,action,memory,andbodilyform
totheundulatingrhythmofitsembrace.
Suicideisnotformanyofus,though,asindividuals,evenifadayliketoday,aplacesuchasthis
issobright,sodistortinglycrystalline,sointenselyvitalthatitturnsthemindtowardstheshade…
Andtheseaisnotforallofus:itknowsitsown,andwithitsfuriousassaultonthebasehurlsme
backtowhereIstandatthetopofthecliff.Downthere,wheretheelementsmeetinamaelstromof
rock,foam,sprayandthundertherearenohalfmeasures:theoceanattacks,erodes,withdrawsand
attacksagain;theland,fornow,willnotsuccumb.Thebalance,thetensionofopposites,lockedinthe
endlesscycles,lostwithouteachother…thisisNature.
AndhereistheevidenceofMan.Twentyyardsbackfromthecliffedge,parallelto,butaworld
away from, the public footpath, is a barbed wire fence. Signs on the concrete stanchions which
support, it deny both entry and information. We may run from the mysterious order of the sea and
Nature:wemayrunfromthecity,whichalsomakesitserosions,claimsitsground;wemayrunas
faraswecan,butalwaysweareconfrontedwiththesignsofourselves.Wefindthatwego,thatwe
havebeen,beforeourselveseverywhere.
Wehavebeenhere,andoneofourpossiblefuturesliveshere,inthesquat,solidbuildingsamile
away, low against the hill. Set. back from the cliffs, where Nature's forces meet in such constant
violence,sitstheresearchstationwhichwillfeedthefiresofsomecomingbio-chemicalwar.There
isnorealparadoxhere:liketheland,likethesea,thatwarofthemicrobewillbeneithercruel,nor
kind,norevenhuman.Afterall,impartialityhasneverbeennumberedamongthehumanattributes.
Weshuffleforwardtoalinearbeat:weandourworksaremoreimplacableeventhanNature.
Thereisatriplebalancehere,betweenthesea,thelandandtheWorldandWordsofMan.There
is a balance, but, especially on this anvil of a day on which I have chosen to take this walk, it
unbalancesme.Iam,afterall,aman,andIwonderwhatplaceisminehere.
Ihavebeenstandingonthisspot,lookingaround,fortoolong,andhurryonbeforeIbecome
rootedbythesymbology.Theareaofpubliclandwhichthepathcrosses,boundedononesidebythe
barbed wire, on the other by the cliff edge, becomes wider. Some way on, I come across more of
Man'slandscape;thoughthisisevidentlydisused,passive.
Emulatingtheplateauoftheclifftop,satuponitlikeaslab,isanexpanseofconcrete.Itispitted,
rough,old:theuniformityisbrokenrandomlybyrustedhooksandrings,byclumpsofhardyweeds
and grasses thrust through dog-leg fissures. Here and there are cavities, as though enormous teeth
havebeenextractedfromtheirbeds.Thesemustoncehaverootedmachines,longsinceremovedfor
scrap: the concrete was once a platform, a work surface. As time has claimed it, it has gained in
geography,andnowsitsaspowerfulcomplementtothenaturalformationsofrockandsea.Linesof
energyandpurposeendure,though,inthisnew-foundlieintheland:towardstheseawardend.There,
theremainsofananteroom,nowcloggedwithvegetation,aresunkintheground;theroofisgone,
butwhatwasitslevelisthesameasthatofthesurroundingconcrete.Theopenendoftheroomjoins
witharampedinclineslopinguptogroundlevel,inwhichareembeddedrustedrails,obviouslyfor
themovementofsmalltrucks.Imovedowntheramp,toexaminetheroommoreclosely.Thereisno
floor:theroomistheheadofashaft,apit.Allthiswasonceamine.
Theshaftseemstodropclownthefulllengthofthecliff,ifnotevenlower;apebbledropped
clown it takes several seconds to send back a sound denoting arrival and rest. My mind jumps to
mystery. The timbers which surround and support, the maw of the shaft are blackened, warped and
cracked,asthoughfirehadragedupfromtheworkhead,devouringminersandmachines.Asingle
beam, once horizontal across the roof of the shaft to support pulleys and tackles, has slipped to an
uneasyangle.Thewoodcreakswithage,andtheimaginationmakesofitafuneralkeenforthemen
whomusthavediedbelow.Eveninthebrillianceofthesummerclay,theabandonedminetakesona
sinisterair,asdarkanddankasthatwhichrisesfromtheblackpit.
ButIknowthatitisnothing:thewoodischarrednotbyflamebutitsantithesis,risingmoisture
from the sea below. The shaft has been destroyed in a slower, more leisurely fashion, suited to
Nature's patience. The mine must have been abandoned long ago, when whatever its contents were
proved no longer precious or useful enough to justify the working. Man on his linear path again;
progress, progress…sideways. There is, in fact, no mystery here, not even the ghost of the past;
already,longsince,theforcesoflandandseahavebeguntoreclaimthese,theirpreserves,intowhich
menoncesolaboriouslyburrowed.
Fifty yards away, there stands a chimney, perches precariously among the elements. It could
almost be a tower from which first, warning could be given of approaching clanger from the sea.
Thereisacertainmysteryhere:thereisnobuildingatthebaseofthechimneyfromwhichsmoke
wouldbeextracted.Instead,onitsseawardside,thereextendsfromthebaseabricktunnel.Itisfour
feethigh,andreachesalmosttothecliffedge.Thisgivestheedificetheappearanceofasnakepoised
tostrike,thechimneyrearingintotheairandthetunnel-thetail-supportingit.
Iwalkalongthesideofthetunnel.Halfwaydown,timeandvandalismhavetakentheirtolland
thereisahole-gapingwoundinthereptilehide-wherethebrickshavebeenprisedapart.Itholdsthe
simultaneousinvitationandthreatofafractionallyopeneddoortoadarkenedroom;andifIcrouch,
itisjustlargeenoughformetoenter.
Itisnecessarytomovealmostonallfourstomakethelengthofthetunneland,aftertheinitial
splayoflightattheopening,thepassageisindarkness.Interiorbrickshavefallentothefloor,and
the way is rugged and uncomfortable, but a shaft of light falling down the chimney at the far end
beckonsmeon.
Iarrivethere;thereisroomtostand,tomoveafewpacesatthebaseofthestack.Thereareno
bonesortrinketsonthefloor,ofcourse…butthisstillseemsamagicplace.
Verticallyaboveme,abrilliantcircleofbluesky;thelightrainsdownfromthisandsparkleson
thewalls,shiningandglintingasoncutglass.But.Iseethattheinsideofthechimneyismadeofthe
samebrickastherestofthebuilding:itisnotthatwhichshines,buttiny,beautifulcrystalsencrusted
onit,likesnowflakes,likediamonds.Theydancefortheeyesinthelight,andmakeoftheplacean
enchantedcavern.
The walk, the crawl were worth it: the crystals, the womb-like towering of the chimney, its
ceilingoftactileblue.Howsolidtheskyseemswhen,likethis,onlyafewsquarefeetofitarevisible!
Howgoodtobealive,howgoodtoexperience,howgoodtosee!Andwhatcrystalsarethese?
The hand reaches out to touch them. A few flake away easily from the wall and cling to the
fingertips,whichcarrythemtowardsthetongue…
Whatwasminedhere?
Andwhatisthetasteofexperience?
It was an arsenic mine, and the taste is that of the flowers of that element. They have been left
unclaimed from the smelter flue where is was sublimated from the mined pyrites. This is all that
remains from past purpose. In our search for knowledge, understanding and balance between the
forcesarounduswearerarelymorethanafingertipawayfromeatingourowndeath.
TheMessage
He knew that the end was coming. No more were there aficionados to buy, steal, hoard his
paintings, interviewers from glossy magazines to probe his psychological motivations and sexual
quirks,pilgrimstositathisfeet,attemptingtodistillknowledgefromsuchsweatofhisbrowasfell
onthemwhileheworked.Hehadknownallthese:known,accepted,enjoyed,beendiscardedbyand
discardedinturn.Therewereotheridolsforthemnow,withstrangerandmorelabyrinthineformsof
expressiontorelatetotheworld;now,forhim,therewasnoworldlefttowhichhecouldrelatedin
theoldmanner.Thaterawhichhehimselfhadinsomewayexpressedandepitomizedhadpassed;he
nolongerhadeithertheinclinationorthedesiretopushopentheshuttersonhisinnermostthoughts
andfeelings.Thelightneitherenterednorshoneout.
It is true that he had revelled in his fame almost to the point of self-idolatry; he had felt and
savoredthatsenseofexquisitefreedomandsecurity-albeitofthezoo-whichapprovalbyone'speers
confers.Dippinghistoesintothewater,hehadfoundthesensationandtemperaturetohisliking,and
sohaddivedheadlongintoit,againandagain,alwaysfromahigherboardandalwayswithgreater
e'lanuntilamomentarrivedwhenitwasimpossibletodifferentiatebetweendiveanddiver,sogreat
wastheheightfromwhichheplummeted.Eveninthismadness,hecouldhaveretainedcontrolover
hisownlifeanddeath:seeingthecushioningandabsorbingwaterdrainingfromthepool,hecould
have twisted away in mid-air; a final act. of individuality. Again, he could simply have stayed
wallowinginthepool;thiswouldhavebeenenough,andcomprehensible…yettherewasmore.He
stood at the crossroads, unsure even of the nature of the decision which now faced him: to go on
along the road on which, long ago, he had set himself, ever on towards the horizon of glowering
clouds?Or,repenting,toturnhisbackonthathungry,invitingvision,tobeginthelonganddesperate
march back to whatever remained of his starting point? He knew that the end was coming; and he
knewthathedidnotknow.
Ithadbeentwoyearssincehehadcloneanypainting.Intheinterveningtime,asthestrengthof
hiswillwanedandhismoralincertitudewaxed,hehadpresentedtoadwindlingpublicthestockpile
of his last years' work, passed off as contemporary. Poison arrows of criticism and malice were
drawnandfiredonthecanvasesastheyemerged,buttheeffectsdidnottouchhim;alreadyhewas
distancedintimeandmind,alreadytooconcernedwithgropingforanendwhichwouldsatisfyhis
beginningstobehurtbythispresentinvective,directedatlaborsonlyheknewwerelongclone.
His life had drifted from him, and his friends: the former, lately, in aimless meandering; the
latter with all too clearly defined speed and direction. If friendship and love are based on the
reflectionsfromothersofwhatwewishorimagineourselvestobe,thenwhenthemirrorclouds,not
tobereburnishedbywhateverfreshlifewebreatheontoandintoit,wequicklyshroudthesurface,
passonandforget.Hehadmadeithisvocationtobe,toprovide,alooking-glassforhumanity'the
effacement.hesufferedwasallthemoretotalforthat.Perhaps-wecouldtrytobekind-hemighthave
feltthatthereflectionshegaveouthadbecometooperfect,toovivid,asunbearableforthosearound
himasforthoseonandbywhomhisnamehadbeenbuilt;suchself-absorptionmighthavemadehim
more human in pride, might at least have given him some measure of consolation and selfjustification in the years of increasing solitude and isolation. In truth, though, such thoughts never
occurred to him at all: the disappearance of his friends meant as little to him as did that of his
erstwhilelaudorsandprotogees.Theabsenceofthosewhohadoncecrowdedroundhimdidnoteven
raiseinhimthatflickeroffeelingwhichmenwhoarealoneoftenseeinthemselvesasultimateproof
oftheirindividuality.Hehadsimplyceasedtocare.
Hehadspurnedsuccess,andyetforgottenitsmeaning.
He had, finally been rejected by his peers, and yet, having already disassociated himself from
themandtheirjudgements,suchrejectionwasmeaninglesstohim.
Inthesensethatcreationistheevocationoftheunknownforpresentationto,andcondonation
by,one'sfellows,hehadceasedtocreate;yetthesenseisasshallowasthewordispresumptuous.He
was already half-dead: he had foresworn his stake in presumption. As his friends and fellows
stumbledawayfromthedarknesswhichincreasinglysurroundedhim,thelineswhichjoinedthemto
himslippedthroughhisnumbinggrasp.
He clasped darkness and negation to himself: yet, within, he had never before walked in such
positive light. Becoming paradox, all mere means, all sideshows, all irrelevancies fell away from
him; he had seen the end in time to make his own ends clear. Now his every energy was directed
towards one goal, his every drive channelled into a single current. His ambition, ego, religion,
certitude, will for communication, craving for love, his intelligence, intellect, training, toil and
patienceallbecameenmeshedinasingledream,inamonopolyofpurposewhichcanonlybecome
manifestwhenitisknownthattheabsoluteendisdrawingirresistiblyclose.Now,thoughceasingto
careinandforallmundaneterms,hewasdrivenbytheutmostdedication,andurgencyinfectedhis
everythoughandaction:urgencybornoutofasuddenknowledgeoftime.
He had owned the cottage for many years: in the first flush of youthful prosperity, he had
followedtheadviceofaccountantsandworldly-wisefriendsandboughtitastangiblepossessionand
security in a transient world. He had had his own, more romantic reasons for the purchase, too:
primitive,isolated,half-derelict,hehadseentheplaceasbeingintouchwiththerootsofNature,and
thus of Man. «Back to Nature» had been one of his (often contradictory) watchwords, as though
Naturewereaconstant,notaperpetuallyshiftingaxisofrealitybywhichManisbothchallengedand
measured.Atfirst,hehadhadthoughtsofsettinguphometherepermanently.«Freefromthecity,»he
had once said, flushed with drink and enthusiasm to the point of voiding intellect, «I can find and
knowmyself,andcreatefromthebowelsofmybeing.»Soonaftermovingthere,hefoundthathe
hadtakenthecitywithhimtohisretreatamongthechalkhills,andthatallthatcamefromhisbowels
was fear of meeting the unknown alone. Though this was, in some measure, self-knowledge, it
sickenedhim.
Whensummercame,hetriedtoassuagehisfearbyinvitinghishedonisticfriends-mirrorstohis
mirror-tostay,andtheyspenttheclaysinadruggedanddrunkenhazeoflethargy.Thesummerwas
long, hot, sterile; in such moments as he raised his head above the morass of self-indulgence, he
sustainedhimselfandheldbackthebayinghoundsofconsciencewiththethoughtofawinter'swork
and contemplation. The weather turned, his solitary life resumed, the feeling of sterility remained;
nowheknewthatitresidednotinthesummerheat,notinthesocialexcess,butinhisownideaswhen
faced only by himself. The mirage was dispelled, the dream-that by merely changing the
geographicallocationthroughwhichhewalkedhecouldchangethenatureoftheburdenhecarriedshattered.Theisolation,thestarkimagesofselfwhichwereallheencounteredthereweretoomuch
forhim:heleftthecottageforthepleasurepalacesoftheworld,fortheself-affirmationwhichonly
success,adulation,andthetangibleapplicationsofwealthwouldbringhim.Thenceforthheworked
as,when,andwherehecould,andhisinspirationalcircuitswerefloodedonlywithfeedbackfromthe
glitteringpublicworldinwhichhewasresoundinglysuccessfuland-foranartist-revoltinglyrich.
Now,asherejectedthatshadow-playofalifewhichhehadhimselfespoused,thecottagewas
theretocomebackto:hehadneverseriouslythoughtaboutsellingit.Atfirst,tohavedonesowould
havebeentoomuchofanadmissionoffailure,ofthefactthathewascapableofself-delusion;andhe
wouldallowofthispossibilityneithertohimselfnortoothersinthoseclays.Later,whenheowned
plush homes on three continents, the place was consigned in his memory to the dustiest of back
shelves.Now,atlast,itwastoservehimwell,itsisolationmatchingthatwhichhadbredinternallyin
him.Theexternal,romanticidealismofhisyouth,thecultivationofpessimismanddespairinwhich
hehadthenindulged-ifonlytonurturethekernelofself-celebrationatboththeircenters-werelong
gone;bynow,hehadcometoknowandaccepttruesolitude,analonenessstillvital,stillthrobbing
withlife…hisown.Sonow,attunedtoitsnature,hehadcomebacktothecottage;comebacktomake
hisfinalandgreatestwork.
Therewouldbenocomparisonbetweenthisandwhathehadpreviouslydone:therewouldbeno
pointeveninrelativeassessment.Inthegrowingrejectionofhiswayoflife,oftheusetowhichhe
had put his time, he had also rejected his previous painting; he could no longer own it even in his
memory. In reality, it had passed out of his possession in those moments when it first adorned the
walls and corridors-as clinical, almost, as those of hospitals-of the museums of modern art; the
salons of those hostesses who, rich in temporal terms, sought spiritual wealth in the acquisition of
'culture'; the bedrooms of those friends, acquaintances and parasites who, acknowledging his
mortality as mirror in which they could shine, substituted his work for him and for whatever
relationshiptheyhadwithhim-amorepermanent,morereliablesurfaceinwhichtheycouldexamine
and display the symmetrical perfection of their warts and blemishes. As for him, he had traded his
paintings for pride; that, too, he had relinquished as it tarnished in the light of self-realization. For
him, all that now remained of his work was the incremental change which time and vision had
wrought,withinhim;thecavasses[sic]themselvesseemedtohimasdull,lifelessandflatasforgotten
dreams.
Once,hehaddrawnrigidlineswithinhimselfbetweenhisworkandhislife,theformerbeinga
separate manifestation of, if not justification for, the latter; now the two began to beat in the same
rhythm,tobecomeindistinguishable.Withtherealizationthathislifewasgatheringitselfupbythe
moment there came further intimations of its very nature; as twilight came on with stealthy
geometrical progression, his life became more and more identifiable with his search and will for
finalexpression.Suchtime-fritteringconceptsasimportance,relativetruth,artistichonestynolonger
gnawedathiscomprehension,forsuchthingsweredevouredby,implicitin,theefforthewasnow
making;thepresent,itsinfinityandtimefellaway.Withultimatepatience,bornofhaste,hebeganto
assembletheforcesofhislifeand,insodoing,willedthemintotranscendenceofhimselftowardsa
goalandavitalitywhichcouldoutstripthetransientegotismof«creation»and'Art'.Now,drawingon
forces older, deeper, more intuitively felt than any he had hitherto called upon, he ceased to be
concernedwiththemereexpressionoftheself:hestroveforitsencapsulation.Againstthispurpose,
all the efforts of his past life, all his past paintings, were as dust in the wind. His final work had
become,forhim,hisonlyone:itwastobefilledwiththewholeessenceofhisexistence.
Thisinitself,though,wouldnotbeenough:paradoxically,inthecourseofdissociatinghimself
fromhispasthehadgrownmoreawareofhisplaceandnatureintheoverallschemeofthings,andit
wassomeintimationofthatuniversalawarenesshenowwishedtoconvey.Ameremonumenttohis
own life and vision, however much imbued with them, however free of the taint of ego, would not
suffice.
Hegropedforclearsightofhisownintentions;theythrobbedinhisveins,beatathistemples,
inhabited his mind in every waking moment and cast half-glimpsed dreams like pebbles into the
millpond of his sleep. Eventually, the barest of outlines was formed; although still without specific
definition, it offered some hope at least of the work in prospect achieving a longetivity and
universalitybeyondhisown,mortal,imagination.Hewouldtrythroughthis,aman'swork,topasson
some intimation of Man's state, balanced between two orders: civilisation, or mankind in time, and
Nature.Heknewthathewouldhavetoexpressopposedconceptssimultaneously:transience,analysis,
intellect against immutability, intuition, spirit. As a man at a specific point in time, he realized that
trappingtimeitselfinitsvestments;nor,indeed,couldheaccuratelyrepresenttherateofchange-in
terms of knowledge, action, faith-of civilization. Somehow, though, if he could only find the right
imageandmethod,hecouldencapsulatethebalance,thetension;andthen,iftheworklasted,itcould
showfuturemen,ofwhatevertime,thatothersbeforethemhadatleasttriedtosee,toexpresswhatit
meanttobealive.
Atlast,hehadfoundtheparametersofhisintent:nowthedaysformedthemselvesintoranksof
weeksandmonthsashesearchedfortheimagewhichcouldembodythetotalityofhisvision.Hedid
not bemoan the passage of time itself, since all was now waiting; but frustration gnawed at him
constantly.Sometimes,likeafrustratedchild,hewouldrushoutontothehillsidewhichflankedhis
cottageandhurlstonesasfarandasaimlesslyashecouldtogiveventtohisangerathimself,his
inadequacies, his inability to find the icon he sought. Later, these same hands which had thus
fashionedthemselvesintothefistsandcatapultsofnihilismwouldunconsciouslymovedinthedepths
ofaspiration,struggle,strivingandsearch.Thesehands…finally,heknew,theywouldhavetodothe
work,makesenseofhisunfashionedideals,makereasonoftheirownirrationalpower;sometimes,
mesmerised, he would stare at them, wondering if they could possibly conform to the discipline,
achievethecontrolwhichwouldbenecessarytofashiontheuncontrolled.Thenhisdarkestmoments
wouldcome,whenitseemedthathehadavowedtoomuch,hadsteeredtooclosetoblasphemy.He
wished, after all, to make the ultimate statement of which he was capable, in the most encapsulated
form.Yet.heknewthattherecouldbenootherway:ifthiswasblasphemy,thenhemustblaspheme.
Having forsaken his past existence, renounced his past and primitive efforts at self-expression, his
onlyreasonforlivingnowwasthiswork,thisgoalastotalasanyhecouldenvisage;andhewasleft
with the knowledge that only in its process and completion could any true and final understanding
evercometohim.
Attimes,hiscogitationshadseemedtohavenoend;butfinallyhesettledontheimagehewould
use. The subject was age-old, but could bear representation with modernity; its life breathed into
inanimate substance, all the necessary elements would be fused, and the eternity of his idea
transmitted.
At first he had to sketch it: only thus could he materially formalize all those wishes and
intentions which his mind had cataloged and, in the imagination at least, bound into a whole. Trial
aftertrial,formafterformflowedfromhispenineverymannerhehadeverlearned,fromslapdash
speedtometiculouspatient,craft.Eachinturnwasrejectedasbeingtooinanimateortoovital,oftoo
universalaviewforhisspecificpurposeortoominuteaoneforitsbreadth,oftooclassicalortoo
modernaform.Finally,hishand,mindandeyecametorest,andonthepaperbeforehimlaythelines
for which he had searched for so long, towards which his whole life had been directed. Now it
remainedonlytotransfertheselinesintohischosenpermanentmedium,onewhichwouldwithstand
the ravages of permanent medium, one which would withstand the ravages of time, retain these
unmistakablemarks,suffernodeteriorationofessenceofconfusionofintent.Nowonlythephysical
laborhadtobeclone.
The weeks passed into months, and the earth was blessed with the sweat of his toil. His hands
becamegnarledandhardwithblisters;hisbicepsthrobbedwitheffortandenergy;hishairgrewlong
andmatted,hisfacecreasedwiththelinesofoutdoorwork;hiseyessmolderedtopermanentcoalsin
hisfurioushaste.Hewasted,andhegrew:hehadneverbeensostrongashewasinthosefinaldays,
yet he had never looked so utterly drained-his whole life-force was fed into the completion of the
work,andhepausedonlytosleepandeat.Timehelditsbreathforhim.
Anditwasfinished.
He stood back and viewed it: there had been no mistake in his inspiration. It was dynamic, yet
immutable; urgent, yet in a strange repose; it summed up his passion, his individuality, but was
simultaneously universal; in both subject and execution, it was of now and all time past and future.
Thesubjectwasonemenwouldhaveseenalmostsincetheybegantosee,buttherakeofthelinewas
unmistakablymodern;andalsohehadnot,hereflected,sufferedthepurgatoryofthesalonsandart
galleriesallthoseyearsfornothing-unmistakablyhis.Thebeinghadlife,summonedupthoughtsof
flightandspeed,yetsuspendedinfranticmotion,wouldremainhereforever.
Thebodyarchedforwards,awideningcurvetotheshoulders,andthelimbsseemedtoflowout
from it in smooth arcs, not as appendages, but. as intrinsic part; the head, straining forward, was
merelyhintedatbyshapeandoutline,andinitscenteronestaringeyebulgedwiththeeffortofchase.
Each stroke of his pen in the original sketch had been magnified hundreds of times, and in the
simplicityofthesefewlineshehadcapturedthelifeofhissubject;capturedthat,andmore.Notonly
was the work infused with, and a summation of, life, but also, suspended between Nature and
mankind,itcapturedsomethingoflifeinhistime.Therehadbeennomarginforerror,andherethere
wasnone;theworkwasthatwhichhehaddreamed,forwhichhehadprayed.
The simplicity of execution, the elimination of all but the barely essential, the thoughts and
implicationsofspeed,hasteandvigorwhichtheworkembodied,allthesewerecodesintrinsictohis
civilization. The lines, so unlike those of its subject in reality, still captured its essence. The work
belonged to, could only have been clone at, a time when Man was no longer content simply to
observewhatthesaw,butwasdeterminedtostriketoitsroots,itsskeletaldiscovery,ofquest,oflife
continued, expanded, enhanced; now, as mankind began to reach for the stars; now he, with this
subject of simple, unequivocal grandeur, had here encapsulated not only his own feelings and
aspirations, but also those of the age. Life, light, hope; the surge at barriers and boundaries which
exist only to be penetrated; the first glimmer of understanding of what lies beneath the dull
tridimensionalityofoutwardappearance-hereandnow,hehadintuitivelycapturedallofthese;hehad
graspedthemin,andfashionedthemwith,hismortalhands.
Andsohesatuponthehill,hisendalmostuponhim,drainedofallbutthesatisfactionofhaving
clone;andlookedacrossathisfinal,hisonlywork.Inthecenturies,intheaeonstocome,menwould
return to this spot, look upon the results of his labors, and be sure to receive the message. By the
figurative sparsity of line, by the capture of essence in dimensions other than those we fully
understand,theywouldknowthatit.wascreatedbyamaninanagewhenManhadtrulybeguntolive,
andnotmerelyexist.Perhaps(whoknow?)bythentheEarthmightbeabarrenwaste,leftbehindin
thespawningofthegalaxies,andonlyachancecosmonautwouldcomeupontheplace-buthe,too,
wouldknowandunderstandthathereitallbegan.
Hismindspuninpure,humble,exhilaration:themessagethathehadcarvedoutforthefuture
couldneverbemisinterpreted.So,joyfullywithoutfurtherreasonforlife,hisbreathslippedawayas
he lay on the hill, his eyes resting forever on the white horse he had cut into the chalk above
Uffington.
The white horse has stood the test of time; but its meaning and message remain, for us, a
mysteries,andwecanonlyguessattheculture,civilization,hopes,fearsandintentionsofitsmaker
ormakers.Havewenot.comesuchalongwayfromthesethings?
Brasilia
—thisminceptcord
—date25/11/45
—emittant1-401/E97BSA
TheLegendgoesthattheworldwasonceagarden,filledwithwildflowers,treesandanimals.
ThegardenwastheclosestwecouldcometotheGodsbeforefinallyjoiningthem.Thishadbeenour
placesinceallcreation.Butthepeoplesinned,andwerecastdownandoutforever.
TheLegendgoesthatwhentheDevilcame,hewasterribleinappearance.Hecameasaman,at
theheadofmanymen.Allthesehadoncebeenasus,buttheyhadfallentothepoweroftheDarkOne.
Theycame,hidingtheirbodies,ofwhichtheywereshameful.Theireyeswerewild,emptyofpride,
and the pallor of their skins matched their souls. We fought them. We fought them with our blowpipes, our arrows, our poisons, and we killed many of them. These we did not consume, for their
inpurity would have weakened our race. We killed many, but always the Devil had more to throw
forwardatus.Alwayswefoughtthem,andHimthroughthem.TheDevilattackedusinanotherway.
Hesenthisarmiesofdiseaseamongus,sothatsoonallourpeoplewerelaidsick.ThentheDevil
camewhiletheywerewastedwithfeverandpoisonedthemwithdartsintheirarms.Whenourpeople
recoveredthestrengthoftheirbodies,theyfoundthattheirspiritshadbeenweakenedbythepoison.
ThentheybowedtotheDevilandacceptedhisLaw.Thiswasthefirstoftheirsins.
TheLegendgoesthatwhentheDevilcame,hewasterribleinappearance,inthathecameasa
man. He had the voice of a man as well as his face. He dismissed his armies now, for he had no
furtherneedofthem.Ourpeoplewereinhispower,andhehimselfremainedamongus.Aftersome
time,ourpeoplethoughtandreasonedthathemustbeaman,nottheDevilforhehadaman'sface
andvoice.ThentheytriedtopersuadehimoftheTightnessofourways,andaskedforthefreedomto
followthem.TheDevilwascunning,andpersuadedourpeoplethathetoowouldacceptourcustoms.
He no longer hid his body, and walked among us as one of our own. But while he listened to our
peopletellinghimofourwayshe,too,wasteaching.Ourpeopleacceptedhisteachingasaman's,for
theyhadbeguntoaccepthimasaman.Inthedepthoffriendshipbetweenmen,theytooksomeofhis
teachingtotheirhearts.Intime,theDevilledourpeopleintoforbiddenareasoflearning.Hetaught
thesignswhichmadewords.Hetaughtreadingandwriting,andourpeoplelearnedthem.Thiswas
thesecondoftheirsins.
TheLegendgoesthatwhentheDevilcamehewasterribleinappearance,inthathecameasa
man. As well as the face and voice, he had the reason and logic of man. So he swayed our people
moreandmore,andhisdominationincreasedrapidly.Finally,hepersuadedustoleaveourhomes
andfollowhim.Weweretofightanotherpeople.Ourspiritwasweak,andtheDevil'swillbecame
ourown.Wedidnotnoticethepallorofourskins,thevoidinoureyeswherepridehadoncebeen.
Wedidnotnoticetheclotheswhichhidourbodies.WewentwiththeDevilashisarmy.This,thethird
sin,wasthefinalone.
TheLegendgoesthatwhentheDevilhadconqueredallthepeoplesoftheworld,henolonger
remainedasaman.Hetookhistrueformback,anditwasmoreterribletoseethanallotherthings.
Thenallthepeopleoftheearthwereforcedtofleefromthegarden.Thisitselfwasdestroyedbythe
merepresenceinitoftheDevilinhisnaturalform.
ThisistheLegendofourFall.
Idon'tknowwhatbroughtallthatbacksosuddenly,therote-learnedfablewhichhasbeenpassed
ondownthroughthegenerations…mypoorsuperstitiousancestors!Itisplain,fromallexperience
and memory, that we have always lived in this world; the conception of an ideal «garden» is and
always has been mere self-deception. One can only wonder how these strange fictions came abouttrees,flowers,andanimalsinwildabundance,greatarmiessentbyabeingwhochangesshapeatwill.
Onecanonlywonderatmypeople'sinabilitytoacceptwhatisasreal;instead,theyfollowedtheir
compulsion to believe in some ideal past, to grope for some scheme of things which could never
have been in reality. Oh, the human progress which has been denied to us over the years by the
blinkeringeffectsofthismadflightoftheimagination!
Yearsofrepetitionhaveembeddedthesuperstitioninmymemory,butIamfreeofitinmymind.
I,atlast,can-must-seethingsastheyreallyare.Myancestorscannotbehurtbythemnow,soletthem
havetheirmythsandfables.Nothingcanhurtthemnow,nopain,hope,orimagination;theyareall
gone.Asthelastofus,Ihavetherightaswellasthemindtodoawaywiththesepreoccupationswith
a fabulous past; my only obligation now is to myself. As a realist, I know that any hope for «our
people»hasdelusionatitsheart.Iamthelastandtherewillbenomore.
Thisendhaslongbeeninevitable.Theworldalwayswasandwillbeaconfinedspace,andour
foodsupplylimited.Inthedistantpast,ournumbersproliferatedtoapointwherelifewasofminimal
qualityandsurvivalwasflatandbare.Itbecamevitaltocontrolournumbers.Thiswasaccomplished
muchmorethansatisfactorily:inthegenerationsfollowingthatdreadfultimeofovercrowdingand
starvation,thegeneticcontraceptivehadwiderandwidereffects.Ithadstartedasasavingvaccine;it
endedasineradicablevirus.Thenumbersofbarrenwomengrewuntilmymotherwasthelastcapable
of bearing children. She died in having me; I was always certain to be the last. As extinction drew
closer, the members of the previous generations turned more and more towards the ancient fables;
onecansympathizewiththat,fornoothercontinuityremained.Nowthereiscontinuityatall:thelast
ofthemisdead,andIamalone.Hopeis,forme,awordwithnomeaning;onlyexistenceisthat.
IshallliveoutmytimeinthisworldandthenIshalldie.Ishallwalkthesamegroundasthose
before me and mine shall be the last footfall. Then we shall all be gone. There shall be no further
generationtohearthelegends,andallthedreams,fictions,exploits,discoveriesandthoughtsofthe
past, too, shall be dead, as if they had never been. I can spend my time; I can look at the films and
records;I,thelast,canexploreeveryhiddencorneroftheworld.
—thismindceptcord
—date4/3/49
—emittant1-40,1/E97BSA
BynowIhadthoughttoknoweveryinchofwhatIstillthinkofasourworld,althoughitisonly
mine.Itsconfinesarenottoogreattoexplore,andIlongagodevotedwhatremainedofmylifeto
doingso,Iorderedandanalyzed,halfdrivenbythethought,thatsomedarkrecessmightfurnishme
withareasonforexistenceoverandabovesimplybeing.Ididnotfindsuchaplace,andbelievedthat,
by now, I knew it all. But I believed, also, in the unchangeable nature of my surroundings, and
accepted form as a constant reality. These things are now revealed to me as mirages; or else I am
insane.Yet.Ifeelincontrolofmysenses:itissurelynotthosewhichsoconfuseme.
I know this corner of the world well; it is one of those most clustered with the apparatus of
control.Ihavestudiedtheareaofteninmyexplorations;insomewayIwasattractedtoandpleased
bythearrangementoflights,dialsandswitches,thefunctionsofwhichhaveneverbeenknown.Shall
InowsaythatIsensedsomething?Irecallthatoneofthemostantiquefilmsfeaturedtheplaceasof
great significance. The meaning eluded me; perhaps the censorship of the centuries, imposed to
protect,thepeoplefromunbridledthought,camouflagedit.Nowthereisnocamouflage;butIamstill
farfromunderstanding.Thisplaceisattheedgeofourworld;intheapparentlyseamlesssurfaceof
the final wall, an electric door has opened to reveal a passageway beyond. There should be no
beyond,nopassageway,nodoor;nothere,attheedgeofexistence.Butfortheevidenceofmyeyes,it
would be beyond belief; yet they testify. A further world beyond the world? This is a hope I never
dared.Most,cynicalofallthegenerations,mybrainandsoularefloodedwithfeelingsIneverknew
wereinme.
Ihavenochoice.Iamthelast,andmyonlyobligationistomyself:toknowasmuchaspossible
beforemydeath.Thelifeofallmyheritagerisesinme.Isallnotwithoutvalueandpurpose,isallnot
withouthope?Imustfollowthepassageandtreadwherenomanhasbeeninalllivinghistory.
The corridor stretches upwards. Far along it., I round a corner and am struck by furious light
fromtheotherend.Evenatdistance,itsintensityissuchthatthefearwhichumbilicallyconnectsme
totheworldalmostdrawsmeback.Iamwalkinginanunknownplace.Butevolution,aswellasthe
needforrevelation,forcesmetowardstheclimb,thejourneyofdiscovery.Witheverystepthelight
streams brighter and more blinding; several times I have to stop to adjust to it, and to calm my
palpitatingnerves.ButImust,Ido,goon.
Now, on the threshold, the light seems almost a solid barrier at the end of the passage; my
resolutionisshakentothecore.Clearly,theworldbeyondwhatwehavealwaysknownastheworld
isofimmenseenergyandintensity.Itissodifferent,thatIevenwonderifIhavedied.Thereisno
otherwaythatIcantakethesesteps:Iclosemyeyesandwalkforward,outthroughthelight.1don't,
knowifIexistorwillceasetoexistatanymoment.Perhapsthegroundhasalreadydematerialized
beneathmyfeet,andIamwalkingonlyonmyownsuppositions.StillIwalk,feelthegroundunder
mytread.Ihavecomefarenough:Imustopenmyeyestotheworldbeyondworld.
Brasilia
Now.
Color,light,shade,line,heat,intense,pain,silence,color,shade,light,burn,beyond,fear,joy,
know,see,color,light,shade,tower,glass,solid,metal,sharp,empty,burn,cold,blue,gray,color,
line,angle,white,distance,space,size,immense,dead,intensity.
Devil-void-army-empty-vast-endless-color-shade-light-line- angle-intensity-dead-void-DevilLegend-voidvast-Devil-sin-forever-dead-empty-vast-garden-destruction-shape-form-line-
angle-contourtexture-numb-dead-Devil-Legend-shade-light-void- empty-Devil-despair-true-true-true-void-despairtrue-order-reason-life-lost.
TheLegendcome.
Legendsay,hollowlaugh,empty,despair.Legendsay,Devillaugh,true,true.
Legendsay,Devillaughinshapelinesizecolorshadelighttowerglassmetalendlessnoend—
«Ihavetakenyouruniverse;hereismydespair.»
Allonealltrueallendforevervoid.
Thus,thefarthestoffutures.ThusthemanBrasiliaemergedfromtheundergroundshelterinto
which,centuriesearlier,hisancestorshadfledfromtheholocaustofthefinalwar.Thatsubterranean
worldhadbeentheonlyonehe,andthirty-eightpreviousgenerations,hadknown.Behindhim,init,
heleftonlyitsnervecenter,thetelepath-computer,anditisfromthisthattheprecedingpassagesof
histhoughtandperceptionhavebeenplucked.
Thetimehadcome.Thecomputer'ssensorshadshownthattheatmosphereoftheearth'ssurface
wasoncemore,atage-longlast,safetobreathe.Automaticrelayshadopenedthedoortotheoutside
worldinanticipationofTheExodus.FromhisshelterBrasiliahademerged;buthehaddonesoas
alone in the outside world as he had been in his own. Every other underground earth was by now
empty, silent, a vast technological mausoleum, a museum which only electronic eyes covered; and
onlyelectroniclifecontinuedtoflickerinthecitiesbeneaththeground.
So it was, in Brasilia, that the line ended. In him the genes of all the initial occupants of the
shelterhadmingledduringthecenturiesofundergroundisolation:Amerindian,European,Chinese,
African, Indian. He carried in him the residue of all their aspirations, all their blind hopes for the
future,alltheirquests;thesethingshaddrawnhimonalongthepassagewaytohis,andMan'sdeath.
The myths and religions of his antecedents, too, were in him, coalesced and intermarried into one
strain:theLegend.Forallitsgarbledimageryandlanguage,forallitsforms,theLegend,themany
things, was one thing: the only absolute Man finally held. It was this truth, materialized before his
eyes,whichkilledBrasilia.
HeemergedintohisnamesakecityfromthosebowelsoftheearthtowhichManhadburrowed;
he emerged into what had been the garden. Jutting around him, the angular, monstrous shapes, the
searing planes of dead metal and concrete and glass. Above him, the cavity of the sky, its distance,
stillandforeveredgedwithiridescent,fall-outviolet.WhatBrasiliasawwhenhecameoutsuckedthe
lifefromhiminitsenormityofsizeandmeaning.
HesawwhattheLegendhadalwayssaid:theDevil,andallhisworks.
RunData/Logicinterface.
Earthatmospherestandard,
radiationlevel/viruslevelgo.
extra-shelterlifecapabilitypositive,
atmosphericreleasedoorsopen.
Run.
gotomindceptcordbanksforextra-shelterexcursion.
Check.
Positive:index1,generation40,1/E97,BrasiliaS.A.
Run.
Rescanforexcursionmindceptcords.
Negative.
Returnmindceptcord4/3/49:1-401/E97BSA
Overloadregistered.Cessationoflife.
Closedownnon-hardwaresupport.
Reducenon-essentialpoweruse.
Gotostatusready.
Man,theDevil,andallhisworks—wecanhopefortheultimategoal,self-knowledge.Darewe
hope that when it dawns it will not be merely to be stored in the memory of a telepath computer?
Waiting,perhaps,foranotherofitskindwithwhomtoshareanemptyuniverse?
IIPoems
Killers,Angels,Refugees
4.30
It'sfunny…
onyourfirstun-schoolgirlday
yourauraofinnocencefellaway.
Wemadeloveintheafternoon
andafterwardsashadowcame,
pastpresencetouchedme.
NowIsee
you'renotinnocent
notgullible
notachild.
Andit'sfunny…
whenallthatinnocencewent,
someofitmustfellonme.
Hahaha.
heehee:HE.
ADoorWithNoHouse
Thecandidateforpityturnshisbackonmirroredwalls
asfate'slastjester…butwhoknows?…hurriesfromtheroom.
Apilgrim'staleliessplinteredonthehearth.
Sixeyesstarethroughthegating.
I'mthinking,maybeI'llbehereforever.
Biggies
Suddenly,Iremembersharpness,
inplaceofrelativity
andpre-childhood.
Isquattedonthefloorinthesunlight,
readingBiggies.
Later,lyinginthedarkness,
staringatthewrithy,
coiledceiling,Iwasscaredtodeath…
andcouldn'tfindareasontobethereatall.
Evennow,sometimes,coffin-laden,snakes-infestedjungle
stretchesbeforemysingle,feathered
propeller.
Evennow,sometimes,Iamscared.
Flies
AsIopenedthebackdoor,
twoflieswerecopulatingonthecooker:
Ifoundthisverysignificant.
Lateatnight,myhandgroped
fortheaerosol.
Theystayedtogetherforthefirst
fewseconds,wingsscorchedinthesuddenfire,
mindsdisintegratinginthedeadlymist.
Quitesuddenly,themaletorehimselfaway
fromhispenis
anddroppedtothefloor.
Sheremained,rollingaroundonthewhiteenamel
andthenfellthroughacrackintotheoven.
Perhapsshehadbeenavirgin
andthoughthiswaswhatalwayshappened.
Iatemyegg
withafewpangsofconscience.
Laterthatnightthesedisappeared
whenanotherfly
shatonmefromthelightbulb
abovemybed.
GalileoGalilei
Isolatedstonesturnfaintedgestothemoon.
Roughly,intherock-markedfaces,
youexaminetheuniverse.
Butyouareyourselfauniverse,
andtheblacktrailofyouralwayscloak
trapsittofinity.
Youcontradictyourself,
turningaskepticalmindonexistence,
andwashingawaybeliefinyourwake.
Clinically,asinabattlefieldsurgery,
withtar,
youamputatecomprehension.
Grandma
Sandstoiled.
Steelshards.
Black-clackneedlesstrikethehour.
Somethingscrapesonherspine.
Somethingopensherlacyeye.
Thesuddendryflood.
Palpitationsofthepartlydead.Croak.
Empty.
Still.
Closethesilentfountainandthevacanttap.
Decomposingalready.
October3
Myattitudetowardyouhaschanged:
it'snotthatyoudon'tliveinthewayIwould,
nor(areyouamazed?)thatIcanfindnowaytotyrannizeyoursoul.
Isitthatyoufalltotrustmewithyourtruth,orevenwithalie?
Youspeaktomeinwordsbetweenthetwo,
andIamsad,forsomewhereIhavelostyou.
Now,withhollowlaughter
andstaticpresenceyouonlytalk
behindmyback.
MaybesoonIshallforget
andrediscoveryou,
withgoldenbear,flower,laughandhairunchanged.
Yes,maybesoonIshallforgetmyself.
OutOfStep
Myeyes,sad,arereflectedinthewindowsof
theearlymorningtrain
andIamalone.
Mymouthissofullofwordsthatthey
clogmytonguesosilence,
andthehandwhich,longminutesago,madehousewithyours
nowgatherstiredandtoo-wornphrases
toexpresstheconfusioninmyhead.
We'vefallenintoanoldgameofprotectiveopposites…
IthinkIt'scalledlying.
Youtalktomeoflove
fromyourthroneofice.
Ispeakoffriendship
fromtherack.
Lastnight,besideyouontheunstainedfloor,
armsachedwithlove,
mindattheedgeofcontrol,
Iwantedtoholdandholdandholdyou.
Iwatchedyoursleepyfeatures;
Iturnedaway…
onetouchcouldlosethetinypartofyou
that'slefttome.
Nowyouaresomeoneelse'slove.
OnThursdaynext,rememberme,
forayearagothenitbegan…
andsomethingIwish
myfeetandarmshadneverdancedintime
tomyheart.
Really.
Rehearsals
abcdefghijklnmop
inthebasin
q
onthestairs
r
youinconcert?
s
ifyoudare.I'llmake
t
inthebasementif
u
butthebreadwhile
v
isthevacuuminmy
w
head.
x
intenseoftrauma
y
isn'titclear?
Lifeislinearlyboring
atfourinthemorning,
rehearsing,encoring…
I'mpracticallysnoring
Ifear…
zzzzzzzzz
Someone'sBeenLying
Maybeit'sabouttimeyouwroteanothersong:
watchthewayyourwearinessstretches
andembracesyouinasicklyshroudofrelaxation.
Oris
mywholelifesomesortofcomplicated
consecratedburstofcreativity,
and
everybreathItaketuneful?
Ifthisisso,someonehasbeenlyingallthetime.
Look:it'snotwhollynecessaryforyoutoscream
andclimbatopthetower…
yourparachuteisonlythereforshow;
yourwords
areonlytheretoletyouknow
thatyou'realiveinsilentmoments
and
youreallyshouldn'tworryforthem.
Ifthisisso,someonehasbeenlyingallthetime.
TheMountHotel
Yourvoicesoundedlost,
callingthroughtheflyingwindsofthemoors.
Icanfeelyoureyes,
scaredinthedarkness,asyoustruggletotalk.
Icanhearyou.
Butdowe,anyofus,reallyknow
whywecarryonthewaywedo?
Anddoweallfallautomatically
inthecategoryofourwork?
Whatdoyouwantmetosay?
Whatarethequestions
behindyourquestions?
Youarescaredbymyworlds?
Youarescaredbythesilence?
Youwantmetosootheyourfear?
Ithoughtyouknewmebetterthanthat.
TheTinierWorlds
Tiny,
Silent,
Wewait.
Onthisbladeofgrass,
untidyblackgardenbackwaterofcreation,
wehavelived
inrandomorder,
inperpetualentropy,
infear.
Nowtheuniverseis
abouttoexplode.
Nowthemurderousfootfall
isuponus.
Wecannotshoutloudenough
throughthedarkyears.
Tiny,
Silent,
Wewait.
IIILyrics
TheAerosolGreyMachine(VdGG,1969)
Afterwards
Youstareoutinyelloweyeslargerthanmymind;
inviscouspoolsofjoy,relaxing,weglide…
it'salltoobeautiful
formymindtobear.
and,asweshimmerintosleep,something'sunshared.
But,seeingtheflowerthatwasthereyesterday,
atearformsjustbehindthesoftpeaceofyourshades…
Theworld'stoolonely
foramessagetoslip
butbetweenthedyingrailsofpeace
youtrip.
Thepetalsthatwerebloomingarejustpaperinyourhand;
youreyes,whichwereclearinthenight,areopaqueasyoustand…
Itwastoobeautiful
forittolast…
Thesevisionsshimmerandfadeoutof
theglass.
(Norfolk,1967)
OrthenthianStreet
The street in question does not exist, although a search for it,
andthehotelwebelievedittoholdamongitshouses,tookwellover
an hour: symptomatic, perhaps, of life in bands! This was the first
songofminewhichdealt—ifobliquely—withthatlifestyleandthe
endlessvistasofmotorwaysandassortedpotentialdestructions.Ifit
isclaustrophobicandinconclusivethenthatonlyservestofurtherits
point.
Ifeelacallingforthesea,Iwanttowalkonthesanddunes…
Ihopeyou'llforgivemeifIsayIcan'ttakeyou:
atsometimesI'vegottogetaway,
ifjusttogetabreakfromtheplay
thatwe'reallinvolvedin.
AlltheloveI'mlivingnowcouldhaveendedyesterday
ifthesnowhadfallentoohardupthereontheMotorway…
Ifithappens,don'tfeelsorry,Iwon'tfeelalone:
it'sjustanothertravelingzone
thatyoucan'tcomeon.
Can'tstopforasecond:
wemightseehowsillyweallare.
Can'tgetout,evenforamoment:
mightbehitbyapassingcar.
Dreamsshatterandfallintodust,
aslongaswe'retravelingIsupposetheymust.
But,whilewe'reontheroad,ourdays'llbeglowing;
andwhenwepart,asyouknowwemust,
we'llleave,justgoing
eversoslowly,
eversoslowly.
Motorwaysignsflashpastlikeflies,
it'sgettinglateandwe'regoinghome.
Wealltravelinparallellines,
headingintothetwilightzone.
AllIreallywantnowisyoubymyside;
yes,it'sasweetride
whilewe'restilltogether.
Yes,it'sasunnyday,andwe'reoffonourseatrip;
Thewatermaybecoldinthebay,
butwe'resafeonoursailingship,
and,ificeforms,youcanwalkhometoland
andstillclingtomyhand
ifyoustillwantto…
(London,1969)
RunningBack
IthoughtI'dgiveitupforgood,
'causenoneofmyactionsareunderstood.
IthoughtI'dreallyleave,
andmycomingback'ssomethingyou'dneverperceive.
IthoughtI'dmakeit;
Yes,IreallythoughtI'dmakeit,
butthenyousmiled,youdidn'trileme,
nowI'mrunningback
running,runningback.
Isawavisionofalovelongdeceased
andachillywindcomingfromEast.
IknowIcansayIdidmybest,
buttherewerenomorewarmwindsfromtheWest.
StillIthoughtI'dmakeit;
Yes,IreallythoughtI'dmakeit,
butthenyousmiled,youdidn'trileme,
nowI'mrunningback
running,runningback.
Ithoughtyou'dneverbemissed,
andIreallybelievedwe'dnevershareanotherkiss.
AndIthoughtforthelasttimeI'dtouchedyourhand,
butyourlovedrawsmebacklikequicksand.
StillIthoughtI'dmakeit;
Yes,IreallythoughtI'dmakeit,
butthenyousmiled,youdidn'trileme,
nowI'mrunningback
running,runningback.
AndnowI'mcomingyeshome.
I'mcominghome.
(OldWindsor,1966)
IntoAGame
Ineverthoughtitcouldcometothis,
asyousittherecrying,
hangingonwithyourfingertips
tosomethingthat'salreadydead.
Nowwe'reintoagame
andit'sallabitstrange.
Onceonatimeweweresincere;
now,we'reactingcharades,
hidingbehindcrackedimages
fromotherpeople'sstages;
now,we'reintoagame,
andit'sallabitstrange,
butfamiliar,too…
therulesneverchange;Iknowit,butdoyou?
I'veseenitallbefore,
andthisplaynolongermovesme,
buttheclosingofadoor
isnevereasy.
TheAerosolGreyMachine
Justonebreath,andit'sinstantdeath,
it'stheAerosolGreyMachine!
Justonebreath,andit'sinstantdeath,
it'stheAerosolGreyMachine!
You'rewalkingalongtheroadoneday,
upcomesamandressedallingrey;
heblowsalittleaerosolinyourface
andyoufindyourmind'sallovertheplace…
Justonebreath,andit'sinstantdeath,
it'stheAerosolGreyMachine!
(hype:)«BuyanAerosolGreyMachineforyourownhometoday!»
(dissent:)«Shan't.Shan't.I'mnotgoingto!»
(sniggersnigger.chortle.)
(Manchester,1967)
Aquarian
This song has a chequered history of assorted titles and
intentions: originally to be a celebration of the incoming Aquarian
Age,itwentthroughaphaseofbeingahymntoanassortedbandof
troubadours bound together under the aegis of a certain record
company.Afterthesufferanceofnolittletrialandtribulationatthe
hands of this concern, I had no regrets as I withdrew my lyrical
support from it and re-engaged the song on its old rails. Pitfalls
aboundinanyeulogizingsongs,andsincethistimeIhavebeenmore
concernedwithmydoubtsinsongsthanwithcertaintieswhichareas
fickleastheseasons.
Thefirstperformanceofthissongwasonplatform6ofDerby
MidlandStation(afineinstitution),toasurprisinglyraptaudience
ofporters,fellow-travellersandChrisJudgeSmith.
Nowwesithereinourspecialplace,
allwearingourhappyfacesgladly.
Sunlightappearsinourworld;ourjoy
hasbeenturnedfrombadness.
Nowwe'vemovedandleftalone
andit'seasierthatway.
Weareridingonrainbows
andhappytoday.
Nowwemovetothesunineverydirection;
wearecloakedinveilsofmysticprotection…
jokingalot,smokingornot,
floatingouryachtofftofreedom,
votingtobeAquarian!
Iholdsilverflashingmetalinthepalm
ofmypetalhand,watchingitquiver:
tobreathetoocloseisdeath—
ah,butwatisbreathbutawaytodeliverance?
Soonwewillallbejoined
inagreatsilvertube,
wantingeveryonetocomealong,
thatmeansyoutoo!
Nowwemovetothesunineverydirection;
wearecloakedinveilsofmysticprotection…
mappingtheway,clappingtosay
we'rehappytoday,andassuredof
thefactthatwe'reallAquarian!
Hardlyanymoney…whoneedsbreadanyway?
Well,Imeantosay,it'sjustthereadtofreedom!
Everything'stoofunny;wejustridealongsohigh,
watchthebadscenesfloatingby,whoneedsthem?
Soonwewillallbejoined
inagreatsilvertube,
wantingeveryonetocomealong,
thatmeansyoutoo!
Nowwemovetothesunineverydirection;
wearecloakedinveilsofmysticprotection…
Lightingthepath,rightingthepast,
fightingthedarklikecenturions,
writingournamesasAquarians!
AsAquarians,butasAquarians!
Writingournamesaswemovetothesun,
we'reAquarian!
(Manchester,1968)
Necromancer
YesIliveintheblackwoods,whereyoudarenoteven
speakmyname.
Ifthereisevilinyourheartandyouwillcomeneartomeyouwill
loseyoursane.
Myformismystic,butmyheartispure,
you'dbetterbelievewhatIsay:
IamtheNecromancer.
Icastdeepspellsandpotent:IamaSeer
oftheReal.
Myforcesworkagainstevil,forIlove
allIfeel.
Iknowthesecretslongforgotten,
you'dbetterbelieveinme:
IamtheNecromancer.
Lookintomyeyes!
Itellyou,occultspowerliesinlove.
Ifightagainstdarkness,thepower
oftheBlack.
Everydaythepowerisgreater,andsoontheworldwill
cometorights.
Throughthemagic,throughthepower,shamanshalldie
ontheseventhnight.
Andnowremembermagicishere;
you'dbetterbelieveintheWhite.
IamtheNecromancer,
andIcometocarryyourheartawaytogood.
(London,1968)
Octopus
These lyrics, dealing with a similar case of disorientation and
inability to over-view, were written in the snow-besieged Students'
Union of Southampton University. The original Octopus took the
formofamuralintheflatoftheladyconcernedanditis,inaway,
validatory that the relationship was neither consummated nor
clarified.
Iwanttopaintyoupoemsfulloffire,
youwhoIdonotknow.
Nowmymindistestedwithlovewhich
twistsandwaversfromsidetosideandwhich
somedaysoonyoumaysee…
Iwantyoutocascadethroughtenthousand
rainbowswithmeanddredgemountains
fromthesea:
youwhoInowbegintoknow.
Butemotionispentupinside,
tooscaredofdyingagaintolive,
andmeanwhileImustendureyour
red-copperhairscreaminglikea
water-babyblackeyesstare
frommyceiling:
youwhoInowtrulyknow…
NowIcannotseetooclearly
andalreadymytrellisstandsbare…
HowcanIbreakfreeoftheseoverclinging
armswhichentwineandenfoldme?…Andreach
totheclearbluesea?
Iwantyoutoknow,buthowcanI
tellyou?Iwantyoutosee
butmyowneyesareblind…
TheOctopusnowenfoldsme,
Iknowyoutoowell…
(Southampton,1976)
TheLeastWeCanDoIsWaveToEachOther(VdGG,1970)
Darkness(11/11)
A song of numbers: although I am no numerologist, the
circumstances of writing this highly instinctual song dictated its
formanddirection.
It was composed on the night of 11th November. 1968,
Remembrance Day, by chance. Some years before I wrote a novel
whichpurported(withdevastatingfailure)tobeanIcelandicsaga;
onre-readingit,sometimeafterfinishingtheselyrics,Iwasstruck
by the opening sentence: «It was the eleventh day of the eleventh
month.»Novemberis,ofcourse,themonthofScorpio,underwhich
sign I was born, and my life number is 11. It was, I suppose,
inevitable that a song about fate should be wrought amid these
conjunctions.
To this day I do not know how Hereward the Wake came to be
involved.
Daydawnsdark,itnownumbersinfinity…
Lifecrawlsfromthepast,watchinginwonder
Itraceitspatternsinme…
Tomorrow'stomorrowisbirthagain/
Boatsburnthebridgeinthefens/
Thetimeofthepastreturnstomylife
andusesit.
Don'tblamemeforthelettersthatmayforminthesand;
don'tlookinmyeyes,youmayseeallthenumbers
thatstretchinmyskyandcolourmyhand…
Don'tsaythatI'mwronginimagining
thatthevoiceofmylifecannotsing!
Fateentersandtalksinoldwords:
Theyamuseit.
Handsshinedarklyandwhite:onlyindarkdotheyappear.
Blessthebabyborntoday,
flyinginpitch,flyingonfear!
(WickedlittleScorpio,doomedtodieathousandtimes
beforehelives!)
Theyshineinmyeyesandtouchmyface
whereIhaveseenthemplacedbefore…
don'tblameme,please,forthefatethatfalls:
Ididnotchooseit.
(London,1968)
Refugees
For six months I shared a flat with Mike and Susie, who are
among my oldest friends. When the time for departure came, I was
washed with the melancholia which normally attends moving from
home' and the physical memories it retains, heightened in this
instancebytheknowledgethat,frombeingtheclosestoftriads,we
were committing ourselves to a separation in which months could
easily slide into years. In this knowledge, the last vestiges of hope
layonlyinafutureUtopiaandre-joiningofthehands.
Inthewriting,however,thesongdevelopedalifeofitsown(as
isalwaysthebestway),andthehopebecomesmuchmorethanthat
forreunionwithmyfriends.Weareallrefugees,andthereisnohome
buthope.
«Easy To Slip Away» is, of course, the natural sequel to
'Refugees'.
N.wassomewhereyearsagoandcold:
icelockedthepeople'sheartsandmadethemold.
S.wasbirthtopleasantlands,butdry:
Iwalkedthewaters'depthsandplayedmymind.
E.wasdawn,comingaliveinthegoldensun:
thewindscamegently,severalheadsbecameone
inthesummertime,thoughaugustpeoplesneered…
wewereatpeace,andwecheered
Wewalkedalong,sometimeshandinhand,
betweenthethinlinesmarkingseaandsand;
smilingverypeacefully,
webegantonoticethatwecouldbefree,
andwemovedtogethertotheWest.
W.iswherealldaysshallsomedayend;
wherethecoloursturnfromgreytogold,
andyoucanbewiththefriends.
Andlightflakesthegoldencloudsabove:
WestisMikeandSusie,
WestiswhereIlove.
Thereweshallspendthefinaldaysofourlives…
tellthesameoldstories:well,atleastwetried.
SointotheWest,smilesonourfaces,we'llgo;
oh!yes,andourapologiestothose
who'llneverreallyknowtheWay…
We'rerefugees,walkingawayfromthelifewe'veknownandloved…
nothingtodonorsay,nowheretostay;nowwearealone.
We'rerefugees,carryingallweowninbrownbags,tiedupwithstring…
nothingtothink,itdoesn'tmeanathing,butwe'llbehappyonourown.
WestisMikeandSusie;
WestisMikeandSusie;
WestiswhereIlove,
Westisrefugees'home.
(London,1969)
WhiteHammer
Intheyear1486theMalleusfirstappeared,
designedtokillallwitchcraftandendthepapalfears:
prescribingtorturestokilltheBlackArts…
…andtheHammerstruckhard.
MalleusMaleficarumslaughteredandtortured
allthoseundersuspicion,astheInquisitionordered—
burningblackheartsandinnocentsalike,killingthemad
…suchwasthepowertheHammerhad.
ThoughHexenhammerwasintendedtoslayonlyevil,
fearandangeragainstmagicoverspilled:
theyalsokilledthoseoftheWhite.
Sofortwocenturiesandmoretheytriedtoslay
boththeBlackandtheWhitearts—
butspiritover-ridespain.
Foreveryonethetorturetook,twowerehidsecure,
andsothecraftendured.
Loveandhatelivedoninthefaceoffear,
Hexenhammer'sforcedied,
andtherealpowerbecameclear:
WhiteHammernomoreisbeaten;nowitbeginstobeat,
andtheGrey,onceoppressor,
now,atgoodhands,facesdefeat.
TheBlack,too,shallbowdowntothepowerabove…
BlackhatebeatsGrey
Butsupremeis
theWhiteHammerofLove.
(London/Derby,1969)
WhateverWouldRobertHaveSaid?
RobertisR.J.VanderGraafofM.I.T.,althoughtherelevanceof
this to the song escapes me, as do the circumstances of writing it,
whichisextremelyunusual.Itisasthoughitarrivedonedaywithout
anyinstigationonmypart,andnomemoryofmyhavingworkedon
it. I know that this sounds both unlikely and nigh-mystical, but
perhapsitismorethanappropriatewhenrelatedtothenatureofthe
song.
IAMthesuckofairyoutakethatyou'vehadmanytimesbefore;
IAMtheblowofairyoufake,butwhichstillthrowsyououtthedoor;
IAMtheairthatfillsyourlungs,butleavesyouemptierthanbelow;
IAMthevoidthatyoucan'texplain,butwhichiswhereyouwanttogo;
IAMtheloveyoutrytohide,butwhichallcanunderstand;
IAMthehateyoustilldeny,thoughthebloodisonyourhands;
IAMthepeaceyou'researchingfor,butyouknowyou'llneverfind;
IAMthepainyoucan'tendure,butwhichtinglesinyourmind.
Flamesucksbetweentheballsofsteel;
nothingmoves,theairitselfcongeals…
Lookattheflameifyouwantto,
hearthesharpcrackofthefission,
smellthebriefvapourofozone,
feelstaticmotion!
IAMthejoyyoureallypayfor,butwhichcomescompletelyfree;
IAMYOURGODONTHEFINALDAY
forthetruthisyouareme.
(London,1970)
OutOfMyBook
Thissongmakesreferencetoanunfortunateschoolexperience,
theallocationatthestartofatermofamathstextbookinwhichthe
answerstoexercisesareabsent.Althoughworkingfromananswerto
a question is a dishonest way of approaching a scientific, as an
emotional, problem it is disturbing to know that there is no 'escape
clause', and that the only way one can arrive at an answer is by
logic.Insuchanillogicalemotionalareaasthecontextofthissong,
thedisturbanceitselfcanseemgreaterthanthedisturbingfactor,the
question.
Wesatbyourselves,stilllookingforcompany;
therecouldhavebeenpeace,butthateludedme—
allIcouldthinkofwaswhatwasonyourmind.
Youtriedtobekind,
butIblockedyourfeelings.
Now,sensesstillreeling,yousitinyourquietroom
andcry.
Youtriedtomakemeone,
butIalwayshidewhenthere'saglimpseofsun.
Runningalonginsunlightmeadows
youreyeswerenevermorethanhalf-closed:
throughflutteringlashes,youwatchedmewatchingyou.
Itriedtobetrue
tothewaythatyouthoughtIoughttobe
but,inspiteofallmyefforts,
Ifailed.
Itriedtomakeyousee
butyoureyeswereblindtoallbutthebadinme.
WhatdoyouthinkImean
whenIsaythatIneedyou?
HowamIsupposedtoseem
whenwehitanotherproblemandtheanswers
arealltornfrommybook?
Ourlivesareonpathswejustcan'tcontrol;
wecangrowcloseraswegetold…
Canyouimagineusasweadjust?
Canyouimagineus
gettingneareighty;
welivemoresedately,stillhopingthedreamwill
cometrue?
We'lltrytobesecure…
ButI'mofuncertainmind
andhowcanIbesure?
howcanIbesure?
howcanIbesure?
(London,1969)
AfterTheFlood
Continuingthestory,humanitystumbles—
goneistheglory,there'safardistantrumble.
Thecloudshavegatheredandexplodednow:
axesshattered,thereisnoNorthorSouth!
Faroff,theiceisfounderingslowly…
theiceisturningtowater.
Thewaterrushesoverall,
citiescrashinthemightywave;
thefinalmanisverysmall,
plunginginforhisfinalbathe.
Thisistheendingofthebeginning…
thisisthebeginningoftheend,
middleofthemiddle,mid-point,endandstart:
thefirstpeakrises,forcesthewavesapart.
Faroff,theiceisnowre-forming:
polesarefixedoncemore,
water'sreceding,likedeath-blood.
Andwhenthewaterfallsagain,
allisdeadandnobodylives.
Andthenhesaid:
'Everystepappearstobetheunavoidableconsequenceofthe
precedingone,andintheendtherebeckonsmoreandmore
clearlytotalannihilation!'
Thisistheendingofthebeginning…
this,thebeginningoftheend.
Andwhenthewaterfallsagain
allisdeadandnobodylives…
(London,1969)
HtoHe,WhoAmtheOnlyOne(VdGG,1970)
HtoHe
ThefusionofHydrogennucleitoformHeliumnucleiisthebasicexothermicreactioninthesun
andstars,andhenceistheprimeenergysourcefortheuniverse.
WhoamtheOnlyOne
Killer
Soyouliveinthebottomofthesea,
andyoukillallthatcomenearyou…
butyouareverylonely,becausealltheotherfish
fearyou…
Andyoucravecompanionshipandsomeonetocallyourown;
becauseforthewholeofyourlifeyou'vebeenlivingalone.
Onablackdayinblackmonth
attheblackbottomofthesea,
Yourmothergavebirthtoyouanddied
immediately…
'Cosyoucan'thavetwokillerslivinginthesamepad
andwhenyourmotherknewthathertimehadcome
shewasreallyratherglad.
Deathinthesea,deathinthesea,
somebodypleasecomeandhelpme,comeandhelpme
Fishescan'tfly,fishescan'tfly,
Fishescan'tandneithercanI,neithercanI…
NowI'mreallyratherlikeyou,
forI'vekilledalltheloveIeverhad
bynotdoingallIoughttoandbyleavingmymindcoming
bad.
AndItooamakiller,foremotionrunsasdeepasflesh
andItooamsolonely,andIwishthatIcouldforget
Weneedlove,
Weneedlove,
Weneedlove…
(Manchester,1968)
HouseWithNoDoor
There'sahousewithnodoorandI'mlivingthere
atnightsitgetssocoldandthedaysarehardtobearinside.
There'sahousewithnoroof,sotheraincreepsin,
fallingthroughmyheadasItrytothinkouttime.
Idon'tknowyou,yousayyouknowme,thatmaybeso,
there'ssomuchthatIamunsureof…
Youcallmyname,butitsoundsunreal,IforgethowIfeel,
mybody'srejectingthecure.
There'sahousewithnobell,butthennobodycalls;
Isometimesfindithardtotellifanyarealiveatalloutside.
There'sahousewithnosound;yes,it'squietthere…
there'snotmuchpointinwordsifthere'sno-onetoshareintime.
I'velearnedmylines,Iknowthemsowell,Iamreadytotell
whoeverwillfinallycomein
Ofthelineinmymindthat'scoldinthenight,itdoesn'tseemright
whenthere'sthatlittledarkfigurerunning…
There'sahousewithnodoorandthere'snolivingthere:
onedayitbecameawall…wellIdidn'treallycareatthetime.
There'sahousewithnolight,allthewindowsaresealed,
overtaxedandstrainedNOWNOTHINGISREVEALEDBUTTIME
Idon'tknowyou,yousayyouknowme,thatmaybeso,
there'ssomuchthatIamunsureof…
Youcallmyname,butitsoundsunreal,IforgethowIfeel,
mybody'srejectingthecure…
Won'tsomebodyhelpme..?
(London,1970)
TheEmperorInHisWar-Room
InretrospectIfeelthattheselyricshaveoneparticularfailing:
inmyeffortstoilluminatethelifeoftheTyrant,horrificimagesbred
and grew out of themselves, so that they became self-justifying,
rather than explanatory. However, the matter was largely out of my
hands,astheelementsinvolvedhangontheedgeofmemory(raceor
otherwise)andthereforehavetendenciestoself-direction.Icanonly
hopethatthesystemworksinreverse.
I.TheEmperor
Standinginthespacethatholdsthesilentlaceofnight
awayfromyou
Youthinkthatyoucanholdthesearing,moultengoldbetween
yourfingers…
Butitslipsthrough,tearingtendonsasitgoes,
exposingthewhiteofaknuckle…
flesh-and-metalforminglettersinthemould.
Cradlingyougun,afterchoosingtheonesyouthinkshoulddie—
Lyingonthehill…crawlingoverthewindowsillintoyour
living-room
Theystareout,glass-eyedaimlessheads,
bodiestornbyvultures..
youarethemanwhosehandsarerankwiththesmellofdeath.
SaviouroftheFallen,ProtectoroftheWeak,
FriendoftheTallOnes,KeeperofthePeace…
Ah,butitistheonlywayyouknow…
Lookingouttosea,aflattenedplaneofweedswhichbearnoliving
Youcrushlifeinyourfistasyourheartiskissedbythelips
ofdeath
Ghostsbetrayyou,ghostsbetrayyou,inthenighttheystealyoureye
fromitssocket…
andtheballhangsfallenonyourcheek.
Complainingtonguesarestilled;athousandmouthsarefilled
withrustingmetal.
Yourfaceashadeofgreen;somehowyoutrytospeakthroughallthe
garbageinyourmouth
Butitwon'tcomeout,andyoucannotframethewords
asyourstepson
throwsyourfameintotheflamesandyouareburned.
SaviouroftheFallen,ProtectoroftheWeak,
FriendoftheTallOnes,KeeperofthePeace.
Ah,butitistheonlywayyouknow…
II.TheRoom
Livebyswordandyoushalldieso,
Allyourpowershallcometonought,
everylifeyoutakeispartofyourown,
death,notpower,iswhatyou'vebought.
Cringinginyourroomastheoutridersofdoomstep
onyourthreshold;
Beggingforyourlifeastheimpartialknifesinksinyour
screamingflesh…
withoutmalice,merelytakingmurder'stoll,
youmustpaythepriceofhate,andthatpriceis
yoursoul…
Liveinpeaceordieforeverinyourwar-room.
(London/Derby,1970)
Lost
I.DanceInTheSandAndSea
Sohereweare,orrather,hereIam,quitealone,
I'mseeingthingsthatweresharedbefore,longago…
mymemorystretchesandIamdazed:youknowIknow
howgoodthetimewasandhowIlaughed…
Timeshavechanged,nowyou'refaraway,Ican'tcomplain:
Ihadallmychancesbuttheyslippedrightthroughmyhands—
likesomuchsand;
IknowI'llneverdancelikeIusedto
I'lljustwaittilldaybreaksuponthelandandthesea.
hopingthatIcancatchallofthememories,
thenImustcrawloffuponmyway,allofme
listeninghardforthefinalwords.
Buttherearenone;thesunrisecalls,I'velingeredon
toocloseforcomfortandIdon'tknowquitewhy
Ifeellikecrying
Iknowwe'llneverdancelikeweusedto.
Ilookup,I'malmostblindedbythewarmthofwhat'sinsideme
andthetastethat'sinmysoul,
butI'mdeadinsideasIstandalone…
I.DanceInFrost
Iworemymoodslikesomanydifferentsetsofclothes
buttherightonewasneveraround;
andasyouleftIheardmybodyring
andmymindbegantohowl
Itwasfartolatetocontemplatethemeaningofitall:
YouknowthatIneedyou,butsomehowIdon'tthinkyouseemylove
atall
AtsomepointIlostyou,Idon'tknowquitehowitwas;
Thewonderlandlayinacoatofwhite,chillingfrost
IlookedaroundandIfoundIwastrulylost:
withoutyourhandinmineIamdead…
RealityisunrealandgamesI'vetriedjustaren'tthesame:
withoutyoursmilethere'snowheretohide
anddeepinside
IknowI'venevercriedasI'maboutto…
IfIcouldjustframethewordsthatwouldmakeyourfireburn
allthiswaternowaroundmecouldbethelovethat
shouldsurroundme.
Lookingoutthroughthetearsthatbindme
myheartbleedsthatyoumayfindme…oratleastthatIcan
forgetandbenumb,butIcan'tstop,thewordsstillcome:
ILOVEYOU
(London/Derby,1970)
PioneersOverc
This is my only attempt at writing a specifically sci-fi song,
althoughthebalancingismuchmoretowardsfictionthanscience.
Man'sfirstplungeintotheunknownterritorybeyondthespeed
oflight(c):inthelightofthediscoveriesnecessaryfortheattempt,
thedateismeaningless,althoughinrationaltermsitisludicrously
optimistic. The Pioneers…the first hyper-nauts… are, because of
theoreticaldeficiencies,thrownintotime-warporabsoluterelativity,
inwhichtheyexistas«creatures»oflimitlessimaginationbuttotal
non-physicality. They are thus potentially ghouls, ghosties,
poltergeists and all manner of indefinable Forces: this is one
possible explanation but, truly, in such circumstances explanations
aremeaningless,irrelevantandtotallyspeculative.
MyonlyregretisthatIfounditnecessarytoprovideacertain
chronological continuity in order to remain, if faintly, within the
boundsofcomprehension.Idon'tpretendthatthereareanyanswers
here,andanyquestionsareentirelysubjective.
Lefttheearthin1983,fingersgropingforthegalaxies,
reddenedeyesstaredupintothevoid,1,000starstobeexploited
SomebodyhelpmeI'mfalling,somebodyhelpme,I'mfallingdown
Intosky,intoearth,intosky,intoearth…
Itissodarkaround,nolife,nohope,nosound
nochanceofseeinghomeagain…
Theuniverseisonfire,explodingwithoutflame.
Wearethelostones;wearethepioneers;wearethelostones
Wearetheonestheyaregoingtobuildastatuefor
tencenturiesagoorweregoingtofifteenforward…
OneLastbriefwhisperinourlovedones'ears
toreassurethemandtopiercethefear
standingatcontrolsthenstillunknownwetoldtheworldwewere
abouttogo
SomebodyhelpmeI'mmissing,somebodyhelpmeI'mmissingnow
touchwithmymind,Ihavenoframe,
touchwithmymind,Ihavenoframe…
WellnowwhereisthetimeandwhothehellamI,
herefloatinginanaimlessway?
No-oneknowswhereweare,theycan'tfeelusprecisely…
Thereisnofearhere.
Howcansuchathingexistinaplacewherelivingandknowing
andbeinghaveneverbeenheardof?
Doomedtovanishintheflickeringlight,
disappearingtoadarkernight,
doomedtovanishinalivingdeath,livinganti-matter,anti-breath
SomebodyhelpmeI'mlosing,somebodyhelpme,I'mlosingnow
peoplearound,there'sno-onetotouch,
nopeoplearound,no-onetotouch.
Iamnowquitealone,partofavacanttime-zone,
herefloatinginthevoid,
onlydimlyawareofexistence,adimlyexistingawareness,
Iamthelostone,Iamtheoneyoufear,Iamthelostone,
Iamtheonewhowentupintospace,orstayedwhereIwas,
ordidn'texistinthefirstplace…
(London,1970)
PawnHearts(VdGG,1971)
Lemmings(incorporatingCog)
Asongofextremepoliticalambivalence:atthetimeofwriting.
I was aware of both feelings and intended direction, but I become
more and more unsure; this, as the song, to do with means rather
thanend,ofwhichIhaveadegreeofcertainty;Ihavenowarrivedat
a position in which I cannot decide whose voice is whose in the
lyrics,andcannomoreconcludewhetherthelife-and-deathstyleof
the Lemming in this context is desirable, good or bad than be sure
these abstractions have meaning in the overall life-line. The only
conclusionwhichstandsthetestoftimeisthattendingtowardsafar
future hope, perhaps hope for a self-identification to replace my
currentambiguousstance.
Istoodaloneuponthehighestcliff-top,
lookeddown,around,andallthatIcouldsee
werethosethatIwoulddearlylovetosharewith
crashingonquiteblindlytothesea…
Itriedtoaskwhatgamethiswas,
butknewIwouldnotplayit:
thevoice,asone,asno-one,cametome…
'Wehavelookedupontheheroes
andtheyarefoundwanting;
wehavelookedhardacrosstheland,
butwecanseenodawn;
wehavenowdaredtosearthesky,
butwearestillbleeding;
wearedrawingneartothecliffs,
nowwecanhearthecall.
Thecloudsarepiledinmountain-shapes,
thereisnoescapeexcepttogoforward.
Don'taskusforananswernow,
it'sfartoolatetobowtothatconvention.
Whatcourseisthereleftbuttodie?
WehavelookedupontheHighKings,
foundthemlessthanmortals:
theirnamesaredustbeforethejust
marchofouryoung,newlaw.
Mindsstumblingstrong,wehurtleon
intothedarkportal;
No-onecanhaltourfinalvault
intotheunknownmaw.
AndastheEldersbeattheirbrows
theyknowthatitisreallyfartoolatenowtostopus.
Foriftheskyisseededdeath
whatisthepointincatchingbreath?…Expelit!
Whatcauseisthereleftbuttodie
insearchofsomethingwe'renotquitesureof?'
Whatcauseisthereleftbuttodie?
Whatcauseisthereleftbuttodie?
Whatcauseisthereleftbuttodie?
…Ireallydon'tknowwhy…
Iknowourendsmaybesoon
butwhydoyoumakethemsooner?
Timemayfinallyprove
onlythelivingmoveherand
nolifeliesinthequicksand.
YesIknowit's
Outofcontrol,outofcontrol:
Greasymachineryslidesontherails,
Youngmindsandbodiesonsteelspokesimpaled…
Cogstearingbones,cogstearingbones:
Iron-throatedmonstersareforcingourscreams,
Mindandmachinerybox-pressthedreams.
…buttherestillistime…
Cowardsaretheywhoruntoday,
thefightisbeginning…
nowarwithknives,fightwithourlives,
lemmingscanteachnothing;
deathoffersnohope,wemustgrope
fortheunknownanswer:
uniteourblood,abatetheflood,
avertthedisaster..
there'sotherwaysthanscreaminginthemob:
thatmakesusmerelycogsofhatred.
Looktothewhyandwhereweare,
looktoyourselvesandthestarsandintheend
Whatchoiceisthereleftbuttolive
inthehopeofsaving
ourchildren'schildren'slittleones?
Whatchoiceistherebuttolive?
Whatchoiceistherebuttolive?
Whatchoiceistherebuttolive?
tosavethelittleones?
Whatchoiceisthereleftbuttotry?
(Worth,1971)
Man-Erg
Index, appendix and clarification; it has all the positives that
Lemmingslacks.
Thekillerlivesinsideme:Icanfeelhimmove.
Sometimeshe'slightlysleepinginthequietofhisroom,
butthenhiseyeswillriseandstarethroughmine;
he'llspeakmywordsandslicemymindinside.
Thekillerlives.
Theangelsliveinsideme:Icanfeelthemsmile…
Theirpresencestrokesandsoothesthetempestinmymind
andtheirlovecanhealthewoundsthatIhavewrought.
TheywatchmeasIgotofall-well,IknowIshallbecaught,
Fortheangelslive.
HowcanIbefree?
HowcanIgethelp?
AmIreallyme?
AmIsomeoneelse?
Butstalkinginmycloistershangtheacolytesofgloom
andDeath'sHeadthrowshiscloakontothecornerofmyroomandIamdoomed..
Butlaughinginmycourtyardplaytheprankstersofmyyouth
andsolemn,waitingOldManinthegablesoftheroof:hetellsmetruth…
AndI,too,liveinsidemeandveryoftendon'tknowwhoIam:
Iknow,I'mnotahero…IhopethatI'mnotdamned.
I'mjustaman,andkillers,angels,allarethese:
Dictators,saviours,refugees
inwarandpeace
aslongasManlives…
I'mjustaman,andkillers,angels,allarethese:
Dictators,saviours,refugees…
(London,1971)
APlagueOfLighthouseKeepers
There is not very much I can say about this by way of
classification or enhancement: extrapolation would inevitably
destroy. I will, therefore, let it speak for its clandestine self, save
only to say that it is a cinematic presentation of «self» in several
possiblematrices.
I.Eyewitness
Stillwaitingformysaviour,
stormstearmelimbfromlimb;
myfingersfeellikeseaweed…
I'msofaroutI'mtoofarin.
Iamalonelyman…mysolitudeistrue
myeyeshavebornestarkwitness
andnowmyknightsarenumberedtoo.
I'veseenthesmilesondeadhands—
thestarsshine,butthey'renotforme.
IprophesydisasterandthenIcountthecost…
Ishinebut,shining,dying,
IknowthatIamalmostlost.
Onthetableliesblankpaper/mytowerisbuiltonstone/
Ionlyhavebluntscissors/Ionlyhavethebluntesthome…
I'vebeenthewitness,andthesealofdeath
lingersinthemoltenwaxthatismyhead.
Whenyouseetheskeletonsofsailing-shipsparssinkinglow
You'llbegintowonderifthepointsofalltheancientmyths
aresolemnlydirectedstraightat
you…
II.Pictures/Lighthouse
(Eddies/rocks/ships/collision/remorse.)
III.Eyewitness
Notimenowforcontrition:
thetimeforthat'slongpast.
Thewallsarethinastissue
andifItalkI'llcracktheglass.
SoIonlythinkonhowitmighthavebeen,
lockedinsilentmonologue,insilentscream
Anyway,I'mmuchtootiredtospeak
and,asthewavescrashonthebleak
stonesofthetower,Istarttofreak…
…andfindthatIamovercome…
IV.S.H.M.
«Unreal,unreal!»ghosthelmsmenscream
andfallinthroughthesky,
notbreakingthroughmyseagullshrieks…
nobreaksuntilIdie:
thespectresscratchonwindow-slits—
hollowedfaces,mindlessgrins
onlyintentondestroyingwhatthey'velost.
Icrawthewalltillsteepnessendsintheverticalfall;
mypailhassailedintothesea:nojokinghopesatdawn.
Whiteboneshineintheiron-jawmask
lostmastheadspiercethefreezingdark
andparallelmyisolatedtower…
noparaffinfortheflame
noharbourlefttogain
V.ThePresenceoftheNight/KosmosTours
«Alone,alone,»theghostsallcall,
pinpointmeinthelight.
TheonlylifeIfeelatall
isthepresenceofthenight.
WouldyoucryifIdied?
WouldyoucryifIdied?
Wouldyoucatchthefinalwordsofmine?
Wouldyoucatchmywords?
Iknowthatthere'snotime
Iknowthatthere'snorhyme…
falsesignsfindme
Idon'twanttohate,
Ijustwanttogrow;
whycan'tIletme
liveandbefree?..butIdieveryslowlyalone.
Iknownomoreways,
Iamsoafraid,
myselfwon'tletme
justbemyselfandsoIamcompletelyalone…
Themaelstromofmymemory
isavampireanditfeedsonme
now,staggeringmadly,overthebrinkI
fall.
VI.(Custard's)LastStand
Lighthousesmighthousethekey
butcanIreachthedoor?
Iwanttowalkonthesea
sothatImaybetterfindashore…
buthowcanIeverkeepmyfeetdry?
Iscanthehorizon
Imustkeepmyeyesonallpartsofme.
Lookingbackontheyears
itseemsthatIhavelosttheway:
Likeadoginthenight,Ihaveruntoamanger
…nowIamthestrangerIstayin.
AllofthegriefIhaveseen
leavesmechasingsolitarypeace;
butIholdexperienceinmyhead…
I'mtooclosetothelight
Idon'tthinkIseeright,forIblindme…
VII.TheClotThickens
WHEREistheGodthatguidesmyhand?
HOWcanthehandsofothersreachme?
WHENwillIfindwhatIgropefor?
WHOisgoingtoteachme?
Iamme/mearewe/wecan'tsee
anywayoutofhere.
Crashingsea/atrophiedhistory:
ChancehaslostmyGuinevere…
Idon'twanttobeonewaveinthewater
Butseawilldragmedeep
OnemorehaggardDROWNEDMAN…
IcanseetheLemmingscoming,butIknowI'mjustaman;
DoIjoinordoIfounder?WhichcanisthebestImay?
VIII.Land'sEnd(Sineline)/WeGoNow
Oceansdriftingsideways,Iampulledintothespell;
Ifeelyouaroundme…Iknowyouwell.
Starsslicehorizonswherethelinesstandmuchtoostark;
IfeelIamdrowning…handsstretchinthedark.
Campsofpanoplyandmajesty,whatisFreedomofChoice?
WheredoIstandinthepageantry…whoseismyvoice?
Itdoesn'tfeelsoverybadnow:Ithinktheendisthestart.
Begintofeelverygladnow:
ALLTHINGSAREAPART
ALLTHINGSAREAPART
ALLTHINGSAREAPART.
(London/Germany/Worth,1970)
Fool'sMate(1971)
ImperialZeppelin
TheselyricsofChrisJudgeSmith's,finallyrecordedon«Fool's
Mate', deal with a hypothetical scheme we dreamed intended to
provideuswithanunhurriedandblissfulexistence:buyaZeppelin,
fill it with a crew/colony of 'suitable» people, and float above the
worldformonthsatatime,landingonlyforfuelandsundryvittals.
Having lived a microscopic parallel existence for some time, I am
now aware that the impracticabilities are far more than merely
financial but, hare-brained scheme though it acknowledges itself to
be,theidea,asaromanticfiction,remainsappealing.
Packyourbags,we'releaving
earth,wherehateisseething;
nothing'sworthbelieving…
There'snotime,makeupyourmind!
ImperialZeppelin…
Quick,theenginesareturning,
cabinlightsareburning,
nowthere'snoreturning…
We'llhaveloveamileabove…
ImperialZeppelin,ImperialZeppelin,ImperialZeppelin!
We,theundersigned,beingofsoundmind,
herebydodeclare:
'Wehenceforthpledgeourselvesuntothepower
oftheUpperAir.'
Doesn'tthatsoundsimplysuper,
Zeppelinvisionsofthefuture?
Ofcourseweallknowverywell
itwouldn'twork,butwhatthehell—
everydicedeservesathrow,
andwhenwegetbackhomebelow
wecansaywehadago!
Overboardwearethrowing
seedsoflovewearesowing,
hopetoGodthey'regrowing…
Flyinghighacrossthesky:
ImperialZeppelin!
Wewilltrytodosomegood,
Idon'tknowwhywereallyshould,
Ionlywishthatwecould!
Downbelowthey'llseeandknowallabout
ImperialZeppelin!
ImperialZeppelin!
ImperialZeppelin!
(CJS-Manchester,1967)
Candle
Lookatthecandle,asit'slifeisbought,
asthewickjustrollsofanddies;
lookatthewax-dropsastheyceasefromtheirgoal
andthegametheywereplayinglosesitsjoy
andtheyouthwhichtheyplayedinrunsaway…
Howlongwillyoubegone?
Flamessucksatairnowanditsbreathcomesshort
asitwaverstohalfitssize;
vacuumclosesinanditattacksthesoul.
Nowtheforceomnipotentitselfisdestroyed
andforlackofitselfitwanesaway…
Howlongwillyoubegone?
SodoesmymindflyasIfightmythought—
andIlose,forIcannotfind:
sentmyeyeslongmiles,theydonotknowhome!
ForthelifeIwaspartofbreathesitslast
andnotonlylife,buthopehasgoneaway…
Howlongwillyoubegone?
Howlongwillyoubegone?
(Derby,1966)
Happy
Howwasitthatwefirstmet?
…Iforget,allIknowisyou
lookedhappy.
Wewalkedaroundandtalkedawhile;
InyoursmileIfoundthatI
washappy.
Iwanttotellyou;
itseemsathingtodo;
IwanttoshowItrulycare.
Nowateverytimewemeet
wewalkthestreets,I'mwithyouandI
feelhappy.
JustthoughtI'dtellyou.
Itseemsathingtodo,
IwanttoproveItrulycare.
Buthowlongwillallthislast?
Timegoesfast,Itdoesn'tmatter,
withyou,I'mhappy.
Timegoesfast,Itdoesn'tmatter,withyou
I'mhappy.
(London,1969)
Solitude
Ihaveacertainconfessiontomakeaboutthis:thefirstandlast
verseswerelooselytakenfromapoembyHermanAllmers,originally
settomusicbynolessthanBrahms!Iaddedthesomewhatmore20th
century middle verses and slightly changed the originals, since the
feelingofthesongwassoclosetomyheartthatIcouldnotresistthe
plagiaristicliberty.
SilentlyIrestinthetallgreengrass
andlooksteadilyupwards.
Birdssingceaselesslyaroundme,
andtheblueoftheskysurroundsmestrangely.
Outhere,lifeisatitsessence,
andwatchestheworldwithinnocenteyes;
farfromgrime,farfromrushingpeople
itseemsthatIhavefoundatinypeace.
Onthebluebackdropoftheunknown
waterdropletstracetheirpaths;
onthesky,mortalshangonmetal—
butwhoistoknowhowlongeitherwilllast?
Thelovelywhitecloudsglide
acrosstheskyandintomydreams…
IfeelasthoughIhaddiedsometimeago:
nowI'llwanderwiththecloudsthrougheternalspace.
(Derby,1967)
Vision
Ihaveavisionofyou,lockedinsidemyhead;
itcreepsuponmymind,andwarmsmeinmybed…
Avisionshimering,shifting
movinginfalsefire—light;
avisionofavision,
protectingmefromfearatnight,
asthesea-sownsrollon,andmylovestaysstrong.
Idon'tknowwhereyouend,andwhereitisthatIbegin.
Yousimplyopenmymind,andthememoriesfloodonin.
Irememberwakingup,withyouarmsaroundme;
Irememberlosingmyself
andfindingthatyou'dfoundme,
astheseasonsrollon,andmylovestaysstrong.
Bemychild,bemylover,swallowmeupinyourfire-glow.
Takemytongue,takemytorment,takemyhandanddon'tletgo.
Letmeliveinyourlife,
foryoumakeitallseemtomatter;
Letmedieinyourarms,
sothevisionmaynevershatter…
Theseasonsrollon;
mylovestaysstrong.
(London,1967)
Re-Awakening
Ifyoucatchmerunningalongbythesea,withbarefeetin
thesand,thenyou'llknowIamdreamingmylifeoutinaway
youwon'tunderstand.
I'mslippingrightoutofyourmind,thisIknow,andIaccept
thefactlazily,forImustgointothenextfield,
wheregrassisgreenandI'llfindpeace.
Letmesleep!
Letmedream!
Letmebe!
Reawakeningisn'teasywhenyou'retired.
Don'tpushme:Iwastaughtself-expression
whenIwasachild,andsoIknow
thebestwaytogoisslow.
Sometimes,whenskiesarecloud-grey,andtrouble'shanging
heavyonyourmind,Iadviseyou:curlup,slidawayand
dreamyourlifeout,asIam.
Reawakeningisn'teasywhenyou'retired.
Don'tpushme:Iwastaughtself-expression
whenIwasachild,andsoIsee
thebestwaytobe'sasleep.
Reawakeningisn'teasywhenyou'retired.
(London,1967)
Sunshine
Oh,suddenlythingsbegintocomeclearinmymind
asIlookintothelandlaidbarebyyoureyes;
E-S/Mattractionsareworkingbehindmythought,
Ican'thelpmyfeelings,thewaythatmyemotions
areover-wrought.
Refrain:
Goodmorning,sunshine!
You'reallaroundmyhead,
Goodmorning,sunshine!
I'mreadytobeled.
Goodmorning,sunshine!
Youknowhowsaditmakesmetoseeyouunhappy
sosmile,spreadsunshineallaround…
Howsweetitwouldbetobechainedbyyourside;
howsweetifyouwouldstripmyworriedmind.
Yourblonde/brownhairhangsdownonyou,
howIwishthatithungonme,
there'ssomethinginyourallure,thatmakesmeknowI'll
neveragainbefree.
Refrain
I'dliketorunonthecloudsofmyliberty,
butforyouI'dgethookedandfloatsixinchesmud-free.
Thesightofyoursmilejustmakesmewanttojumpandclap;
thefactthatyoumaybeowedtosomeoneelsecan't
entirelytightyourtrap.
Refrain
(Derby,1967)
Child
Idon'tknowquitewhat'shappening
andmyeyesdon'tseetooclear;
allIknowisIneedyouhere,
ifonlytoshieldmefromthemoodoftheworld
andholdmeandsayitdoesn'tmatter…
butI'mlikeachildwhosedreamsareshattered,
Crowdingroundme:imagesofbrokenthought,
linesofmylifenowovergrown.
AllIcanfeelisI'msoalone,
withoutevenyourbrighteyestoreachintomymind
andsaythatinmylifeI'vedoneright,
andI'mlikeamoonchildinthesunlight.
Socastyourthoughtsuponme,whereveryouare,
thatImayfeelyouclosebesideme
andholdyourhand,foryoutoguideme
throughallthesecatacombswhichfreezeme
withtheirtouch;
unknowing,knowingsomuch,mymindcriesout
andI'mlikeachildwhenthelight'sout
Withachild'sfearofthedark…
(London,1967/Derby,1971)
SummerSong(InTheAutumn)
Summersongintheautumn,foryoudidn'tcatch
thecolourofthefallingleaves.
Somanywordshavebeenspokenwhichyou
didn'tunderstandandsocouldn'tbelieve.
Andthesongthatyou'rehummingisyesterday'stune—
Someonewhoyouloveisleavingyou.
Youwalkinginsunshinebytheseawithgullcryingoverhead;
butnowtheskiesarecloudy,andtheloveyouhadisdead.
Andthewaterrecedesfromthefarthestdunes—
Someonewhoyoulovedisleavingyou.
Yourememberthehappinessyouhad
asyoulaughedalonginthesun
butnowyoureyesarecomingdull,
there'sanumbnessonyourtongue…
Youlookoutatthewaterwhichiscallingyou
overthewind,
thenyouthrowasideyourhandbagandslowly
walkrightin.
Andtomorrowyou'llbeinyesterday'snews:
someonewhoyoulovedhasleftyou.
(Derby,1967)
Viking
AnothersongderivingfromIcelandicfolklore,inthisinstance,
the Vinland sagas. The list of crew members returning from their
explorations is made up of various characters from the tales,
althoughthereisnocommonlife-spanandsome,indeed,weresworn
enemiesandthereforeunlikelytotravelbacktoIcelandonthesame
longshipeveninspirit.Onecanonlytakeauthenticitysofar…
Lookingoutforwardovertheprowofourlongship,
pullingouroarsandlisteningtothefoam;
helmetsandsheepskinssalt-dampinthesea-mist:
We'regoinghome.
AslakofLangadale,EinarThorgeirsson,
OlaftheWhiteandSigurdthePowerful…
Lookingforconstellationsabovethehorizon,
Westwindcuttingsharperthanourblades;
smilingforeverintoanendlesssunrise,
we'reflyingonthewaves.
ThorfinKarlsefny,AudtheDeep-Minded,
SnorriThorbrandsson,ThorsteintheBlack…
OutofdarkVinland,withgreywavesracingbeforeus—
Wewantnorest.
Backtothehomeland,Iceland,sleepinginwinter—
backfromtheWest.
Fiveyearsweroam;
nowwe'regoinghome.
(CJS/PH-Manchester,1967)
TheBirds
…one of the earliest songs I wrote which was worthy of the
name… Robert Fripp makes a spiralling appearance on electric
guitar.
Springcamefartooearlythisyear:
MayflowersbloominginFebruary.
ShouldIbesadforthemonths,
orgladforthesky?
Thebirdsdon'tknowwhichwaytosingand,myfriends,
neitherdoI.
Twodaysago,agirlItrulythoughtIloved
suddenlydidn'tseemtomatteratall.
ShouldIsingsadfarewelltothings
I'mreallygladI'veleftbehind?
Thebirdsdon'tknowwhichwaytosingand,myfriends,
neitherdoI.
Inanotherday,heavysnowwilllieupontheground,
andbudsprematurelybloomshallfail;
Andeverycreaturelivingnow,thenwill
surelydie…
Thebirdsdon'tknowwhichwaytosingand,myfriends,
neitherdoI.
Thebirdsdon'tknowifit'stimeyettofly,
andtheydon'tknowwhichwaytogoand,myfriend,
neitherdoI.
NeitherdoI.
NeitherdoI.
NeitherdoI.
(Derby,1967)
IOnceWroteSomePoems
Thepoemsconcerned,writtenontheoccasionsoutlinedbythe
firstandsecondverses,areofsub-marginalinterest.
Ioncewrotesomepoemsofstillnessandsilence,
standingbyriversofreflectedlight:
mythoughtswereonbeinglovedandyetunloved,too—
Isurrenderedtothewarmthofthenight.
AndnowIfeellikedying,
andifthewaterwerestillhere,itwould
holdmeclose.
Ioncewroteapoemwhilewalkingongravestones,
ascobbles,rainandtearlasheddownmyface…
Ithenfeltmywholeworldwasfading
asmemoriesjostledandfellintoplace.
AndnowIfeellikedying,
andthepainofoldfiresstillburns.
IneverwrotepoemswhenIbitmyknuckles
andDeathstartedslippingintomymouth…
butthatwasreallyalongtimeago,
andI'mnotwritingpoemsnow.
AndthoughIdon'tfeelquitelikedying,
thereissomethingdeepinsideme
softlycrying.
AndthoughIdon'tfeelquitelikedying
thereissomethingdeepinsidemesoftly…
(London,1967)
ChameleonintheShadowoftheNight(1973)
GermanOveralls
Manheim;rainySaturdaywithnomoneynorfriend,
onlyTequilacanendtheboredom.
TrytoreachLondonforapocketofhope;
we'rechildren,wegropeinthedark.
HughspendshislastMarkoncoffeeandcheese…
Ifeeljustlikearefugee…
Rathaus-keepersandtrafficpolice,
middle-agedmaidswithrottingteeth
industrialmagazinesandoldSundayTimes;
readingmaterial/bleedinglines.
Whatarewedoinghere?
Memorialmanace,eagerforrevenge,
hasbeguntobendourminds.
Shower-curtainimperativeinthepresenceofacid;
now,feelingplacidisdeath.
ItrytoholdmybreathastheP.A.comesdown…
hereweallareinKtown!
TheBigWheelneverfailstogrindaround;
itdragsmeup/dragsmedown
Sevensentenseswonder'Canthisbereal,
oramIbecomeaperformingseal?'
Whyarewedyinghere?
Iwalkthestreetsalone,trytofindasignoflove,
I'vecrushedtheplaster-boneinthefreakyclubs,
Ihavebitthefruit
butallIliveforistoplay
andI'mtiredofthenightsandthedays
ofairports,taxisandmotorwayshowers,
groopingforakeyintheafterhours.
Davidtakestotravellinginthevan,
Heknowsthatweallcanunderstand;
we'reatthemercyoftheKosmosTour,
makingapilgrimagetotheGermanLourdes…
butwe'restillcrippledhere.
Cathedralsspiralskywards,IthinkI'mgettingvertigo,
IthinkIdon'tknowwhatisreal.
Onamoresuddenspotlight,onemoremadnessisover…
Imustnotshowasignoffear.
Wordsechoroundmyears,IthinkI'mgoingtolaugh…
thinkI'lljustgoandtakeabath,GuessI'llwashmyclothes,
don'tyouknowI'llgrowtogoandmakemyname,
maybeaservantintheFamegame;
stakemysaneandrestmylifeontheline…
Nowlaymeasunderandrendmymind;
atthefallofthecurtainletthisbemyghost…
(Worth,1971)
SlenderThreads
IsawyourpictureintheEveningStandard:
youwerewearingyourbattledress.
Ireallymustconfess
thatIshedasilentsmileforyou—
ithadreallyblownmymind,
Iwonder,areyoustillsokind?
Areyoustillsopure?
Thereareotherrhymesaroundheresomewhere,
butI'mnotsurehowtheyfit…
Jenny,pennyforyourthoughts,Iwonderhowyou're
thinkingnow;
Ihesitatetovisualise:ourworldsaremuchtoo
different,
that'sasignofthetimes.
TimewaswhenIreadyourcards
andwrotethenumbersinthedust;
Ican'trememberwhattheywere,butanyhow,
Imissedthecusp
so,solong,andso,goodbye
DoyouthinkI'llrecogniseyoubyyourhair
orbyyoumindnow?
Westartouttogether
butthepathsalldivide:
whentherearenomorecrossroads
Iopenmyeyes
andfindI'mwalkingonalone
throughthesnowycold…
IwonderifI'llmakeitthroughthenight?
I'manauthorandanactortoo;
you'reamodelinthezoo…
I'mjustthinkingonwhichsideofthebars
I'mlookingthrough.
IfIprophesiedanavalance
wouldyouwaitandcallmybluff?
IfIgaveyoujustalittlesong
wouldthatbeenough
tosaveyourlife
oristheknifealreadyturninginmyhand?
(Worth,1972)
RockandRole
Watchforthesilentmoments,onlywaitingtobesaved.
WaitfortheLiemaker;hecomesagain
andsinkshisbarbsthroughhonesty;
rollhimoverwithallpossiblespeed!
Don'tlethimtouchyouwiththecandleofhisneed
orlethimbe,hystericallyravagingyourgrave.
Youareemotionpicture,re-runatsingleframe.
Youaretheinstantplayback,nochancetochange;
smileandsmile,livingdiary!
Rollyouoverbeforeit'stoolate:
beforeyou'reexposedtothemonochromephase…
whichcanrelateonlyfearandhatethroughthehaze.
Iamtheautomatedarrow,homingontheheatofpain;
IamthePeacebringer…Itissostrange,
Ifeedongriefandgrievethroughjoy.
Sorollmeoverandturnaside;
don'tletmelookintothemirrorofyoureyes
forfearthatI
maysteelthelife
yougradlygave.
(Worth,1971)
InTheEnd
Ipromiseyou,Iwon'tleaveaclue:
notell-taleremark,noprintfrommyshoe.
Stillasteadytrailtothewater'sedge—
Iwillkeepmypledgetotheend;
Iintendtogofree
Nomorerushingaround,nomoretravellingchess;
IguessI'dbettersitdown,youknowIdoneedtherest…
Yes,it'stimetoresignwithequanimityandplacidity
fromthegame.
Ican'texplain;
Ican'trelate…
HaveIdoneitalltoolate?
Nowisthetimeforthecommissiontoreport;
tilllately,Ithought:I'dbeenplanted.
Tryinghardtomakeitallcomereal,
permissiontofeelisungranted.
But,nowit'shappening,I'dliketokeepitprivateifIcan;
lastwords,lastlook,makeafinalstand.
Nowmynumber'scomeuponthePools,
guessI'llboardTitanicforacruise…
Nowisthetimetomakemystatusclear,
toolate,Ifear,andlonely,
asfriendsandenemiestraversethestage,
allinaragedisownme.
Andallthepip-propsshatterintodustaboutmyears;
memoryandconscience,hopeandfear.
AsIcrawloutfurtheronthelimb
somethingtellsmeIamcrawlingin
tounknownpropheciesandlives—
therainbow'sendishemmedaroundwithknives…
AsIstandontheboardsandthestagelightsgrowdim,
shallIgooutofdoors,orshallImaybegoin?
HaveIreachedthepointwhenIshouldtakemycue
andfollowyouandyoursigns?
Ican'tremembermyline
atthepromptercatcalls
andthecardsallfall
inthestrike
Allthepagesarethin,allthecornersarecurled.
Doesthestarshinefallinthroughmywindowontheworld?
oramIlivingour(theseedsofdoubt)achronicleofrevenge?
Thewillowbends
asdomyhands—
doyourunderstand?
Andwillyoustillbemyfriendintheend?
………Whenmymouthfallsslack
andIcan'tsummonupanothertune,
shallIthenlookbackandsay
Ididitall
toosoon?
(Worth,1972)
What'sItWorth?
What'sitworthtobesafe?
What'sthewaytobesane?
Icouldthrowmyselfatthegarden
onmyhands,
prunethelawnandmowtheroses,
butIneverunderstand
howtogo
tobefree;
intheendIonlywanttobeme.
Winterdaysherearemine;
still,nobites,what'smyline?
Icouldhurlmyselftothebonfire
withallnerve,
clearthepathandweedthedeadleaves,
butIreallyjustdon'thavethenerve
tobepart
ifthatscene
isthisjustsomekindofstrangedream?
ThinkI'llwalktothesteeple,wherethepeople
aresoinquisitive.
Icouldmakeittothecornerstoreandbuy
ahoardofderivatives
now.
Whichwaynow…climborcoast?
Willmyeggseverpoach?
Icouldthrowmyselfinthefryingpan
forthesakeofmyname;
hittheroadorsmilehermetically,
butit'sreallyneverquitethesame;
everytimeasubtletwist,
IthinkI'llgrabmyplot
andsimplyexist
Orwouldthatbe
asubtleslashatmywrists?
(Worth,1971)
EasyToSlipAway
My,friends,Ineverreallythoughtyou'dgo,
but,then,weknowthat'sthewayithappenshere.
Nowtimeislikecat'scradleinmyhands:
wegatherupthestrandsmuchtoslowly
Therefugeesaregone…theytaketheirseparatepaths,
obliteratethepast:figuresinanashshroud.
Susie,Iguessyou'reonyourwaytobeastar,
butIdon'tknowwhereyouare:theonlytimeIseem
toseeyouisonT.V.
It'ssoeasyjusttoslipaway…
Mike!
It'sayearortwosinceI'veseenyou…
Imight
havedroppedyoualineifI'dhadtime
orthewill.
It'smyfaulttoo;Iplayahermit'srole
ofcarsandstages,wages,supersoul
hardlyeverseemtogetoutsidethesedays.
So,dearfriends,aswegrowonwefeeltogrowaway,
canonlyliveinthehopethatsomeday
itwillallreturn.
It'ssoeasyjusttoslipaway…
(Worth,1971)
DroppingTheTorch
This began life as poem and only later became a song. Dark,
yes; but without acknowledgement of what might happen it WILL
happen.Nonetheless,onecouldsaythattheyoungmanhereisatad
tooseriousforhisowngood!
Weplaygamesandeverymove
isnoteddownasasubsequentcause
andeffectivelychainsourfreedomandwilltolive:
wesettleintosimplesurvival,
hangingonourpleasuresgrimly…
wemustneverletthemgo…
Ourprisonwallsareslowlybuilt,
stonebystoneanddaybyday
noprovisionforescape,
entombedaliveinsafety
anddecay.
Timesetsaroundusinkillingframes,
blackborderroundournames.
Ourfingerslosetheirgrip
andthetorchslips.
Theenemyforeveryone
iseveryone,inside—
Ifeelthehandofsecurity
creeponmewithice-coldfingers
andcrushmyfloweroffreedom;
I'velostthecourseofmyadventure,
allthingsI'mmeanttodoarelost.
Thereisonlyoneflameeach
tokeepaliveinthewind.
butfinallywesnuffthemout
allbyourselves.
Wesettrapsand,intheend,
fallintoourownsnares
andhavenowheretogo.
Timeevermovesmoreslowly:
lifegetsmorelonely
andlessreal.
(Worth,1971)
InTheBlackRoom
Iwasthinkingaboutthinkingbutitreallydidn'tgetmeveryfar,
soIthoughtI'dthrowaTarotbutIonlygotthePriestessandtheStar.
There'sashadowcastbetweenthefutureandthepast:
theroomandIagreetobuysometime…
Thecardsdon'ttelltruthnorlies,
onlyoptionsandcusplines
thefurnitureintheblackroom.
I'vebeenthinkingaboutacid,but,itseemthere'snotareasontobelieve.
Idon'tmakeavitalbreakthroughanditwalksmelikeadoguponalead.
It'sallunrealand,thewayIfeel,
I'dliketotryandmakeitonmyown…
Goingtothefeelingisfind:
Ireallyhavemeagoodpleasurecruise.
But,deepinmymind,
I'mnobetterorworse,justopentothewalls.
Paintpeelsintheblackofmyroom
I'monlytalkingaboutmyself,orderingmytreasureshell,
documentingthesepresentfeelingsasthefuturesetsmereeling…
WhatI'llbeiswhatIam,
I'msimplytryingnottoshamorfake.
Usevisionassenseandnotascrutch!
Itdoesn'tmatterallthatmuch;
whateverhappenswe'llallsurvive.
I'monlytryingnottopawnmylife.
WhenI'm(maybe)oldandstrait-laced,shallIthendenyallthatIfeel?
Inwordsofbittercompromise,re-smeltthewraththat'sinmyeyes
likesteel?
Beahermitthen?
Orbeamiser?
Beamanwhohasn'tmanagedyettowritehisrules?
TheFool?
Thefutureholdsmyhandintheroom…
Well,thenmyghostsshallsteerdownthroughtheyears
andlayahanduponmysoul
likeice.
(Worth,1972)
TheTower
So:ontothefamiliartopsteps!
incloud-scudmoonlightglow
theTowerreels.
I,theblindman,
feelingforapathIknow…
don'tyouknowthatI'monlyfeelingforhowtofeel?
Ratsrun.
Snakescoil.
Fathers,
stareoutatthewhisperingnight;
rubmudontheirarms.
Spiders,
Mudboils,
Children
whimperinthehumanvortex;
facesglowofworms.
Thunder
Silence.
Omens…
Forpainshallcomeandchangeshallrun
downthroughmyheart
andshakemyknees
andNOWitiscoming,
allroundisthehumming
oftheWorld.
Toolate!Withmybalancegone,
deadeyeddoll,
I'mfalling,falling
backtowhereIbegan…
InTheBlackRoom(II)
I'mfeelinglikeakidagain,
I'mfeelinglikeIjustwalkedinthedoor,
and,withmyheadonfire,
Iwrotethissong—Idon'tknowwhoit'sfor.
Handsheldfastincamera,
I'llswearIheardtheStammererexclaim:
«I'matraveller,unraverller.
Ionlylivethroughpain,andshame,andchange!»
Inmyroom,thesecrettomb,Icansee
futureforms,
space/timestorms:
they'reallme,
andI'veonlygottochoose!
InmyheadIamdeadifIfail
Inthetrap,
thesubtlelap,
safety'spall…
butI'mlivingwhileIchoose…
TheSilentCornerandtheEmptyStage(1974)
…but all of this is only of cryptic semi-informational value, given at the turning of the years
withappropriatearbitrariness;ithasallbeendivertingtorecallandtowrite,andsoalso(perhaps)to
read. The songs, however, must speak — or remain silent — for themselves, so here follow their
wordsandhere«I»disappeartomakewayforthem.
Modern
Jericho'sstrange,throbbingwithlifeatitsheart:
peoplearedrawntogether,simultaneouslytornapart…
Foundationsareshatteredinthecity
insidethebarricadeddoors—
hidingbehindtheirwalls,lonelyasnightfalls,
maybethepeoplearewaitingfortrumpets…
Babylon'sstrange,seventhwonderoftheearth:
gardensablazeincolour,slowlyrottinginthedirt
and,withyourheadonfire,youcan'treallysee.
Thehanginggardenssing,
butwithahollowring:
thelifeisfalse,itskillingme…
Don'tlookback,oryou'llturntostone;
lookaroundbeforeyourlifeisovergrown
withconcreteslabs!
Onyourbackthesearchingeyesthatstab
betweenchintzcurtains,glinting,
butneverowningtoaname—
liketheinmatesofasylums
allthecitizensarecontagiously
insane…
Atlantisisstrange,theexplosionofanage:
no-onereallyknowswhattodo,andthecity
isacage.
Ittrapsinashenhoursandconcretetowers,
imprisonsinthesocialorder:
thecity'slostitsway,
madnesstakesholdtoday…
Ican'tliveunderwater.
(London,1969/Worth,1973)
Wilhelmina
It'sprobablyonlypossibletowritesuchanuncomplicatedsong
about or to a child before one becomes a parent oneself. Shirley
Bassey nearly covered this once upon a time! Now that would have
beeninteresting…
Willie,whatcanIsaytoyoutoholdtruein
yourchanginglife?You'vecomeintoacruel
world:littlegirlscanlosetheirwayinthe
growingnight—Ihopeyou'llbealright.
Willie,trytostayachildsometime,foraslong
asyoufeelyoucanlearn.Babiesallturnto
people,andpeoplecanreallybestrange:they
changeand,changing,bringpain.
Trytotreatyourparentswellbecausetheycare,
andwhatmorecanyoudo?
Whenyoufindyourlovers,begoodtothemas
youhopethey'llbetoyou—
behonest,
betrue.
Willie,youarethefuture;allourlives,intheend,
areinyourhands.Life'shardnow—youknow,
itgetsharder,andhopeisbutasinglestrand;
wepassitonandhopeyou'llunderstand…
Weknowthatwedoitwrong,we'renotsostrong
andnotsosureatall;gropinginourblindness,
wemayseembignowbut,really,we'resosmall
andaloneandsearchingforahome
inthenight.
Meanwhileyou'restillababy;you'llbealady
soonenoughandthenyouwillfeeltheburn.
Soholdmywords:peopleallturntochildren,
spitefulchildren,andthey'rereallysocruel…
cruelfools!
Justfollowyourownrules—
don'tthinkthatI'msilly,Willie,
ifIsayIhopethatthereishopeforyou.
(Worth,1972)
TheLie(Bernini'sSt.Theresa)
(which is to say that the statue is the inspiration, but not the
Lie)
Genuflection/erectioninchurch.
Sacristycloth/moth-eatenshroud.
Secretsilence/sacredsecrets
accumulatedust,aggravatetheeye.
Incautiouslaughterafterconfession.
Benediction—fictionalfear
Hiddenfaces…Graceisaname,
likeChastity,likeLucifer,likemine.
Youtookmethroughthewindow-stain,
drownedinimage,inscence,choir-refrain
andslowecstasy—
I'dembraceyouifIonlyknewyourname…
Thesilentcornerhauntsmyshadowprayers:
ice-coldstatue—rapturedivine,
unconsciouseyes,
theopenmouth,
thewoundoflove,
theLie.
Youtookme,gavemereasonsfor
saintsandmissals,vigils,allthemore
holymartyrs—
I'dembraceyouandwalkthrough
theone-waydoor…
I'dembraceyou,butitwouldbe
justanotherlie
(Worth,1971)
ForsakenGardens
Whereareallthejoysofyesterday?
Where,now,isthehappinessandlaughterthatweshared?
Gone,likeourchildhooddreams,aspirationsandbeliefs—
Timeisathief,andheravagesourgardens,
strippingsaplings,fellingtrees,
tramplingonourflowers,suckingsapanddryingseeds.
Inthemidnightcandle-lightofexperience
allcolourfades,greenfingersgrey…
Time,alone,shallmurderalltheflowers,
still,there'stimetoshareourplotsandallthatwecall'ours'.
Howmuchworse,then,ifwealldenyeachothers'needs
andkeepourgarden'sprivately?
Itsgettingcolder,windandrainleavegashes;
lookingback,IonlyseethefriendsI'velost.
Firessmoulder,rakingthroughtheashes
myhandsaredirty,mymindisnumb,
Icountthecostof'I':
«Ineedtogeton,I'vegottotendmygarden;
gottoshutyouout,notimetocraveyourpardonnow».
NowIseethegardenthatI'vegrownisjustthesame
asthoseoutside;
thefences,erectedtoprotect,simplydivide…
There'sruinationeverywhere,theweatherhas
playedhavocwiththegrass—
doesanyonebelievehisgarden'sreallygoingtolast?
Inthetimeallottedus,cananymankeepmiserlyhisown?
Isthereanypleasureinasolitarygrowth?
Comeandseemygardenifyouwill—
I'dlikesomeonetoseeitallbeforeeachrootiskilled.
Surelynowitstimetoopenupeachlifetoall—
teardownthewalls,ifitsnottoolate!
Thereissomuchsorrowintheworld;
thereissomuchemptinessandheartbreakandpain;
Somewhereontheroadwehavealltakenawrong
turn—
howcanwebuildtherightpathagain?
Throughthegrief,throughthepain,
ourflowersneedeachothers'rain…
RedShift
Once,allthestarsintheskywerebright,
nowthey'reredandfading
andallthecolourswewore,theshadesthatwebore
havemoved.
Andthegoldturnstoredwithnotimeforchanges:
RedShift,allmovingawayfromwe.
Once,constellationswereholy,nowdarknesspervades
alltheolderones
andinthebruntofimplosion,allyesterday'sgolden
nowreddenedsuns…
andhopeisawordwithnospaceforblamein—
RedShift,displacednowintimeandrelativity;
RedShift,allmovingawayfromwe.
SohereIam,thoughImightwellbewithme:
I'mfallingdowndeeptotherimofthewheel.
Isitsham?
Doestheworldhaveameaning?
Themorethatweknow,thegreaterconfusiongrows:
starsarelikeatoms,andatomsarepatterns
andprobablyintheend:
«Maybeitsallbeenadream…»
Timelockedinnegativematter,alltheoriesshatter
beneaththeweight.
Happyisthemanwhobelievesthattheworld
isadreamandallreason,fate.
Timemovesonwithnotime;
theeyemovesonwithnorhyme,
andI'masonginthedepthofthegalaxies—
RedShiftistakingawaymysanity;
RedShift,allmovingawayfromwe…
(Manchester,1968/Sussex,1973)
Rubicon
Ilaydownbesideyou:Iamaunicorn,youavirginalmaid,
andIcomeinlaughingplay—
but,maybe,tobesaved.
Peerthroughthebackcloth:Iamacharacterintheplay,
thewordsIslurarepre-ordained—
weknowthemanyway.
Don'tchangeyourmind,don'tbeaficklefriend;
don'tchangeyourmind,don'tpretend
tosomethingfalse.
Openthetoy-box:youarePandora,IamtheWorld.
Ifyoucrossthestream,younevercanreturn;
Ifyoustay,you'llsurelyburn.
Don'tchangeyourmind,don'tcomeallorchideyes;
don'tchangeyourmind,don'tdisguisethefear
youfeel:
it'sreal,andyoumust
guardyourcastlewell,forIamthelonewolf,
andtheboaratbay—
grantmeyourPax,youknowweonlylivetoday,
andon,andon,andinto:
«soLong»—ittakessolongtodrown;
ittakessoverylongtochokeonthetasteyou'dspurned.
Ifyoucrossthestreamyounevercanreturn;
Ifyoustayyou'llsurelyburn.
(Worth,1971)
ALouseIsNotAHome
Sometimesit'sveryscaryhere;sometimesit'sverysad;
sometimesIthinkI'lldisappear;betimesIthinkIhave.
There'salinesnakingdownmymirror:
splinteredglassdistortsmyface,
andthoughthelightisstrongandstrange
itcan'tilluminatethemustycornersofthisplace.
Thereisalofty,lonely,Lohengreniccastleintheclouds—
Idrawmymurkymeaningsthere,
butsevenyears'darkluckisjustaroundthecorner
andintheshadowslurksthespectreofDespair.
Acrackedmirrormidthedrapesofthelanding:
splitimage,laboredunderstanding—
I'monlytryingtofindaplacetohidemyhome…
I'velivedinhousescomposedofglass
whereeverymovementischarted,
butnowthemonitorscreensaredark
andIcan'ttellifsilenteyesarethere.
Mywordsarespidersuponthepage,
theyspinoutfaith,hopeandreason—
butaretheymeetandjust,oronlydust
gatheringaboutmychair?
SometimesIgetthefeelingthatthere's
someoneelsethere:
Thefacelesswatchermakesmeuneasy,
Icanfeelhimthroughthefloorboards,
andHispresenceiscreepy—
HeinformsmethatIshallbeexpelled…
Whatisthatbutoutofandinto:
Idon'tknowthenatureofthedoorthatI'dgothrough,
Idon'tknowthenatureofthenature
thatIaminside…
I'velivedinhousesofbrickandlead
whereallemotionissacred,
andifyouwanttodevourthefruit
youmustfirstsniffatthefragrance
andlayyourbodybeforetheshrine
withpoemsandposiesandpapers—
or,ifyoucatchtheruse,you'llhavetochoose
tostay,amonk,orleave,avagrant.
Whatisthisplaceyoucallhome?
Isitasermonoraconfession?
Isitthechalicethatyouuseforprotection?
Isitreallyonlysomewhereyoucanstay?
Isitarule-bookoralecture?
IsitabeatingatthehandsofyourProtector?
Doestheidolhavefeetofclay?
Homeiswhatyoumakeit,somyfriends
allsay,
butIrarelyseetheirhomesinthesedarkdays.
Someofthemaresnailsandcarryhouses
ontheirbacks;
othersliveinmonumentswhich,oneday,
willberacks—
Ikeepmyhomeinplacewithsellotape
andtin-tacks,
butIstillfeelthere'ssomeotherForcehere:
Hewhocracksthemirrorsandmovesthewalls
keepsstaringthroughtheeye-slitsoftheportraits
inmyhall;
Heravagesmylibraryandtapsthetelephone—
I'veneveractuallyseenHim,
butIknowHe'sinmyhome
andifhegoesaway,
Ican'tstayhereeither.
Ibelieve—er—Ithink—
well,Idon'tknow…
Ionlyliveinoneroomatatime,
butallofthewallsareears,allthewindows,eyes:
Everythingelseisforeign,
«Home»ismywordlesschant:
mmmmmaah!
Giveitachance!
Iamsurroundedbyfleshandbone,
Iamatempleofliving,
Iamahermit,Iamadrone,
andIamboningoutaplacetobe.
Withsecretgarlandsaboutmyhead
unearthlysilenceisbroken:
theroomisgrowingdark,andinthestarklight
IcanseeafaceIknow—
couldthisbetheguywhonevershows
thecrackedmirrorwhathe'sfeeling,
merelymumblesprayerstothegroundwhere
he'skneeling:
«Homeishomeishomeishomeishomeishomeisme!»
Allyoupeoplelookingforyourhouses,
don'tthrowyourweightaround,youmight
breakyourglasses
andifyoudo,youknowyoujustcan'tsee
andthenhowareyoutofindthedawning
oftheday?
—DayisjustawordIusetokeepthedark
atbay,
andpeopleareimaginary,nothingelseexists
excepttheroomI'msittingin,
and,ofcourse,theall-pervadingmist—
sometimesIwonderifeventhat'sreal…
MaybeIshouldde-lousethisplace;
MaybeIshouldde-placethislouse;
MaybeI'llmaybemylifeaway
intheconfinesofthissilenthouse.
Sometimesit'sveryscaryhere;sometimesit'sverysad;
sometimesIthinkI'lldisappear;sometimesIthink…
(Worth/Ross-on-Wye,1972)
InCamera(1974)
FerretAndFeatherbird
Timehascomebetweenus:
inthepassingmonthsI'vefeltyouslipaway
asyourwordsandminecamelikenurseryrhymes
tilltherewasnothinglefttosay.
Distancecamebetweenuslongago,
asourmemoriesfadedaway…
overthemilesIceasedtosmile
becausenothingfeltthesame.
That'showitseemedaweekago,
faroffintimeandspace.
Timeanddistancearebetweenusnow,
theyformabondtomakethingssure.
Nothingevershatters,
youknowwhathappens:
timeanddistancemakealovesecure.
(London,1969)
NoMore(TheSubmariner)
Inmyyouth,Iplayedattrains:nowallsteamisgone.
Inmydreams,briefshelterfromtherain,
Itrytocatchthefireglow…
WithDinkyToys,IthoughtthatIwasStirling,
withcricketbat,IsawmyselfasPeterMay;
now,withalltheseimagesreturning,
IwonderwhoIamtoday?
Asachild,Irefoughtthewar
withplasticplanesandimagination:
IsankTirpitz,blewuptheMohnedam,alltheseandmore,
IwasthesaviouroftheNation!
Oh!Tobethecaptainofashipofwar!
ThepilotofaTempestoraYork!
ToholdmytrenchagainstthePanzerKorps
insteadofsimplybeingonewhotalks
andreminiscesofhisfantasies,
asthoughlifewasnothingbuttolose…
theseonlyantecedetheknowledgethat,eventually,
hemustchoose.
It'sahallmarkofadulthood
thatouroptionsdiminish
asourfacultiesforchoiceincrease,
tillwechooseeverythingandnothing,
toolate,atthefinish.
Inmyyouth,Iheldbelief:myfaithandthoughtwerestrong.
ButnowI'mstrippedofeveryleaf,
anditrobsmeofthesightofrightandwrong.
Oh!TobethesonofCheGuevara!
Oneunitintheserriedranksofblack!
APapistoranOrangeman,aeunuch…
thendoubtwouldnevercastthedaggerinmyback.
Oh!TobeKingJohnorDouglasBader,
HumphreyBogartorVictorMature!
Whichoneisfalseandeasy,
whichoneharder?
Ofthat,
ofthis,
ofme
I'mreallynottoosure.
Tapeworm
Brutalcompressionandnoise—andthat'sonlythelyrics!Guy
Evans did a great job of overdubbing drums onto a pretty vagrant
(sic) basic rhythm. The middle section was originally (yet another)
guitar riff; just for once, I thought it better to hold that fuzzed-out
hand.
WhenIwasachildtheymademeread
word-daggersofquiverandsquirm;
nowinthestumblingdarkIsee
Iamaworm,silentlyfruitingyourgarden,
mysister,mychild.
Nightcastsominousmeaningsonthepurityofmysoul
IfeeldevilishleaningsI'mbeginningtolosecontrol
andthevortexsucksmein.
SteepedinsinIdie
butamreborn.
Iwanttoseethecosmosslip,
planetsandmoonscollide,
feelgravityloseitsgrip…
it'sallinside
Allthedeadhusksareshattered,
mylife-blood,myworldrippedapart
inthelaughterofspace
it'sallchaffblownoutandlost.
NowIammakingthepace
althoughIdon'tknowwhattapeI'llcross…
maybecatastrophe.
WhenIcrosstheline
IknowthatIwillfindmyself
ormaybeyou.
Iamamanfromthecountryofdestruction,
Iamamanawomanandagod,
Iammyownweaponofkamikaze
andwillonedaycutthroughthe
hiddenknot
Feedmehoneyandwatchmerise
tothebaitlyingontheknife;
ifyouletmeIcanhypnotiseyourlife.
It'sallreallysosimple,
mylover,mytwin.
Handinhand,sprintingdownthehighway,
runningovertheedge,
onandonintoourdoomsday;
thereisnosavingledge
noroutgrownshrub.
Isthistheway?
Outinablazeofglory?
SomedayI'llfindtheanswer
somedayI'll
endthestory.
(Worth,1971)
Again
The song has some connection with «Just Good Friends» I
suppose…acombinationoflonging,regretandabsolutenewness.
Istretchmyhands,
clutchvacantlaughter
insilenceandsweet,sweetpain;
withoutdemand,
butwithalonging
forwhatwillnevercomeagain.
Ismellyourperfume
onthesheetsinthemorning:
itlingerslikethepatterns
onthewindowafterrain,
apastthatlives,
ifonlyforthepresent,
butwhichisgoneandwillnevercomeagain.
Toyoursadeyes,
turnedaway,minesay
«Doyou?Didyou?How?»
Asthedarkness
slidesawaytheday
showswhatwas
andmakeswhatisnow.
Iseeyourpicture
asthoughitwereamirror
butthere'snopartofyou
outsidetheframe
exceptthechangethatyougavetome:
thiswillnevercomeagain.
Iamme,
Iwassobeforeyou,
butafterwardsIamnotthesame.
Youaregone
andIamwithyou:
thiswillnevercomeagain.
Faint-HeartAndTheSermon
Withmyfacedrainedofcolour
andmybrainofblood,
likeBillyBudd
I'mlashedtothegrating.
Withsensesgrowingduller
andwithquakingheart
Imakeastart
attemperatureequating
andmylungssuckuselessair.
Likeparaplegicdancers
informationteam
myunderstandingseems
hideboundinitsmovements,
contemplatinganswers
thatcouldbreakmybonds—
tobehalfwrong
wouldbe,inme,improvement…
butmycomprehensivefacultiesareimpaired.
Anditseemsabsurd,butnowallI'veheard
fadesinemptywordsandisworthless
astheHumanLaughrocksthecenotaph
butthejokeishalf-true,andmirthless.
Tryingtotraceareason
fromthespinningwords
butallI'veheard
seematoddswiththeirmeanings,
phoneticallypleasing
butdeliveredinsuchhaste
thatintheirplace
mymindcommencesscreaming.
OnthevergeofbeliefIcrashontothereef
andacynicalthiefstealsmysenses.
SoIclingtothepewwithdimensionsaskew,
andrecognitionrefusespresenttenses.
Allthelivesofthesaintsdemonstratethatmyfaint
isaminorcomplaint,buttheendis
nowhereinsight.
Whycan'tIfindmeawaytogo?
Idon'twanttodieinthenave,
butIknowitmaybewithmesomeday
soI'vegottofindawayIcansaveup
myenergies,andfindacausetopray
tosomethingforsomething
towhichIcangivemycreed.
I'dgladlysuccumbtothewave,
ifIthoughtthewatertaughtawaytolight;
I'dgladlysuccumb—I'mnotbrave,
andit'seasytobelievewhatthepreachersays
exceptfortheconflictragingbetweenmyhead
andmybrain.
Idon'twanttodie,butjustthesame,
someday…
Waitingforamoment
thatIknowwillcome
whenI'llhavetorun
andfindanothersermon.
EverymanandNorman
andthetalkingpriest—
still,Iamatleastholdingallthedoorsopen.
Insidemealloutsideisshared.
Asthecrackedbellspealitallseemsunreal
buttheseventhsealstaysunbroken
andtheOffertoryplatetendersnoescape—
stillIrefusetoscrapeupatoken
ofesteemforthesefalse
alleywaysofthecourse;
Imusttrytodivorcesensefromsensing.
Tellmeagain,
tellmethewaytogo.
SowhenItalktomyself
althoughItakegoodcaretolisten
myheartgrowsevermorefaint,
there'ssomethingmissing?
TheComet,TheCourse,TheTail
TheysayweareendowedwithFreeWill—
atleastthatjustifiesourneedforindecision.
Butbetweenourinstinctsandthelusttokill
webowourheadsinsubmission.
Theysaythatnomanisanisland
butthentheysayourcastlesareourhomes;
it'sfeltthechoiceisours,betweenpeaceandviolence…
oh,yes,wechoose,alone?
Whilethecometspreadsitstailacrossthesky
itnowhereneardefinesthecourseitflies,
nordoesitfinditsowndirection.
Thoughthepathofthecometbesure,
itsconstitutionisnot
soitsmeaningispossiblymore
thanthetracingofatail
inonebriefshotatglory.
Loveandpeaceandindividuality,
soorderandsocietyareman-made?
Warandhateanddarkdepravity,
orareweslaves?
Channelingaggressiveenergies,
theDeathWishandtheWilltosurvive,
intofindingandpreservingenemies,
isthattheonlywayweknowthatwe'realive?
Intheslaughterhouseallcorpsessmellthesame,
whetherqueensorpawnsorinnocentsatthegame;
inthecemeteryauniformcloaksthegraves
exceptforoutwardpompandcircumstance.
Thereisatimesetinthecalendar
whenallreasonseemsbarelyenough
tosustainalltheshootingstars:
timesarerough.
I'mwaitingforsomethingtohappenhere,
itfeelsasthoughit'slongoverdue…
maybearestatementofyesteryear
orsomethingentirelynew.
Andtheknowledgethatwegaininpart
alwaysleadsusclosertotheverystart,
andtothefoundingquestions:
HowcanItellthattheroadsignedtohell
doesn'tleaduptoheaven?
WhatcanIsaywhen,insomeobscureway,
Iammyowndirection?
Gog
SomecallmeSATANothershavemeGOD
somenamemeNEMO…Iamunborn.
Somespeakofmeinanagrams,
somegrieveuponmywrath…
theoneswhogivemeservice
Igrantmyscorn.
Mywordsare
'Toolate','Never','Impossible',and'Gone';
myhomeisinthesunsetandthedawn.
MyNameislockedinsilence,
sometimesit'swhisperedoutofspite.
Allgatesarelocked,
alldoorsarebarredandbolted,
thereisnoplaceforflight.
Willyounotcometome
andlovemeforonemorenight?
Someseemeshining,othershavemedull;
gun-metalandcutdiamond—IamALL.
Somesweartheyseemeweeping
inthepoppy-fieldsofFrance…
inthetumblingofthediceseethemfall!
Somelaughandseemelaughing
downthecorridorsofpower:
someseemysignonCaesarandhispall.
Myfaceisrobedindarkness,
sometimesyouglimpsemeintheshade,
Allfriendshavegone,
allcallsareweakandwasted,
thereisnomoretosay.
Willyounotcrawltome
andlovemeforonemoreday?
Somewishmeempty,otherswillmefull,
somecraveofmeinfinity—IamNONE.
Somelookformeinsymbols,
sometracemylineinstars,
somecountmywaysinnumbers:
IamNoOne.
Somechroniclemymovements,
mycoloursandmyclothes,
sometracetheworkinprogress
—itisdone.
Mysouliscastincrystal
yetunrevealedbeneaththeknife.
Allwellsaredry,allbreadismaskedinfungus
andnowdiseaseisrife.
Willyounotrunfromthis
andlovemeforonemorelife?
Magog(InBromineChambers)
InBromineChambers
therecanbenomercy,
nobitterflagellationforyoursins;
noforgivenessandnosackcloth
canceasethedance
ofashesonthewind.
Toolatenowforawish
tochangeallwishing;
toolatetochange,tobreathe,togrow.
Toolatetosmotheroutthetell-talefootprints
whichmarkyourpassagethroughthegreyingsnow.
Nadir'sBigChance(1975)
Thewayofitisthis:Iwassittinginthewaiting-roomwhenIgraduallybecameawarethatIwas
not alone — or at least, not singular. This lasted only a moment, however, and that my alter ego,
Nadir, took me over. So that I was both him in body and myself in observation. Light, a curious,
desultory silence; several moments of disorienting neo-dematerialization. An ice-blue Stratocaster
spinningthroughspace;Nadircrashinghiswaythroughdistortedthree-chordwonders.Theanarchic
presence of Nadir — this loud, aggressive perpetual seventeen-year-old — has temporary through
completedominion,andIcanonlysubmit,gladly,andplayhismusic—thebeerypunksongs,the
weepyballads,thesoulstruts.Thisalbumis,moreorless,whatheplaysandwhoheis;howcouldI
denyhimhissimplesay?Afterall,withthestatetheworld'sinthere'salwaysroomforanotherNadir.
P.H.
Nadir'sBigChance
My first three chord trick. I recall driving everyone out of the
controlroomwiththeSHEERVOLUMEofthe(neo)solo,playedona
cheap and wonky lap steel guitar. The tune was written when I was
sixteen.Theselyricscamelater!
I'vebeenhangingaround,waitingformychance
totellyouwhatIthinkaboutthemusicthat'sgonedown
towhichyoumadlydanced—frankly,youknowthatitstinks.
I'mgonnascream,gonnashout,gonnaplaymyguitar
untilyourbody'srigidandyouseestars.
Lookatallthejerksintheirtinselglittersuits,
pansyingaround;lookatallthenerks
intheirleatherplatformboots,makingwiththeheavysound…
I'mgonnastamponthestardustandscreamtillI'mill—
iftheguitardon'tgetya,thedrumswill.
Now'smybigbreak—letmeuponthestage,
I'llshowyouwhatit'sallabout;enoughofthefake,
bangyourfeetinarage,teardownthewallsandletusout!
We'remorethanmeremorons,perpetuallyconned,
socomeoneverybody,smashthesystemwiththesong.
Smashthesystemwiththesong!
TheInstituteOfMentalHealth,Burning
ItwasthefirstdayofJuly;
nowindbreathedinthesky
whenapin-stripedsuit
sawthattheInstituteofMentalHealthwasburning.
Hestooduponthecorner
wherethesunwaswarmer…
lookingacrossthestreet,
hemovedtheshacklesonhisfeet
astheInstitutewasburning.
Flameswereroaring,singinglikeathunderstorm;
smokewaspouringstraightuptothesky;
windowssmashing,Gothicdoorsandlintelsfall;
timberscrashingandwebothknowwhy.
Nobodyelsecamebytostare;
yousee,theydidn'treallycare.
Can'tcallthefirebrigade—
noneofthemhadbeenpaid
andsotheInstitutewasburning.
Throughoutthecity,peoplesayitisn'tpretty,
everyoneagrees,andeveryonefeelsglad;
doctoredbrainscelebrateandeveryonewavestheirchains…
It'sapitythey'reallmad.
TheInstituteofMentalHealth
spontaneouslykilleditself.
Ashestoashes
anddusttodust:
mychainsbegantorust
astheInstitutewasburning,burning,burning.
(ChrisJudgeSmith)
OpenYourEyes(TheLocarnoSong)
Iwassittinginthedance-hall,
butmymindwasfaraway
sowhentheusherettewalkedover
Ididn'tknowquitewhattosay.
Itriedtolookcool
butIknewthatIblewitsomehow.
Herfishnettightstookmequitebysurprise…
Ihadtoopenmyeyes.
ItoldherIwasdancing
butshedidn'tseemtohear;
sheaskedifIwantedtolearnjudo,
thenshethrewmeoutonmyear
beforeI'devenhadtimetotakeabow.
Ilandedonthestreet,alldishevelledmydisguise
butIreallyopenedhereyes.
Soifyou'releaningoverthebalcony
orhangingaroundthefloor
thesearethelastofthedaysoftheLocarnos—
therereallyarenomore.
Andtheusherettesmiles,
butshe'snottellingallsheknows…
Butthere'stimeintheendforusalltogetwise
ifweonlyopenoureyes.
Nobody'sBusiness
The anti-outro at the start is typical of the welling-up of the
noise. The song dates from '67: the final mix wrapped up a tightyriffedstructureinawallofnoise.Goodthing,too.
Lookoutthroughyourdarkhair,
tellmethecolourofyoureyeswhenthey'recool;
lookoutthroughthedarkages
andtellmewhat'scovert,transfixingyou.
Oh,you'renobody'sbusiness,
oh,you'renobody'sbusiness
andthepatternsofyourlife
aresuddenlytwistedandtorn
andgonearealltheclothesthatyou'veworn.
Justlikeyesterday'spapers
you'retiredandforlorn
andyou'reno-one.
Lookbackatthephotosyou'vesaved,
deadmementoesofyourmodellingdays;
Ilookthroughallmycuttingsofyou,
buttheyallseemsolost,sodead,outofphase.
Oh,you'renobody'sbusiness…
IthinkbacktothegirlthatIknew—
shedoesn'tseemsoverymuchlikeyou:
sheusedtocareabouthersmileandnotherface…
that'sbeforeitwasherfortuneandtookoverhersoul'splace.
Oh,you'renobody'sbusiness…
Paperingyesterday'spages,
taperingoffinthestorm,
you'reno-one.
BeenAloneSoLong
Beenalonesolong
thatI'veforgottenwhatit'slike
tofeelsomebodynexttome
andhearherbreathingpeacefully
whenIwakeupatnight.
Beenalonesolong
thatI'veforgottenwhattosay—
ifImeetsomebodywho
mighteasilyresembleyou
Ismile,butlookaway…
Ilookaway.
Beenalonesolong
thatI'veforgottenwhattodo:
howtomakethewholethingright
andhowtohelpifshe'suptight
andwhentorunandwhentofight…
howtomakeherstaythenight—
that'sifIeverknew.
Beenalonesolong
thatI'veforgottenwhatit'slike
tofeelsomebodynexttome
andhearherbreathingpeacefully
whenIwakeupatnight,
wakeupatnight
(ChrisJudgeSmith)
Pompeii
Thegoldendream,theseatofalldecorum,
asatellitetomatchthelightofRome;
itssilverchildrenchatterintheForum,
thebath-house,andthebrothels,andtheirhomes
aboutthelatestfashionsfortheirclothes.
AcrosstheTyrrhenianSeacomesdrifting
asongthatnoneofthemhaveeverknown.
Thegoldendreamthatholdsbackallthehours
fortheladiesintheirDionysianrites,
blondeheadsallgarlandedwithflowers,
wineandloveandlaughterthroughthenight
inconstantmasqueandpageant,constantflight.
Thegroundbelowthemwhispersinamurmur
ofpassionwhichishotteryetthanwhite.
Thegoldendream,thecityofallcities,
itstowerspiercingintoazuresky,
whosehandisdealt,regardlessofallpity,
condemnedtomartyrdom,butnottodie.
Twoloverslookupfromtheirhiddenbower.
Thewinehasstoodtoolonganditturnssour.
Iseethetallandbendingofyourstreets
butnowtheyechoonlyleathertouristfeet
andwaking,ashen,grey-blueblindingdeath
yoursuddenwinding-sheet.
ShingleSong
This old song's one of many strands from the seashore.
Uncomplicated—asimplesongandasimplesentiment.
Youcanseeinthelastlightthat'sgracedasdawn
thatthere'snothinginmyheartbutpain
asIstand,facingsea,knowingthatyou'regone…
alltheelementsragetoexplain
thatIshouldreallybeonmyway
butthereissomething
whichensuresImuststay.
Beneaththeroaroftheseethingsurf,
beneaththecaterwaulofscatteredcallwind
thoughtsandgesturesunspoken,unheard
andnowthedanceofrapturebegins
asthewavesrushalongacrossthebeach—
likeyou,likeyourlove
foreveroutofreach.
Lookatthesky,butit'semptynow;
lookatthesea,itholdsnothingbutdespair.
Iraisemyeyes,butmyheadstaysbowed…
Ilooktomyside,butyou'renotthere.
AndIcan'tgetyououtofmymind,
no,no,no,no,Ijustcan'tgetyoufrommymind.
Airport
Istandonthetallestbuilding
andstaredownatthegreyrunway
andthetail-smokeoftheBoeingjet
that'stakingyousofaraway.
Believeme,Idon'twantyoutoleaveme;
lookinmyeyesandyou'llseethem
filledwithpain.
ImaginejusthowsadI'llbe
insomefuturedaywhenIturn
andnolongerseeyourface.
AllIcannowcryisgoodbye,love,goodbye.
Inaweek,inamonth,inayear,
inalifetimehowI'llfeelnonecantell.
AllIknowisnowyou'regoing
there'sreallyno-oneheretohelp.
Believeme…
Alreadyit'stoolate,you'rethroughtheboarding-gate
andwalkingonthetarmac.
Alreadyyouarefree,alreadyyou'veleftme
andcannotbeartolookback,canyou?
Abrieftaxiontherunway,
thenupintothestillingnightsky;
andI'mstandingontheobservationtower,
myeyestoodimmedbydistancetocry.
Believeme…
AllIcannowdoiswalkawayalone,
withoutyou.
PeopleYouWhereGoingTo
Yourfatherhasjustleftyourmother,
goneofftolivewithhislatestlover;
shesitsthere,juststaring.
Soyougetbacktoyourownflat
becausetheatmosphereinthere
issobadyoucan'tbearit.
AndthepeopleyouweregoingtoAmericawith
justleftonthedawnplane
withoutyou,
withoutyou.
Thepeopleinthedownstairsflat
arenolongertherenowbecausetheyleft
thegastapon,they'realldead.
Soyou'veno-onelefttotalkto,
youjustliethereinmelancholy,
half-nakedonyourunmadebed.
AndthepeopleyouweregoingtoAfricawith
justleftontheSouthernStar
withoutyou,
withoutyou.
Yes,thehazethat'sbeenformingroundyourwindow-panes
isnowprotractedandpoisoned
andyoucannotfeelaportionoftheworldoutside.
Canyouimaginethewayyou'dfeel
ifallthesethingshadhappenedtoyou
andthedoctorsaysyou'redying?
ThatisthewaythatIfeelnow
onfindingthatyourlovebelongs
tosomeoneelseandnotI.
Mychanceofheavenhasjustblownaway
uponapassingcloudandthereisnothingthatIcando
withoutyou.
Thepeopleyouweregoingto
haveleft,gonefaraway
andyou'relonely.
(Manchester,1967)
BirthdaySpecial
What a silly song. But it has got that mad (overloaded Nadir
era)forwarddrive.Here'stooalltheparties.
I'vegotsomethingtosay,
anditain'ttheusualsortofsob-story
thatyouheareveryday.
I'vegotsomethingtoask,
andIknowthatnow'sthetime,
nowalltheroomsofthepartyaredark.
Proffermethecandy,
yes,Iunderstandisfine;
blowanothercandleout
andthrowanotherline…
Birthdaygirl,I'vegotsomethingforyou,
there'siceinthecauldron,lookoutnow;
birthdaygirl,herecomesaspecial
likeHanselandGretelneverhad.
There'sparrotsinthepantry
andthere'slizardsintheloo;
there'sbloatersinthebathroom
andthispartyisazoo;
I'msittinginthekitchen
tryinghardtotalktoyou
Birthdaygirl…
Ijustwantedtosay
thatI'dliketomakethisthehappiestofallyourbirthdays
andifthatmeansturningthekey
thenI'llturnitwithyouandthere'llbenodoubt
aboutthewayIagree,
Birthdaygirl…
TwoOrThreeSpectres
«Sodthemusic,»saidthemaninthesuit,
«Iunderstandprofitandwithoutthat,it'snouse.
Whydon'tyougoawayandwritecommercialsongs;
comebackinthreeyears,thatshouldn'tbetoolong…»
He'sajokerandanacrobat,
arecordexec.inaMayfairflat
withAltecspeakerswalltowall,
aRadfordandaRevoxandthroughitallheplays
strictlynowhereMuzak.
«Hey,listen,baby,thisband'sgotalotofsoul…
ifwecanbeatthatoutofthemIseeadiscofgold!
Givethemanimage,maybeglitter,maybesex,
maybeoutrage,maybeelegance—
howaboutasnervouswrecks?»
Signsuptheproductattwopercent,
justifiedbyvinylshortageandtheincreasedrent
ontheyachthehastohiretomakehispitchatMidem
andallthepressreceptionsforhisbusinessfriends
whospilltheirTaittingeruponthefloor
whilethebandsipEnglishlagerjustoutsidethedoor.
Treble,alto,bassclefsonthepage,
crotchets,quavers,minimsalltherage
butyou'llneverfindapoundnoteinthescore—
it'stherewhenit'sstrictlymerchandise,
throughallthepropagatedliesaboutwhatthewholething'sfor.
He'llmakeyouastar,he'llmakeyousofamous
thatallyoudesireistobeleftnameless,
drainedofallyoufeltyouhadtoofferatthestart.
Notwithoutblame,either,arethegentlemenofthepress:
youcantalkaboutthestateofmusic,
theywillwriteaboutyourdress.
Playthemthenewalbum,theywillsayit'sgreat(ornot)—
whenthearticlescomeout,they'reallabout
howmanydogsyou'vegot.
Godtokeepthehumaninteresthigh,
andthehacksareonlytoowillingtocomply,
pandertotheego,buildupfrailmenasgods—
butsomewhereintheprocess,theprimepurposeisforgotten.
Groupiesoffertheirbodies,thehangers-ontheircoke;
it'sallveryjolly—whatajoke!
Fellinicreaturesclusterroundthedressing-room,
theheavenlybodiesallgottohavetheirmoons.
Inthecultofthesupermanthemusicplaysasupportingrole
andfarmoreimportantistheshapeofhisnose,
thesizeofhiscodpieceandthecutofhisclothes…
soulandfeelingalwaystakesecondplace
tothebumpandgrindofaFenderbass.
Frankly,mostmusiciansboreme—butnotasmuchasthose
whochasetheglorytobaskinreflectedlight,
makingthemanmuchmoreimportant
thanhisarpeggiosandmordants,
whenit'stheotherwaythat'sright.
Onthevaluesbywhichthisworldmakesitsheroes
thenthebestviolinisteverwasNero,
becausehehadthemostPress
andhisfiregimmickwassimplythebest.
Wegotthelivethingtoo,
theHumanZoo:
Tenthousandarmsareraised,justliketheHitlerYouth—
tenthousandpeacesignsmarktheentryofthesax.
Tenthousandpeacesigns,
butthey'redifferentfromtheback.
Godbluff(VdGG,1975)
TheUndercoverMan
Hereattheglass—
alltheusualproblems,allthehabitualfarce.
Youask,inuncertainvoice,
whatyoushoulddo,
asiftherewereachoicebuttocarryon
mimingthesong
andhopethatitallworksoutright.
Tonightitallseemssostrange—
myspiritfeelsrigid,mybodyderanged;
stillthat'sonlyfromonepointofview
andwecan'thaveillusionbetweenmeandyou,
myconstantfriend,evercloseathand—
youandtheundercoverman.
Ireflect:
'It'sverystrangetobegoingthroughthischange
withnoideaofwhatit'sallbeenabout
exceptinthecontextoftime…'
Oh,butIshirkit,I'vehalfamindnottoworkitallout.
Isthismadnessjusttherecurringwaveoftotalemotion,
orahidefortheundercoverman,
oralitany—allthesignsarethereofferventdevotion—
orthecrackingofthedam?
It'scracked;smashedandburstingoveryou,
therewasnoreasontoexpectsuchdisaster.
Now,panicking,youburstforair,
drowning,youknowyoucare
fornothingandno-onebutyourself
andwoulddenyeventhishand
whichstretchesouttowardsyoutohelp.
ButwouldIleaveyouinthismomentofyourtrial?
IsitmyfaultthatI'mheretoseeyoucrying?
Thesephantomfiguresallaroundyoushouldhavetoldyou,
youshouldhavefoundoutbynow,
ifyouhadn'tgoneandtriedtodoitallbyyourself.
Evennowwearenotlost:
ifyoulookoutatthenight
you'llseethecoloursandthelights
seemtosaypeoplearenotfaraway,
atleastindistance,
andit'sonlyourowndumbresistance
that'smakingusstay.
Whenthemadnesscomes
letitfloodondownandovermesweetly,
letitdrownthepartsofmeweakandblessedanddamned,
letitslakemylife,letittakemysoulandlivingcompletely,
letitbewhoIam.
Theremaynotbetimeforusalltorunintandemtogether—
thehorizoncallswithitsparallellines.
Itmaynotberightforyoutohaveandholdinonewayforever
andyetyoustillhavetime,
youstillhavetime.
ScorchedEarth
Justonecrazymomentwhilethedicearecast,
helooksintothefutureandrememberswhatispast,
wonderswhathe'sdoingonthisbattlefield,
shrugstohisshadow,impatient,tooproudyettokneel.
Inhiswakeheleavesscorchedearthandworkinvain;
smokedriftsupbehindhim—heisfreeagain,
freetorunbeforetheonslaughtofadeadlyfoe,
leavingnothingfitforpillage,hardlyleavinghome.
It'sfartoolatetoturn,unlessit'stostone.
Chargingmadlyforward,tracksacrossthesnow;
windscreamsmadnesstohim,everonhegoes,
leavingspoortomarkhispassage,tracehiswearyclimb.
Crossthemoorandmaketheheadland—
stumbling,wayward,blind.
Intheendhisfootprintsextendasonesingleline.
Thislatestexponentofheresyisgoadedintoanattack,
persuadedtochargeathisenemy.
Toolate,heknowsitis,
toolatenowtoturnback,toosoonbyfartofalter.
Thepastsitsuneasilyathisrear,
he'swalkingrightintothetrap,
surrounded,butstrivingthroughwillandfear.
Aheadofhimheknowstherewaitsanambuscade
butthediceslipthroughhisfingers
andhe'slivingfromdaytoday,
carryinghisworldarounduponhisback,
leavingnothingbehindbutthetell-taleofhistrack.
Hewillnotbehostage,hewillnotbeslave,
nosnareofpastcantraphim,thoughthefuturemay.
Stillherunsandburnsbehindhiminadvancedretreat;
stillhisliferemainsunfettered—hedeniesdefeat.
It'sfartoolatetoturn,unlessit'stostone.
Leavethepasttoburn—atleastthat'sbeenhisown.
Scorchedearth,that'sallthat'sleftwhenhe'sdone;
holdingnothingbutbeholdentono-one,
claimingnothing,outofnofalsepride,hesurvives.
Snowtracksareallthat'slefttobeseen
ofamanwhoenteredthecourseofadream,
claimingnothingbutthelifehe'sknown
—this,atleast,hasbeenhisown.
Arrow
Stubtowersinthedistance,
riderscrosstheblastedmoor
againstthehorizon.
Ficklepromisesoftreaty,
fatalharbingersofwar,futileorisons
swirlasoneinthisflight,thismadchase,
thissurgeacrossthemarshymudlandscape
untilthemeaningisforgotten.
Hoodmaskstheeagerface,skinstretchedandsallow,
headlongintothechillingnight,asswiftasanyarrow.
Feetagainsttheflagstones,
fingersscrabblingatthelock,
cravingprotection.
«Sanctuary!»croaksavoice,
half-strangledbytheshockofitsrejection.
Shottheboltinthewall,rustedthekey;
nowtheechoesofallfrightfulmemory
intrudeinthesilence.
Whatacrawlagainsttheslope—darkloomthegallows.
Onetouchtothechapeldoor,howswiftlycomesthearrow.
«Compassion»youplead,
asthoughtheykeptitinabox—
that'slongsincebeenempty.
I'dliketohelpyousomehow,
butI'mintheself-samespot:
myconditionexemptsme.
Weareallontherun,onourknees;
thesundialdrawsalineuponeternity
acrosseverynumber.
Howlongthetimeseems,howdarktheshadow,
howstraighttheeagleflies,howstraighttowardshisarrow.
Howlongthenightis—whyisthispassagesonarrow?
Howstrangemybodyfeels,impaleduponthearrow.
TheSleepwalkers
Atnight,thismindlessarmy,ranksunbrokenbydissent,
ismovedintoactionandtheirpacedoesnotrelent.
Instep,withgreatprecision,thesedancersofthenight
advanceagainstthedarkness—howimplacabletheirmight!
Eyesundulledbymoon,theirarmsandlegsakimbo,
theywalkandlive,hopingsoontosurfacefromthislimbo.
Theirminds,anticipatingthedawnoftheday,
shallneverknowwhat'swaitingmereinsightaway
—toofar,toosoon.
Sensesdimmedinsemi-sentience,onlywheelingthroughthisplane,
onlyseeingfragmentedimages,prematurelycurtailedbythebrain,
butbreathing,living,knowinginsomemeasureatleast
thesoulwhichrootsthematterofbothBeautyandtheBeast.
Fromwhattoothorclawdoesmurderspring,
fromwhatfleshandblooddoespassion?
Bothcutthroughtheairwiththependulum'sswing
indeadlybutdelicatefashion.
Andeveryrangeoffeelingisthereinthedream
andeverylogic'sreelingintheforceofthescream;
thesensessting.
AndthoughImaybedreamingandrealitystalls
Ionlyknowthemeaningofsightandthat'sall
andthat'snothing.
Thecolumnsofthenightadvance,
infectiously,theircrypticdance
gathersconvertstothefold—
intimethewholerawworldwillpacethesesamesteps
onintothesamebitterend.
Somnolentmuster—nowthedancingdead
forsaketheshelteroftheirsecurebeds,
awakentoaslumberwhosedepthstheydread,
asifthegroundtheytreadwouldgiveway
beneaththesolemnweightoftheirconception.
I'dsearchthehiddencornersofallthisworld,
makereasonofthesensorywhorl
ifIonlyhadtime,
butsoonthedreamisended.
Tonight,beforeyoulaydowntothesweetnessofyoursleep
doyouquestionyoursurrendertothedropfromLover'sLeap
ordoestheanaestheticdarknesstakeholdonitsveryown?
Doesyourbodyriseinservicewithnotonedissentinggroan?
Thesewakingdreamsoflifeanddeath
inthemirroraretwistedandbuckled;
lashesflicker,acatchofbreath,
skinwhiteningattheknuckles.
Thearmyofsleepwalkersshaketheirlimbsandareloose
andthoughIamatalker,Icanphrasenoexcuse
nottoriseagain.
Inthechorusofthenight-timeIbelong
andI,likeyou,mustdancetothatmoonlightsong
andintheendI,too,mustpaythecostofthislife.
Ifallislostnoneisknown
andhowcouldwelosewhatwe'veneverowned?
Oh,I'dsearchouteveryknowledgethatIcouldfind,
unravelallthemysteriesofmind,
ifIonlyhadtime,
ifIonlyhadtime,
butsoonmytimeisended.
StillLife(VdGG,1976)
Pilgrims
Sometimesyoufeelsofaraway,
distancefromalltheactionoftheplay,
unabletograspsigninficance,
markingtheplotwithdiffidentdismay,
standedatcentrestage,
scrabblingthroughyourdiaryforalost
page:unsureofthedream.
Kickingastoneacrossthebeach,
achingforloveandcomfortoutofreach,
thewayaheadseemstobesobleak,
there'sno-onewithanyfriendshipleftto
speakorshowyouanyrelation
betweenyourpresentandfuture
situation:losttothedream.
Away,away,away:looktothefutureday
forhope,someformofpeacewithinthe
growingstorm.
Iclimbthroughtheevening,
aliveandbelieving:
intimeweshallallknowourgoals
andsofinally,home.
Fornowallissecret—
thoughhowcouldIspeakit,
allowmethedreaminmyeye.
I'vebeenwaitingforsuchalongtime
justtoseeitatlast,
allofthehandstightlyclasped,
allofuspilgrims.
Walkinginsilencedownthecoast,
merelytojourney—herehopeisthemost;
merelytoknowthereisanend,
allofus—lovers,brothers,sisters,friends
handinhand.
Shiningfootprintsonthewetsand
leadtothedream.
Thetimehascome,thetidehasalmost
runanddrainedthedeep:Irisefrom
lifelongsleep.
Itseemssuchalongtime
I'vedreamedbutnow,awake,
Icanseewearepilgrimsandso
mustwalkthisroad,
unknowninourpurpose,
alone,butnowworthless.
andhomeevercallinguson.
We'vebeenwaitingheresolong,
allofourhandsjoinedinhope,
holdingtheweightontherope,
allofuspilgrims.
StillLife
Citadelreverberatestoathousandvoices,
nowdumb;
Whathavewebecome?
Whathavewechosentobe?
Nowallhistoryisreducedtothesyllables
orourname—
nothingcaneverbethesame:
nowtheImmortalsarehere.
Atthetimeitseemedareasonablecourse
toharnessalltheforce
oflifewithoutthethreatofdeath,but
soonwefoundthatboredomandinertia
arenotnegative,butallthelawweknow,
anddeadarewillandwordslikesurvival
Arrivalatimmunityfromallage,allfear
andallend…
whydoIpretend?
Ouressenceisdistilled
andallfamiliartasteisnowdrained
andthoughpurityismaintained
itleavesussterile,livingthroughthe
millionsofyears,
alaughascloseasanytear;
living,ifyouclaimthatall
thatentailsisbreathing,eating,
defecating,screwing,drinking,spewing,
sleeping,sinkingeverdownanddown
andultimatelypassingawaytimewhich
nolongerhasanymeaning.
Takeawaythethreatofdeathandall
you'releftwithisaround
ifmake-believe.
Marshalleverysullenbreathandthough
you'reultimatelyboredbyendlessecstasy
it'sstilltheringbywhichyouhopetobe
engaged
tomarrythegirlwhowillgiveyou
forever—it'scrazyandplainly
thatsimplyisnotenough.
Whatisthisdullestandbluntestofpains,
suchthatmyeyesneverclosewithout
feelingitthere?
Whatabjectdespairdemandsanendto
allthingsofinfinity?
Ifwehavegained,howdowenowmeet
thecost?
Whathavewebargained,andwhathave
welost?
Whathavewerelinquished,never
knowingitwasthee?
Whatthoughtsnowofholdingfastthe
line,defyingdeathandtime?
Everythingwehadisgone,
everythingwelabouredforandfavoured
morethatearthlythingsreveals
thehollowringoffalsehopeand
falsedeliverance.
Butnowthenuptialbedismade,the
dowryhasbeenpaid:
thetoothless,haggardfeaturesofeternity
nowwelcomemebetweenthesheets
tocouplewithherwitheredbody—
mywife.
Hersforever,
hersforever,
hersforever,
instilllife.
LaRossa
Lackingsleepandfoodandvision
hereIamagain,encampeduponyou
floor,cravingsanctuaryand
nourishment,encouragementand
sanctityandmore.
Thestreetsseemedverycrowded,
Iputonmybravestguide—
IknowyouknowthatIamacting,
Icanseeitinyoureyes.
IntheharshlightoffreedomIknow
thatIcannotdenythatIhavewasted
time,havefrittereditawayinidleboasts
ofmyfreedomandfidelity,whensimpler
wordswouldhaveprofitedthemost…
…itisn'tenoughintheend,whenI'm
lookingforhope.
Throughtheorgan-monkeyscreamsasthe
pipesbegintospit
stillhe'llgothroughthedanceroutines
justaslongashethinksthey'llfit,
justaslongasheknowsthatit'sdance,
smile—orquit.
LikeamonkeyIdancetoastrangetune
whenallofthoseyearsI'velongedtolie
withyoubuthaveboggedmyselfdownin
theweboftalk,quackphilosophy
andsophistry—
atphysicallyI'vealwaysbaulked,likethe
maninthechairwhobelievesit'sbeyond
himtowalk.
I'vebeenhidingbehindwords,
fearingadeeperflameexists,
faintlyawareofthepassage
ofopportunitiesIhavemissed,
Butthenearnessandthesmellofyou,
LaRossafromheadtotoe…
Idon'tknowwhatI'mtellingyou,
butIthinkyououghttoknow
soonthedamwallwillbreak,soonthe
waterwillflow.
Thoughtheorgan-monkeygroans
astheorgan-grinderplays
he'shoping,atthemost,
foranendtothedancingdays;
still,hehopsupanddownonhisperch
inthusualjerkyway.
Thoughitmightmeananendtoall
friendshipthere'ssomething
I'mworkinguptosay.
Thinkofmewhatyouwill;
Iknowthatyouthinkyoufeelmypain—
nomatterifthat'sjustthesurface.
Ifwemadelovenowwouldthatchange
allthathasgonebefore?
Ofcourseitwould,there'snowayitcould
everbethesame…
onemorelinecrossed,
onemoremysteryexplained.
NowIneedmorethanjustwords,though
theoptionsareplainthatleadfromall
momentaryaction.
Iwemakelovenowitwillchangeallthat
isyettobe…
nevercouldweagreeinthesame
wayagain.
Onemoreworldlost,
onemoreheavengained.
LsRossa,youknowme,youreadmeas
thoughIamglass;
thoughIknowitthere'snowayinwhichIcanpass—
thoughitmeansthatyou'llfinishmystory
atlastI'dtradealltheclevertalk,
thejoking,thesmokingandthequips,
allthemidnightconversation,allthe
friendship,allthewordsandallthetrips
forthewarmthofyourbody,
themorevividtouchofyourlips.
Allbridgesburningbehindme,
allsafetybeyondreach,
themonkeyfeelshischainsoutblindly,
onlytofindhimselfreleased.
Takeme,takemenowandholdmedeep
insideyouroceanbody
washmeassomeflotsamtotheshore,
thereleavemelyingevermore!
Drownme,drownmenowandholdme
downbeforeyournakedhunger,
burnmeatthealtarofthenight—
givemelife!
MyRoom
Searchingfordiamondsinthesulphur
mine,leaningonpropswhicharerotten,
hopingforanything,lookingforasign
thatIamnotforgotten.
Lostinalabyrinthoffuturemystery,
tracingmysteps,allmistaken,
trustingtoeverything,prayingitcanbe
thatIamnotforsaken.
Iwaitbythedoor,wondering
whenyouwillcomeandkeepmewarm.
Iprayfortheendofthenight,
hopingthelightwillstillthestorm
whichpresentlybetraysme;
helplesssea-monsterstrandedonthe
shore,maroonedinanecstasyofwaiting.
Iyearn,althoughknowingthatIshall
divenomore
inthetidealreadyracing
Mylungsbursttocry:«Finally
howcouldyouleavemeheretodie?
Ifreezeinthechillofthisplace
withnofriendlyfacetosmilegoodbye—
howcouldyouletithappen?»
Howcouldyouletithappen?
Dreams,hopesandpromises,fragments
outoftime;
allofthesethingshavebeenspoken;
stillyoudon'tunderstandhowitfeels
whenI'mwaitingforthemtobebroken.
ChildlikeFaithInChildhood'sEnd
Existenceisastageonwhichwepass,a
sleep-walktrickformindandheart:
it'shopeless,Iknow,
butonwardImustgo
andtrytomakeastart
atseeingsomethingmorethanday-to-day
survivalchasedbyfinaldeath.
IfIbelievedthisthesum
ofthelifetowhichwe'vecome
Iwouldn'twastemybreath.
Somehow,theremustbemore.
Therewasatimewhenmorewasfeltthan
known,
butnow,entrenchedinsidemysett,
inlightmoremundane,thoughtrattles
roundmybrain;
welive,wedie…andyet?
Inthebeginningtherewasorderand
destinybutnowthatpathhasreachedthe
borderandonourkneesisnowaytoface
thefuture,whateveritbe.
Thoughtheforceswhichholdusinplace
lastthrougheonsinunruffledgrace
we,too,wearthefaceofcreation
Asanti-mattersucksandpulses
periodicallythebudunfolds,thebloom
isdead,allspaceislivinghistory.
Itseemsasthoughtimemustbetrayus,
yetwe'realive
andthoughIseenoGodtosaveusstillwe
survive
throughthecenturiesofprogress
whichdon'tgetusveryfar.
Allillusion!Allisbogus—wedon'tyet
knowwhatweare…laughing,hoping
praying,joking,SonofMan!
Withloweredeyesbutliftinghearts,
we'regrainsofsand
andthough,intime,theseamayclaimus
foritsown
wearetherockswhichrootthefuture—
onusitgrows!
Wemightnotbetheretoshareitif
eternity'sajest
butIthinkthatIcanhearit
ifthenextlifeisthebest.
Evenifthereisaheavenwhenwedie
endlessblisswouldbeasmeaningless
astheliethatalwayscomesasanswerto
thequestion'Whydoweseethroughthe
eyesofcreation?'
Adriftwithoutacourse,it'sverylonely
here,ouronlyconjecturewhatlies
behindthedark.
Still,IfindIcanclingtoalifeline,
thinkofalifetimewhichmeansmorethan
myownone—dreamsofagranderthing
thanweare,
TimeandSpacehandheavyonmy
shoulders;
whenalllifeisoverwhocansay
nomutatedforceshallremain?
Thoughthetowersofthecityaredenied
towemenofclay
stillweknowweshallscaletheheights
someday.
Frightenedinthesilence—
frightened,butthinkingveryhard,
letusmakecomputationofthestars.
Older,wiser,sadder,blinder,watchus
run;faster,longer,harder,stronger,now
itcomes:colourblisters,imagesplinters
gravitatetowardsthecentre,infinal
splendourdisintegrate.
Theuniversenowbeckons
andMan,too,musttakeHisplace…
justafewlastfleetingseconds
towanderinthewaste
andthechildrenwhowereourselves
moveon
reincarnationstillsitsnowperfectedsong
andatlastwearefreedofthebonds
ofcreation.
Allthejokersandgaolers,allthejunkies
andslaverstoo,
allthethrongwhohavedancedamerry
tune—humanwecanallbe,
butHumanitywemustriseabove
inthenameofallfaithandhopeandlove.
There'satimeforallpilgrims,andatime
forthefakerstoo,
there'satimewhenweallwillstandalone
andnude;
nakedtothegalaxies—
naked,butclothedintheoverview…as
wereachChildhood'sEndwestartanew.
Andthoughdarkisthehighway
andthepeak'sdistancebreaksmyheart,
forInevershallseeit,stillIplaymypart,
believingthatwhatwaitsforusisthe
cosmoscomparedtothedustofthe
past…
inthedeathofmerehumanslifeshallstart!
WorldRecord(VdGG,1976)
WhenSheComes
Slowmotioninthequietofyourroom
sopotentisthesmellofherperfume
thatyouthinkshe'seternal
thatyouthinkshe'severything
—butno-oneknowswhatsheis…
Repentanceforallyoushouldhavesaid—
herentranceseemstoraiseyoufromthedead
andyouthinkshe'sreallywithyou
andyouthinkshe'llalwaysstay,
alwaysreadytoforgiveyou,
alwaysreadytograntyouhermercy
—butinherownway.
Whenshecomesshe'llbeastranger:
struckdumbyou'lltrytoprotest
asthedrumbeatsoutthedanger,
toolate—youshouldhavenoticed
thattheladywithherskinsowhite
likesomethingoutofBlakeandBurne-Jones
alwaysblockedoutthelight
andshadowedallyouowned.
Stillyouthinkshe'sforever,
yesterdayandtomorrow
—butno-oneknowswheresheis.
Stillyouswearthatyoucanwinher
andyourprayeristhatshe'llwantyou;
aware,onceasaint,nowyou'reasinner
andyousinsaregoingtohauntyou
whentheladywithherskinsowhite
likesomethingoutofEdgarAllenPoe
holdsyourhandsoverytight
andyouhopeshe'llneverletgo.
Easytargets,easycross-words,easylife:
thesekeymarginsleaveyoubalancedontheknife,
bleedingdarkly.Intheenditallcomesdown
tosleazybargains.
Thathiddenkey—youtriedsohardtofindit;
allyoucanconceiveistheefforttobeworthy.
Evennowyouneedtobereminded
thatLaBelleDameiswithoutmercy.
Theladywithherskinsowhite
—youneverdidquitecatchhername—
nowsheholdsyouinthenight
andshe'llneverletgoagain
she'llneverletgoagain
APlaceToSurvive
It'seasytosay,whenyou'resodown,
thateverything'spointless;
youreyesburn,yourearshowl,
yourlimbsaredisjointed.
Barrenfields,thebarrenearth,nevermorewillitflower—
rubyourfaceandyourhandsinthedirt:
nowisthehour.
Sostandstraightlookingoveryourshoulder,
walkonthoughyoufeartoarrive,
don'twaittillyouknowthatit'sover,
bestrong—it'syourplacetosurvive.
Whiletheholocaustragesaroundyou,
betheeyeofthestorm;
thoughtheextentofdisasterastoundsyou,
forearmedisforewarned.
Youmaypassedtimeinhappierways
butthereareofhermountainstoclimb:
you'veneverlivedasyou'relivingtoday—
nowisthetime.
Standstraightthroughyourbackbreaksfromtrying,
walkon—evennowyoumuststrive.
Don'twait;whileyou'rewaiting,you'redying.
Bestrong—it'syourplacetosurvive.
Theuniverseisdoubtlessunfolding
justexactlyasitshould
andthesedreamsofremorseorforeboding
won'tdoyouanygood.
Thejoy,thepassion,possessionsyouown,
thebitternessandthepain,
theendofeverythingyou'veeverknow—
alltheseareordained.
Standstraightlookingintothefuture,
walkon—we'veeachgotourownlives.
Don'twaitfortheguruortutor,
bestrong—it'syourplacetosurvive.
Standstraightlookingoveryourshoulder,
walkon;throughithurts,you'realive.
Don'twait—ifyouwaitit'sallover:
bestrong—it'syourrighttosurvive.
Masks
He'samanofthepastandoneofthepresent,
amanwhohidesbehindamaskbehindamask.
Aclown,afool,
believingitcooltobedown
orthatthegameisallaboutwholaughsthelast.
Sohetellsallhisproblemstohisfriendsandrelations,
exposeshisneurosestotheirview.
Theyacceptasfact
everymasochisticmumbleofhisact;
howcouldtheyknowwhatwasfalseandwhatwastrue?
Sometimeswhenhewakes
hefeelshe'swalkedintoadream
butallittakes
toremindhimthingsarewhattheyseem
isthebelief
thatthemanbehindthemaskcanreallydance.
Pirouettingsmile
heseeshimselfcavorting,
Pierrotforawhile
beforeaborting
tofindrelief
intheshelterofthedark,mosttellingmask.
Afterallthepantomimesareended
hepeelsallthemake-upoffhisface
torevealbeneath
thetearsrunningalldownhischeeks:
alone,heopenstotheworld…butit'smuchtoolate.
He'sbeenleft,intheend,withoutaface.
MeurglysIII(TheSongwriter'sGuild)
ThesedaysImainlyjusttalktoplantsanddogs—
allhumancontactseemspainful,risky,odd,
soIstayactinggodinmyownuniverse
whereItradecigarettesinreturnforsongs.
Thedeal'smadeharderthelongerIgoon:
Ifindmegonefromallbutsecretlanguages.
Ifonlycouldphrasesatisfactorywords
inconversationtomakemypassionheard…
Ifonly…
MeurglysIII,he'smyfriend,
theonlyonethatIcantrust
toletitbewithoutpretence
—there'sno-oneelse.
It'skillingme,butintheend
there'sno-oneelseIknowistrue;
there'snoneinallthemasksofmen.
There'snothingelse
butmyguitar…
Isupposehe'llhavetodo.
Talkingintonguesiseasywhenyouknowhow,
quitepleasing,butstillnothingworksoutright.
Pressurisedlungs,heartbleeding,you'dbetterslowdown
andshowthatyoucanmakeitthroughthenight.
Howeverdarkitseems,thepresentisjustthepresent,
beyonditnodarknessliesconcealed
andthroughthesedesperatedreams,
thislongingforfriendsandcomfort
youknowthatintheendallwillberevealed.
Whennomoreplantsordogsorroomsarethere
tohearyou
andno-oneisleftnearyou,thenyou'llsee:
intheendthere'sonlyyouandMeurglysIII
andthisisjustwhatyouchosetobe,
fool!
ThoughIknowallthisisjustescape,
IrunbecauseIdon'tknowwheretheprisonlies.
InsongslikethisIcanbeartheweight…
Irunningstill
Ishalluntil
onedayIhopethatI'llarrive.
Wondering
Iwillarise;
inthedepth,Iwillopenmyeyes;
asmybreathalmostfailsme,survive.
Wait—there'ssomethingunclear,
there'ssomethingIfearnowdrawingclose.
Coulditbeyou?Whoseisthatvoice?
Isitnowtimetomakeachoice?
Ah—thatirrationalpain!
Thisridiculousbrainnowburstswithjoy.
Coulditbeme?Coulditbenow?
ShouldIbegintotakemyvows?
Iwillreturn;
asIlive,asIbreath,asIburn
IswearIwillcomethrough
withmyhandsstratchingoutinthedark,
withmyeyepresseduptighttotheglass,
wonderingifit'sallbeentrue.
Over(1977)
CryingWolf
(Conscious)self-parodyhassupposedlyneverbeenastrongsuit
ofmine.Thissongatleasthasatwinkleintheeye!Arareforayinto
questionablesoloing,too.
Youturnoutthelightsandsitalone,
tryingtopretendthatit'sanguish,
startattheringofatelephone,
throwdownallyourfoodatthebanquet,
keepacloseeyeonallyouown,
whileleavingitalltolanguish…
Isthiswhatmakesyouhappy?
Isthiswhatbringsyoujoy?
Yourexcusesaresocrappy…
sillyboy.
Youtakealltheloveandthrowitaside
towallowinyoursorrow,
expecteveryonetoknowhowyoufeelinside,
toforgiveandforgetcometomorrow;
repayingallyourdebtswithuncommonpride
butdenyingthatyoueverborrowed…
Isthiswhatmakesyouperfect?
Isthiswhatmakesyoufree?
Justhowlongdidyourehearseit,
ordoesitjustcomenaturally?
Cryingwolffromthedepthofyoursheep'sheart,
cryingfirefromthedepthofthewell
inanendlessparadeofrepeatstarts,
justhowlongwillitlast—canyoutell?
Untilallyourfriendsandlovers
aresimplyboredwiththepretence?
It'llbetoolatethentodiscover
justexactlywhatyoumeant
andwhatwastrue
andwhatwasfalse…
thewolfturnedintohuman,
thekillerwithremorse.
Cryingpainasthoughthatshouldbepleasure,
cryingangerasthoughthatshouldberevenge,
cryingsorrowasthoughthatwereatreasure—
yourtreasurewillfindyouintheend.
Whenallofyourfriendshavegoneaway,
unwillingtoputupwiththedanger
thatliesineachspitefulwordyousay,
you'llbeleft,agreyingwolfinamanger
andwhenyou'veraisedyourlasthowl
anddestroyedallthatyoucan
withrottingteethanslackjowls
you'llbeleftalonelyman.
Andwhenit'snearlyfinished
andyouknowtheendisnear
withtruesorrowundiminished
there'llbeno-onelefttohear…
Yourdesperatecries,
theyallcomeoutasbleats:
youthoughtyouwereawolf-man,
butyou'rereally
justasheep.
Autumn
Anyover-idealisedrelationshipis,soonerorlater,goingtohit
the reefs. A little bit more realism and acceptance, please!
Everythinggoesaroundandit'sallawalkuponthewater.
Sohereweare,alone—
ourchildrenhavegrownupandmovedaway.
livingtheirownlives,theysay…
itallseemsverystrangetome.
Idon'tunderstandtheirways:
ourchildrenamazemeallthetime
andIoftenwonderwhytheymakemefeel
sosadandsuddenlyold.
Nowwe'releftwithanemptyhome,
fromournestallthebirdshaveflownforforeignskies.
We'rediscarded,ofnofurtheruse,
thoughwegaveourkidsallouryouthandallourlives—
wereallytried.
Nowthere'sonlymywifeandme;
weusedtohaveafamily—nowthat'sgone
andonlymemorieslingeron…
itallseemsverywrongtome.
Tooursorrowstheywerequitedeaf
andassoonastheycouldtheyleftustoourtears.
Wealwaystriedtoteachwhatwasgood—
yes,wegaveourkidsallwecouldthroughalltheyears.
Sohereweareatlast;
thetimehasgonesofastandsohavemydreams.
Isimplydon'tknowwhatitallmeans,
thispointlesspassagethroughthenight,
thisautumn-time,thiswalkuponthewater…
Iwonderhowlong
itwillbetillthissong
issungbyourownsonsanddaughters?
TimeHeals
Thinkingback,itseemsthatI
canliebesideyouasInevertrulydid,
inafterglow—
noafterwordsatall.
Onlywritinglovesongswhenit'sgoneanddead;
onlypayingwordsoutinstringsofhalf-forgottensentiments…
Imean…
Imeant…
Ineverreallyquitecouldsaythewayitwas.
ThefirsttimethatwemetIsaid'Ibetthatshe'stheone',
butIwastalkingtomyselfthen,asalways.
Astimewentbyourstepsentwined,unwrittenlinesdrewtaut
andItriedtofindawaytomakeitallsafe…
Intotheplay—whataproduction!—
intothedaysandevermoresuction:
youholdmeclose,butholdmefarther
awayfromyourself—Imakemeamartyr,
forpainandlovegohandinhand…
Andhandinhandgoyouandmyfriend,
youarehisandIamyoursandjustcannotevadeyou;
mydaysadream,mynightsunseemly,
stolenmomentsallIlivefor,
buttheftisnowaytopersuadeyou
tocomewithme,leavehimbehindyou;
myhurtfuleyestrytoremindyou
it'sallIcandotokeepfromscreaming
«Iloveyou,Iloveyou!»—IwishIwasdreaming,
butthestepswetakeallleavefootprints…
Soonerorlaterthewholethingwillbeblown:
youwillleavehimorI'llbelefthere,alone.
Eitherwaysomeonelosessomeone
butIwon'tmindthat,Ijustwouldquiteliketoknow
whowelovethemost—
well,Iguessthat'sourselves.
Thedaysarestrange,atnightwe'restrangers,
lieinbedandlieinsideourheads,
wecomenocloserthanasdancers.
Youreyesarechange,yourpresencedanger,
won'tlookmeinthefaceandyet
youkissandmakeuptheanswer
toallthequestionsthatflyunanswered,unreasoned—
deathinthesky,deathintheseason.
Ifyouleavemenow,itmightnearlykillme…
Rememberme?
Rememberwethree?
Itallseemedsoimportantatthetime,
wecamesoclosetowreckingallourlives,
andnowit'salljustsonglines.
Timeheals,
timeheals—
oh,butIstillbeartheweals.
Thinkingback,itseemsthatI
canliebesideyouasInevertrulydid,
inafterglow—
noafterwordsatall.
Onlywritinglovesongswhenit'sgoneanddead,
onlypayingwordsout:streamsofhalf-forgottensentiments…
Imean…
Imeant…
Ineverreallyquitecouldsay
thewayitwas.
(Worth,1972)
Alice(LettingGo)
Whenyoutoldmethatyoulovedme
Ihadnoreasontodoubtit
soIwentaboutmylifeinsuchaselfishway
andneverreallythoughtaboutit.
OhdoIhavetoletgo?
OhIhadmychanceandI'veblownit,
'causeIlovedyousomuchalltheseyears
andsomewhereinmyself,betweenmyprideandfear
justcouldn'tfindawaytoshowit.
Iknowitdoesn'tgiveyouanyjoy
togivemesuchpain
butyou'reinlovewithhimnow,myoldfriend—
Iknowallaboutthat,there'snoneedtoexplain
butwhydoIhavetosaygoodbye
whenIloveyoustill,andcanonlyfeelthatI'mdying?
Still,everywordIsayjustseemstocomeoutwrong
andnoneofthemdenythefactthatyouaregone
andthatI'mlefthere,crying.
What'sthegoodofsongsanyway?
They'rejustexercisesinsolitude.
Ishouldhavebeenreadyfortoday—
Ialwaysprayedyouwouldn'tgo,
butIsupposeIalwaysknewyouwould.
Isupposeyousaytohimnow
«Iknowthatsomedayyou'llleaveme»
justlikeyoudidtome,andI'ddenyit,
butyouwouldn'tbelieveme.
OohdoIhavetoletgoofyou
oohIdon'tthinkthatIcandoit—
you'realwaysgoingtobetheguardianofmysoul,
andI'llalwayshaveapartofyoutocallmyown,
howstupidthatIneverprovedit.
OhIknowI'llneverletgo
ohbecauseIdon'twanttobejustyourfriend.
Wespentsevenyearstogetherinourownway,
Ican'tbelievethestoryendslikethistoday…
Whereveryouaredoyoureallythinkso,Alice?
ThisSideoftheLooking-Glass
Thestarsintheheavensstillshine
upaboveme:
howlovelythey'dseem
ifyouwerewithme
butyou'regonethroughthelooking-glass
andIamlefttopassthesenightsalone.
I'mlost,I'mdumb,I'mblind,
Iamdrunkwithsadness,
sunkbymadness,
thewaveoverwhelmsme,
themirrorrepelsme,
theechoofyourlaugh
driftsthroughthelooking-glass
andIamalone.
Nofriendship,nocomfort,nofuture,nohome,
thepastlingerswithme:
you'realltheloveI'veeverknown
andwithoutyouI'mnothing
butemptyandsilent,
reflectingonallthatI'velost.
Iletyouslipawaysosoon.
Canyouhearme?Thisismysong:
Iamdying;youaregone.
Thesewordsarenotenoughtosavemysoul,
theyjustmockmefromthemirror.
I'mcoldandI'myearning,
I'vetoldyouI'mburning,
myeyescan'tstandthelight…
likeastraydoginthenight
I'llshuffleoffalone.
Weallmakeourfutures
butIhavelostmine;
I'mhopingforamiracle
butfindingnosign…
Thestarsintheirconstellations,
eachonejustsadlyflickersandfalls…
withoutyoutheymeannothingatall.
Betrayed
WhenIbeganIwasfullofaltruisticdreams,
believedinprincesandprincesses,kingsandqueens—
nowIfindthey'reallhumaninside,
allbitternessandpride,
sowhyshouldn'tIbelikethattoo?
ItseemsthatI'veforgottenallItriedsohardtolearn;
itseemsthere'snotanounceofloveortrust
anywhereintheworld.
Friends—they'reallharbouringknives
toembedinyourbackoutofrevenge,orspite,
orindifference,orlackofotherthingstodo—
intheendjustwho'sgoingtobeafriendforyou
whentheykickyouinthegutsjustasyourhandholdsoutthepearl?
Itseemsthatthereisnothingleftbut
hatredandlustintheworld.
Idon'tgiveadamnanymore—I'veonlywoundupbetrayed.
It'sallbeenabsolutelyworthless—
alltheeffortsI'vemadetobegentleandkind
arerepaidwithcontempt,
degradedbysympathyandworthlesskindness
andlovethatisn'tmeant.
I'mthroughwithjoyandcompany,I'vedonewithprettywords,
betrayed—there'snohiding-place
anywhereintheworld.
I'venothinglefttofightforexceptmakingmypassionheard—
Idon'tbelieveinanything
anywhereintheworld.
(OnTuesdayssheusedtodo)Yoga
The late Tony Stratton-Smith once gave me a Lute; this is it's
only recorded appearance. Alt the bottom strings were tuned
identically…producing the dark low end sound. Lyrically, a spot of
self-deprecation's always a good thing. So's a bit of b/w guitar,
musically.
OnTuesdays,sheusedtodoyoga
whileI'dsitandwatchthebox
inavegetableway,
butalwaysreadytosay
tomyselfthatIwasanartist,
implyingthatshewasnot.
It'sfunnythewaythatself-pity
cantakeoverfromself-esteem—
well,Iwastheprinceofpride,
andthoughI'dcheatIneverlied,
asifthatwereenoughtomakeherhappy,
asifthatcouldsatisfyherdreams.
ToolatenowtosaythatI'msosorry,
toolatetosaythatIcanchangeandmend
thethingsthathurt.
Shedidn'tneedtoworry,
shealwaysknewI'dgetthereintheend.
NowI'mtyingmyselfupincontortions,
don'tknowifyogawilldomeanygood.
It'sabouttimeItried,
thoughI'dratherbeinsidefromthecold,
studyingtantra—
still,IneverdidthatwhenIcould.
Ineverdidthethingsthatreallymattered,
thereseemedtobesomekeyIcouldn'tfind
tounlockmyself;
Icouldhavedoneitwithherhelp,
butIwastoobusyscrabblingforeachmoment—
nowIdon'tknowwhatIdidwithallthetime.
SometimesI'dplaythewildrover,
sometimesI'djustgetsmashedallday…
onTuesdayssheusedtodoyoga,
onTuesdayshewentaway.
LostAndFound
Therhythmsection—GuyandNic—arrivedinmid-Walesjust
intimeforthesession,directfromPiraeus.Themiddlesectionisan
afterthought/afterintention to «La Rossa», the VdGG song: it was
originallyintendedasacodatothatversion.Betterforittobehere.
It ties in with the conceit of getting in a snatch of «Hi-heel
Sneakers».Youcanstillhearmeretuningtheover-hammeredguitar
inmid-riffdownattheend!
(Eventhewolfcanlearn,
eventhesheepcanturn,
eventhefrogbecomeatlasttheprince.)
Nomoreimaginedinsults
andnomorebloatedpride—
I'llseeyouatthewedding,
I'llseeyouontheotherside
andI'llholdmypeaceforever
butI'llholdmypassionmore…
I'llbeholdingthedoor
andwaitingfortheprincess—
IcouldsayI'mwaitingfortheworld
butwhenitcomesrightdowntoit
I'msimplywaitingforthegirl.
Onthroughtheringofchanges
I'llbeatmysideinasinglebound,
lostandfound…
lookingtobelostandfound.
LaRossaextendsherhands—
inthemorninglightthestigmatadon'tshow.
She'salreadyup,makingplans;
shethinksit'smaybetimeheoughttogo.
Andshe'sfriendlylikeit'saservice
butshe'sringingroundhishead
thoughheknowsshehasnofurtheruseforhim
stillhefeelslikehe'sraisedfromthedead.
Outtothecoldgreydaylight,neverevenwondering,ofcourse,
ifonemomentofperfectpassionisworthalifetimeofremorse.
Soit'snomoreemptypromises
andnomoreidlethreats;
nomore«ifonly»s
andnomore«andyet»s;
nomorewishesforthefuture,
nomoredenialsofthepast:
I'mfreeatlast,
I'minloveatlast.
I'mlostandfound…
(Putonyourreddress,baby.
'Causewe'regoingouttonight,
putonyourhigh-heeledsneakers,
Everything'sgoingtobealright?)
TheQuietZone,thePleasureDome(VdGG,1977)
LizardPlay
Frozenmoment,coldbloodtime:
theIguanaladyissayinggoodbye.
She'snotquiteready,shewantstostay,
shewantstobeperfect,butnotintheway.
Hetriestobecautious,onemorecigarette,
hewantstobeopen,butthetimeis
notyet.
Theytalkaboutpoetry,life-storiestoo;
hewantstoknowifshekeepsapetortwo.
She'sintolizards,she'sintosnakes,
he'sintotrauma—stillgottheshakes
fromaladywhoonlytalkeddogsandcats
makingloveinthealley—shethoughtlikethat…
Sohedoesn'tnoticehe'sfallingin
toachangeincolourofchameleonskin.
Andthesunbeatsdownonthebakingearth
inthelandwherethelizardsplay.
Andthetonguesflickout—thoughtheywanttotouch
allthewordsgetintheway.
Andit'syouandmeandit'sheandshe
andit'severythingIsay.
Frozenvision,deafanddumb:
stilltryingtoworkoutwhatI'vebecome.
Itriedtoreachyou,Itriedtoscore,
Ishottheboltontheopendoor…
thesecretreaction,basemetaltogold,
andallIfeltwasmybloodfroze…
Iwalkedonwater—Iwaswearingskis—
andnowthewatermustdanceonme.
Anyway,forallthat,willyoudancewithme?
willyoudancewithme?
Andthesunbeatsdownonthebakingearth
inthelandwherethelizardsplay.
Andtheyshedtheirskinsandatlastbegin
tofindcoloursfortheday.
Willyoudancewithme?
TheHabitoftheBrokenHeart
Oh,theSistersofBlindness
fromtheConventoftheBrokenHeart,
theywanttosmotheritwithkindness,
theywanttotearitallapart.
Andthere'sarockofsterilevirtu'
inthecentreofthebay…
I'msosorryhehurtyou,
butdon'tthrowyourselfaway.
Youonlywantedtohavesomefun,
youonlywantedtotryit;
youonlywantedtobesomeone,
buteverybodydeniesit.
Why'sitsohardtomakeyoulisten?
Don'tgoandchangeyourname…
learningtolosecanbe
thestartofwinningthegame.
You'resospecial,suchsadnessseemsashame.
Iknowthatyou'vegotaservicetocatch,
Iwouldn'twantyoutomissit,
butthere'ssomethingsomismatched,
somemotiveinexplicit…
isitthecalloftheConvent?
Youonlywantedtofindsomeone
orsomethingmorethanpleasure;
penitencefortheChosenOne
youcanindulgeatleisure—
bythelightofthesinkingsun,
don'tturnyourbackonthetreasure.
Whetherornotyouwanttofaceit,you'reabeautifulgirl
andyourlay-ladylaughterhasarighttobeheard;
butwhatcanIgiveyouifyou'vealreadygottheWord?
Don'tgo
don'tstart
don'ttakeon
theHabitoftheBrokenHeart
TheSirenSong
Lettersinpencil,someofthemasheavyaslead,
asdatedascarbon,asblackascoal,butburningasred.
Cluesfaintlystencilled:themessage,thoughleeched,isunbled,
assecretasmarble—asyoung,asold,asliving,asdead.
Andalwaysthatlaugh
thatcomesasthoughit'sfrompain:
thoughI'mlashedtothemast
stillithammersroundmybrain.
Laughterinthebackbone,
laughterimpossiblywise,
thatsamelaughterthatcomes
everytimeIflashonthatlookinyoureyes
whichwhispersofablackzone
which'llmockallmycredosaslies,
wherealllogicisdone
andtimewillsmasheverytheoryIdevise.
Andthehour-glassisshattered
onlybythemagicofyourtouch
wherenothingreallymatters…
No,Nothingmattersverymuch!
Sothesirensongrunsthroughtheages,
anditcoursesthroughmyveinslikechampagne;
andwithallthesweetkissesofaddiction
it'scallingmetobreakmybondsagain.
Futurememoryexplodinglikeshrapnel,
somesplintersescapeonmytongue,
someofthemscarcomprehension…
beneaththescabtheyburn,butthewoundbecomesnumb.
Andalwaysthesongdrawsmeforward,
rejoicinginthesearchandtheprayer,
boredwithallbutthemad,thestrange,
thefreak,theimpossibledare.
Stillyourlaughchillsmymarrow
tillIembraceitonmyknees…
Oh,whenthemastbecomesaflagpole,
whatbecomesofme?
Whatbecomes,oh,whatbecomesofme?
LastFrame
Prettykeen—yes,myhobbykeepsmebusy
andifItalktomyself,what'sthecrime?
InthedarkroomIamadealerinspaceandtime…
Whenallmemoryismellowed,
whenthephotographisyellowed,
stillitneverlies.
Thereyouare,youreyeslacedwithsecretpleasure,
sayingthatyou'reonthewaytochange,
devouringininordinatemeasure
everydiversionthat'sarranged.
Foreveryappetite,acruelattraction,
butthere'sapanicinyouractions…
oh,Ineversawyoulooksostrange.
Fixingmemorychemically,
holdingtimeonthestop-clock,
hangingbackfromthatlastframe
justincaseitdidn'tshowyou
inthewayIusedtoknowyou…
Ithoughtyou'dalwaysstaythesame.
(Butyouwon't.)
Oh,theredlight,thesilver,theblackandthebromide;
thesilence,thewaitingforoverview…
Thepastseemsunder-exposed,lowtide,
butstilltheimagesghostthrough.
Andyou'rethereinthebath,
whichisallthishasledto,
andIcan'tsayyourpath
isarightonetochoose…
ButthenIonlyhaveanegativeofyou.
TheWave
Thewavehitsthebeach,writingwordsonthesand;
totheacademicman,thiscouldbetheanswer…
Infact,it'snomorethanahunch.
Stillwetrytoeatit—
Ithinkwe'reallprettyouttolunch.
Thewaveisoutofreach,
trailingwordsfromthehand
onlyaircanunderstand.
Semaphoreontheshoreline,
waitingfordistancetorecede,unhappilyimperfect
whenweshouldbehappyjusttobreathe.
Butwitheachbatedbreath,
sopresent,tense,
wewanttoknow,
wewantitsure,
itdon'tmakesense!
SoI'lldomineandyoudoyours
butlet'snottradesandandsea
forbrickandcement.
Thewavehitsthebeach,lapsaroundabandonedclothes,
wantstoshareajokewiththosewho'llbravethebreakers,
who'llbreakbreadratherthanpray
whilethedefinition-maker's
lostinthesmallprintoftheday.
Thewordsareonlypictures
thatthenextwavewipesaway.
Cat'sEye/YellowFever(Running)
Iwaswalkingintheevening,
Iwaslookingforsomethinggood,clean,
fine,pure,straight,butinsteadIfound
thebunkerwallandgate.
Itwasopen:Iwasfree.Igave
atokenguarantee,thoughIlaterknewI
hadpromisedmore,withanI.O.U.Icould
scarcelyscoremyway…butIherald
Apocalypseanyway!
(Iwasaprimebelieverinthefaithof«I»—
yellowfeverinthecat'seye.)
Andit'severythingyouwant/
own/love/hate/touch/dream/trust.
Andit'severythingyouneed.
Igotaheartlikearocket,Iwasoutofcontrol,
I'dcleanedoutmypocketsforsomelucktoshow…
Reallylookinglikeahopelesscase,Ifoundit
inmyhand,itwastheAngryAce.
Hewantstotalktome,oneonone,hewantsto
givemehisprofessionalopinion…but
I'mrunning,Ijustcan'twait,Ihaven't
gotamomenttoanticipate;
yes,I'mrunning,Ijustcan'tstop,I'vegottoget
tothebottomjusttogettothetop,I've
gotthedarkalleysandtheopenskies—
Igottheyellowfeverfromthecat'seye.
I'llletyouknowhowitgoesintheninthlife.
TheSphinxintheFace
Irememberwhatitfeltlikeatseventeen:
Iwasacat,asnake,alizard,amouse…
stillgotaninterestinthelimousine
andaspouseandabrat,
countryhouse,Londonflat.
I'mgonnaheadfortheislandwhenthesummer'sout,
I'mgonnadoallthestuffthatIcan,
drinklikeafishinawaterspout—
I'mafanoftheflow,
itbeganlongago,
I'mamanwhoshouldknow
itdoesn'tstop.
There'ssomuchtoremember,
somuchtoforget:
we'reallinthepossessionofthefuturetense,
butdon'tknowityet.
Thefleshcomesthroughthespirit,
thespiritthroughtheflesh…
welooktheSphinxinthefaceforanswers
and,ofcourse,we'rereallynotimpressed.
We'recaughtbetweenageandbeauty,
experienceandyouth,
sowefeeltheneedacutely
foranykindofTruth.
Oh,butwegetcoppedsomedays,
caughtbetweenoptionswe'vefailedtoplay,
suchwastedchance.
SoIjointhewastrel'sdance:
ithasslowaswellasfastmovements,
andanychangemustbeanimprovement
onsimplyfossilising,standingstill.
IgotasteadyvocationfortheQuietZone,
Ijustcan'twaitforthesongtobesung,
I'mstillpossessedbythepromiseofthePleasureDome
You'resoyoung,
soold,suchadragtobetold.
Youresohere,sogone,
sonear,sowrong,soqueer,sostrong,so…
Suchadragtobetold…
ChemicalWorld
«Wellwhat'stheharm?It'sgoodcleanfun…
whydon'tyoujustgoonandhaveanotherone?
Whenthere'shanky-pankyintheboardroom,
wooly-bullyonthefarm,what'stheharm?
It'squiteallright—Imeantosay,tomorrow'sjustanotherday…»
Oh,butinthemorning,
butinthemorninglight
willyoustillfeelasfine,
willyoustillneedtotradedayfornight?
Inthecountryoftheblind,theone-eyedmanisking;
inthecountryofthesheep,theycallhimCyclops.
Andthequalityofmindissuchatenuousthing
thathereyouneeditlikeablindmanneedseyedrops.
Getoutofthatbackroom,
thisvacuum,itattractsyou,butinfact
youdon'tknowquitewhatitis;
you'rebeingsappedofeverything
youoncevaluedsohighly…
Willyoustillfeelasstrong,
willyoustilllongforweaknesstocome?
It'saChemicalWorld…
notacandidateeverfails;
thoughyousearchfortheHolyGrail
you'renotgoingtofindit
intheChemicalWorld.
Asleepertrain…youcan'tescape;
fastovernight…theticker-tape.
Ohbutinthemorning,
butinthemorninghaze
willthemarkethaveturned,
willtherebenomoredayslefttotrade?
It'stheChemicalWorld
andfromthemomentthatit'sembraced
it'stheChemicalWorld
allthediamondsturntopaste
intheChemicalWorld…
Yeah,youthinkyou'lllooksopretty—
it'sgonnablowupinyourface.
«It'sjustthetime,soslowtopass.
It'sjustthedrug…itdoesn'tlast…»
Vital(VdGG,1978)
ShipOfFools
Thecaptain'sinacoma,thelieutenant'sonadrunk,
theowner'sinhiscabinwithhisspecialfriend,themonk,
themidget'sonthebridge,dispensingplatitudesandjunk…
Thosewildandspecialplaces,
thosestrangeanddangerousplaces,
thosesad,sweetfaces,
it'saShipofFools.
Thenurseinblackseamedstockings,she'salreadyonpatrol
forfakefurstarletspanickedbythewatering-hole;
everybody'swaitingforthedramatounfold
inthosecoldandtreasuredplaces,
thoseoldanddegenerateplaces…
thoseposed,posed,emptyfaces
it'saShipofFools.
Run,rabbit,run,
you'retheonlyonethatcandoit;
turn,baby,turn,there'saringoffire
andyou'vegottogothroughit.
Fun,baby,fun,
whenthesandshaveruntothelimit
turn,baby,turn,there'saringoffire
andyou'reinit.
Lookingforlogicandadventuredownthedarkendofthestreet,
opencity,openseason,openlipsthatgleamsosweet
offerkisseslikepiranhastothesoftfleshofyourfeet
andanyman'spoisoniseveryman'smeat
inthosemadandspecialplaces,
thosesadanddesparateplaces,
thosesad,sweetsoulembraces,
it'saShipofFools.
Thosestrangeandspecialplaces
thosewildanddangerousplaces,
thosedead,dead,deadfaces…
it'saShipofFools;
norules.
Sci-Finance
Yougotsomesharesinaspeculativeventure,
yougotsomestockinagilt-edgedbond,
youstretchedouttightbythetermsofdebenture,
thegameison…
Youchasethebullsineternalcorrida,
thethoughtoflossismorethanyoucanbear,
youscantheindexforamarketleader,
atipandaprayer.
Youbetterseedaylight:
nightcomesontheCitysosoon.
Yousayyouareachristiancapitalist,
butyoudancetoadifferenttune.
Jobsfortheboysanddolefortheshop-floor;
rationalize,striptheassetsandrun.
Ifthecontractstalls,
thenyou'vejustgottocopmore,
ain'tMonopolyfun?
Youmadesomeprettydealsalongtheway,
JudasandFaustareinaccord.
Whentherevolutioncomesyoumaybeblownaway,
butIbetyou'llendupontheboard…
Onlythemoney.
Onlythemoney.
Sometimeinthefutureyoumayrealisethattheday
youmadeyourdecisiontofollowmoneyasagoal
wasyoudarkestdawnandthat,sincethen,youhave
veneratedfiguresasdeitiesand,foryou,
peoplearejustpawns.
Butthatdealincludesyou:
you'rejustanassetliketherest
andyou,too,strippednaked,
begtheMoney-Godnottoputyoutothetest.
He'sgotnofurtheruseforyou.
Now,thereissilenceonthefloor.
Clevermoney-computerschatterprivately.
Nopeopleanymore.
Onlythemoney.
Door
He'sablindman,crouchingbythepavement,
onlyseeingwithhisthirdeye
andclutchingattheastralshadow
ofeverypasser-by.
He'sawiseman,trumpingalltheanswers;
she'sawildgirl,tryingtokeephisfeetonthefloor
inwhisperedphysicallitanies:
«Stayawayfromthedoor.»
«Oh,butwe'reallinthistogether,»hesays,
«three-leggedraceacrossthefloor;
ifonlyyou'dloosenthehandkerchief
thenI'dforgetaboutthedoor.»
«Ooh,thatfeelssomuchbetter,»hesays,
«nowyouforgeteverythingthatI'vesaidbefore
andsitthereallbyyourself
whileIwalkthroughthedoor.»
They'reablindmancrouchingbythepavement,
onlyseeingwithhisthirdeye,
andclutchingattheastralshadow
ofthedoorofaroom
called'I'.
Urban
Sometimeslivingforthemoment,
sometimesgoingwiththeflow,
sometimesprofessingtobeanexponent
ofthequietlife
whilenightlifesurroundsme
Isitandgocrazyalone.
Toomanypeopleandtoolittleaction
toomuchexterioracting,toolittleinside…
yetIstillfeelthatmanicattraction.
I'velivedinthecityformostofmylife
andsupposeI'llbetherewhenIdie,
stillgoingthroughthesameoldmotions
stillqualifyingeverythingIsay,
respondingurbanelytoeveryemotion.
Thecitylifefreaksme,
thecitylifefeedsme,
thecitylifeblowsmeaway.
TheFutureNow(1978)
PushingThirty
Seemsthefashion'sforone-linersthesedays,
thekindthatgetupeveryone'snose,
somuchback-slappingthatthevertabrae
arefatallyexposed…
Me,I'mpushingthirty,pullingsixteen,
thoughmuchofwhat'saroundmeisdead.
TheygotsoshirtywhenItriedtoglean
themeaningfromwhatthey'dsaid:
«Ifyouwannabeaviableartistwhenyou'retwenty-five
you'dbetterbeameat-headbythetimeyou'retwenty-one.»
ButnowI'mpushingthirtyandI'mstillalive,
sotellmewho,tellmewhohaswon?
Seethesurvivorsintheupcomingacts,
theyandthemogulsmakearegularkilling—
otherstakeitlyingontheirbacks,
youngbloodisalwayssowilling.
Me,I'mpushingthirty,that'sthewayitis,
toolatetochangemymind.
Theyplayitdirtyintherecordbiz
andyou'vegottotoetheline.
IfyouwannabeanA&Rmanwhenthesinging'sdone
you'dbettermakesurethatyouhedgeyourbets.
Me,I'mpushingthirtyandstillhavingfun,
Ihaven'tstopped,haven'tstoppedthatyet!
Allthewriterswatcheachotherforthewaytogo,
followeachotherlikelemmings—
swearthey'reallwaitingforNickyLowe
toturnoutlikeDavidHemmings…
Me,I'mpushingthirtyandthesteadyzone,
perhapsIshouldretire,
butevenifitalldesertsmeandI'mleftalone
IstillknowthatI'mfuelledbyfire.
Inthisrubbishworldyou'vegottokeepthatunderthelid,
'costheyallhopeit'lldisappear…
buteventhoughI'mpushingthirty,
maybeontheskids,
Istillcanbe,Istillcanbe
Nadir!
TheSecondHand
Seetheoldmanactinglikeafool,
runningfromtheambulance.
Whenhewasayoungsterhebrokealltherules—
nowhesaysthatwasjustaccident.
Alwayshadthefeelinghewasgoingtodieyoung,
sonowhefeelsrepentant;
butthejudgewasprogressiveandthejurywashung,
hegotasuspendedsentence.
Soheranfromthefuture,heranfromthepast,
heranfromthedesertofthehour-glass
buttheseaoftimeisarisingflood
andhe'sswampedbythewave.
Hisarmsgolimpbyhisside,
heonlycamefortheride,
hethoughthe'dholdbackthetide,
Canute.
Oneeyeonthemainchanceandoneeyeontheclock,
oh,whendidhisbraingo?
Andwhendoesaveterangettobeacrock…
nogoldattheendofthisrainbow!
Healwaysboxedcleverwithhisshadowyhopes
butnowhe'sintroublewithhisbackontheropes
andthehandsoftimearebunchedintofists:
he'soutforthecount.
Theswordhassunkinthelake
andnowhe'swatchingdawnbreak
andnowhewaitsforthestake,
Drakul.
Thisboy'safool,
thisfool'saman,
allmenareruled
bythesecondhand.
Trappings
Hecouldhavebeensogreat,hecouldhavehaditall,
hehaditonaplate,buthethrewitatthewall.
Andhecan'tknowwhy,buthestillsaid«yes»
totheeasylieandthepoisonedvest…
thetrappingsofsuccess.
Theyofferedhimthedeal(Here'sthecontract)
justlikeanautograph(signontheline)
noneedtothinkorfeel(advancesareabstract)
ordoanythingbutlaugh(thefuturedefined.)
He'sinpossession,yeshe'spossessed;
theyhadnofear,hewassoimpressed
bythetrappingsofsuccess.
You'llseehimdowntheclubsoratthepremiere
(it'sjustanothermovie,it'sjustanotheract)
stumminginapub,everywherethat'sanywhere…
(he'samanofthepeople,justaslongasthepeople
don'ttalkback)
ontheRioshoreortheRomeexpress
withaChinesewhoreoraGreekprincess…
thesearethetrappingsofsuccess.
Buthe'sgotnohomeandhe'sgotnofriends
andthehumanmassrepelhim.
Nowhe'sonhisownandcan'tcomprehend
didheselloutorwashecelledin?
(He'saprisonerinagildedcage.
He'saprisoner…he'salltherage.)
He'swaitingforhisplaneandhisfirst-classseat;
they'veblownouthisbrainswithstickykiddies'sweets;
thelimo,thecoke,thecelebrityguest-list,
thetoadyjokesandthegutterpress…
thetrappingsofsuccess,
thesearethetrappingsofsuccess.
Thetrappingsofsuccess,
thetrapoffame;
(in)thetrap…biggame.
TheMousetrap(CaughtIn)
Afterallissaidanddone,notverymuchwillhavebeeneitherway:
I'machroniclerofaction,I'manactorintheplay.
IknowthelinesIhavetospeak,
IknowthatIwon'teverquit,corpse,ordry,
buttheperformancegetssopointless
andthedaysjustdriftonby.
EverytimethatIgototurnthepagesofthecalendar
inthethirdactofthistwenty-ninthyearoftheshow
I'mawareofthelatestleadingladyandgetmadather…
it'sperfunctory,butwhyshe'llneverknow.
WhenIbeganIhadmyhopes,
believedthatIcouldbealeadinglightofthestage,
butnowI'vestunnedmyselftosilence,
exhaustedallmyinnerrage,
extinguishedallmyjoyandviolence,
trappedallmyfeelingsinacage.
EverytimethatIgototurnthepagesofthecalendar
IcanseethatI'mnotreallygoinganywhere;
alltheseyearsIhaveskirtedroundexperiencelikeascavenger.
CanIreallyfeel?IwonderifIdare?
Attheendoftherun,willtherebeanyonewhocares?
Andbehindtheactor'spose,heavenknows
ifthere'sanyoneleftinthere.
EnergyVampires
Ah, that faithful old 3 3/4 ips Revox echo! This track was
originallytenminuteslong,butwasreducedbydrasticeditingofthe
multitrack tape…cut and live with it! Recorded in mid-winter in a
rentedhousewherethecentralheatingsentclicksalloverthetape;
soIhad.toturnitoffandworkswathedinsweaters.Ishouldpoint
outthattheEVisaspecifictype,ratherthanyer«averagefan»—
whoeverthatmightbe.
Hunchedinthecornerofthedressing-room,
tryingtogetbacktothereal…
Uh-oh,heretheycome,readyfortheirmeal:
EnergyVampires,crawlingoutofthewall,
theywanttostealmyvitality,
theywanttodrinkitall.
Thisguysaysthathewroteallmysongs,
thisgirlsaysshe'shadmybaby—
me,Idon'tknowthemfromAdamandEve,
sometimesIreallybelieveI'mgoingcrazy.
«ExcusemewhileIsuckyourblood,
excusemewhenIphoneyou,
I'vegoteveryoneofyourrecords,man,
doesn'tthatmeanIownyou?»
Oh,sure,Ilongagodecidedtomakemyselfanexponent
ofpublicpossessionintheprivateobsessionzone.
ButnowI'mserious,let'sbeserious,I'mnotsellingyoumysoul,
trytoputitintherecordsbutI'vegottokeepmylifemyown.
OnethingI'venotgotalotofistime
andit'sslippingaway…
I'vegotalifetolivetoo.
IfICould
Youmustbecrazytostayhere,
andI'llbecrazywhenyougo;
thoughthere'ssomuchIwanttotellyou
allthewordscomeouttooslow.
I'vebeenlockedinmyproblems,
youseemedpreparedtowait…
nowthatIknowI'mgoingtoloseyou
allthewordscomeouttoolate.
There'snopromiseIcangiveyouthatyouwouldn'tknowwasfake;
thoughIjustwanttobewithyou,there'snoshowthatIcanmake.
Andinthemorning,whenIwakeandfindyoudressing
Icantellthatit'sonyourmindtogoforgood;
IknowthatallthistimeI'vekeptyouguessing,
butI'dtellyouifIcould.
IfInowsaidthatIlovedyou
howwouldthatseeminyoureyes?
Oh,maymyvoicefallintosilence
ifmywordsturnouttobelies.
Inevermeanttohurtyou,
eventhoughthat'swhatIdo—
eventhoughyoumightnotbelievethis
allmywordsweremeantforyou.
There'snopromiseIcangiveyouthatyouwouldn'tknowwasfake;
thoughIjustwanttobewithyou,there'snoshowthatIcanmake.
Andintheevening,whenwesitandwatchtheTV
Iknowthatthissilencejustwon'tdomeanygood
andIwanttobegyou,begyou,begyoutobelieveme…
I'dtellyouifIcould,
I'dtellyouifIcould.
TheFutureNow
Hereweare,staticinthelatterhalf
ofthetwentiethcentury
butitmightaswellbetheMiddleAges,
there'llhavetobesomechanges
buthowthey'llcomeaboutfoxesme.
Iwantthefuturenow,
Iwanttoholditinmyhands;
allmenequalandunbowed,
Iwantthepromisedland.
butthatdoesn'tseemtogetanycloser,
andMoseshashadhisday…
thetabletsoflawareanadvertisingposter,
civilizationheretostay
andthisisprogress?
Youmustbejoking!
Me,I'mlookingforanykindofhope.
Iwantthefuturenow,
Iwanttoseeitonthescreen,
Iwanttobreakthebounds
thatmakeourlivessomean.
Oh,blind,blinded,blindinghatred
ofrace,sex,religion,colour,countryandcreed,
thesescreamfromthepagesofeverythingIread.
Youjustbringmeoppressionandtorture,
apartheid,corruptionandplague;
youjustbringmetherapeoftheplanet
andjokeworldrightsattheHague.
Oh,somedaytheMillennium!
Buthowfarissomedayaway?
Iwantthefuturenow
I'myoung,andit'smyright.
Iwantareasontobeproud.
Iwanttoseethelight.
Iwantthefuturenow,
Iwanttoseeitonthescreen,
Iwanttobreakthebounds:
makelifeworthmorethandreams.
StillInTheDark
Oh,brighterthanathousandsuns,
themarchtowardsthestars
onthewheel,onthecar,
offtheplane,offtheplanet
andoninthesearch.
Yes,weprayinthedarkintheSciences'church.
Uponthetreeofknowledge
thefruitisbitter-sweet;
tothemaninthestreet
allitsmyriadbenefitsScienceconfers
butwe'restillinthedark,muchaswealwayswere.
RunyourminddowntheSciences;
noneofthemlayclaimtoshowmorethanapart
butstillweshoutoutwhatweknow
thesilenceisenoughtobreakthemortalheart.
Sobowdowninadorationtothewonderthatisman;
wehavelearnedallwecan,
weexploreeveryfrontierthatstraddlesourway
butwe'restillinthedark,thoughwenowcallitday.
No,thereisnoanswer,
thereisnoeternalproof,
thereisnotimelesstruth;
thoughwelearntoencompassyetmorewiththeeye
wearestillinthedarkwhenitcomestothewhy.
Wearestillinthedark,
beddeddown
andsowestilllie.
Mediaevil
Godlivesinthecathedral,
orsothearchbishopstates,
allfealtytotheChurch,
allpowertothestate!
Goldkeystothecathedral,
theygowiththebishop'scowl;
helivesaspirituallifeofmaterialwealth.
Arethingssoverydifferentnow?
Ohyeah
ohnow:
saveyourprayersforthefuture.
Sayyourprayersforthefuture.
Oh,God'sgonefromthecathedral,
adifferentpowernowholdssway,
wecanpackthemupinthehistorybooks
buttheMiddleAgeswon'tgoaway.
AndtheanswertoourprayersisaValiumbythebedside,
nowwefollowthepunditsonTV,
nowweputourfaithinScienceandprogress
andonlyhavesexuponourknees.
Andthosewhoarestrangearestilllockedinasylums
andasterilePopeproscribesthePill
andthosewhoarericharestillgettingricher
andthosewhoarepoorstillfootthebill.
AndGodlivesinundergroundsilos,
hangingonforJudgementday;
ifwedon'topenoureyesprettysoon
thentheDarkAges'llbeheretostay.
AMotor-bikeInAfrika
Amotor-bikeinAfrica,
he'sridingthewhiteline,
obliviousofsnakesstretchedout
acrossthewayliketrip-wire,
shouting
«Theroadismine!»
Tracingthelineoftheskeletoncoast,
ghostridersfromtheSud-West:
theoriginalangelsofdeaththeyseem,
sixmotor-bikesabreast.
Ridingthroughtheoppressivenight,
nowonlythehardestremain.
Lookatthescarsofthetyre-tracks,
looktothebodiesbehindtheirbacks,
lookatthebastardsbray
inAfricatoday.
ThebodiesofBikoandSowetopoor,
theChristianmessageofDutchReform,
thesoundofthemonster,themotor-bikeroar,
thehateintheeyesoftheuniformedBoer,
theheadandthebucket,thebootandthefloor…
racialtortureandracialwar
inAfricatoday.
ComeinRhodesia,SouthAfrica,yourtimeisup…
noprotectiononamotor-bike;
soonerorlaterthenormaltraffic'sgonnagetyou.
TheCut
Everythingoutoforder
everythingtoowellproduced
fromtheconjuror'shat—
let'sturnonthejuice
togrindthecuttingplane,thebladethatgivesanedge,
toscalethemountain;tofailuponthemountainledge.
Half-wayupishalf-waypeaking
thestroboscopelocksthelathe;
Ilookaroundforaswitchinphase…
thediscoboomstandsfirm,theeight-track'sin,therage
licksthepresent,quicklyflipsthefuturepage.
Checkthedeck:nomarkedcards,
nosequentialledstraightorflush…
thedicewon'tstilltheblood-linerush.
Runthestar-floodnight,thecut-throatbladeisstropped;
raceyourshadow…raceincaseyourshadowstops.
Everythingsooutoforder
nobiasontheplaybackhead;
papersfortheborder—allthetapeisread,
thefutureburnsmytongue,thenoise-gatesallareshut,
breathethevacuum,believethere'sreasoninthecut.
Incipientwhitenoise,
thestylusbarelytracks,
theaircontrollersfeedthestereosonicsmack.
Palinurus(Castaway)
Oh,I'mlookingforawhitenote
toconsolidatethekey,
likethepilotofanightboat
inastrange,unchartedsea:Palinurus,
asunsureashecanbeofhisdirection…
hell,thissection'sallGreektome.
There'ssomuchIhadtomention
butitseemstoslipmymind;
still,Iswearthatmyintentions
neverleftmyhopesbehind
likethecaptainwho'sbeentrapped
intheblindeyeofthewhirlwind…
soheturnsinsearchofthedivine.
I'vegotnoanswerseither,
I'vegotsomestoriesonluckydays…
thesea-lanesarecrowdedwithpeoplelikeus:
Castaways.
Fromsopranothroughtobasso
myvoicesostrainstotell,
butI'mlostintheSargasso
ofideasthatdidn'tgelbyafraction,
sotheactionisdispelled.
Me,I'vegotdullreactions,protractionofdoubtaswell,
soit'snomoreabidewithme,
overthesidewithme…
well,Iknowthatdamnwell…
Oh,thishump-backofemotion,
itallseemstogosofast:
onemomentprinceoftheocean
andthenextupontheraft.
pH7(1979)
MyFavourite
InmytimeI'vetoldalieortwo,
I'vebeenadeceiver,butbelieveme
whatInowsayistrue.
There'snootherway
IcanexpresswhatI'mthinkingof:
You'remyfavourite,you'retheonethatIlove.
It'saone-horserace,
stillI'mreadytoplacemybet.
I'maprettyslowstarter,
andIhaven'tquitecaughtupwithityet.
Itseemssoextraordinary
thatyoushouldcareforme.
You'remyfavourite—howluckycananymanbe?
You'remyfavourite—
willyoustaythecoursewithme?
You'remyfavouriteofalltime.
You'remyfavourite,can'tyousee?
You'remyfavouriteofalltime.
Sayyou'llstaythecoursewithme.
Careering(Don'tAskMe)
Idon'tknow,can'tyousee
I'mjustpassingthrough,fastasyou—
don'taskme.
Careeringoutofcontrol
disappearingdowntheblackhole,
careering—thewhiteman'ssoul
standsstarknakedinthefloodlightglare,
standsstarkravingonthestrap.
I'vehadthefeelingthatI'vebeenthere
butIcan'tquitebelieveit.
Idon'tknow,can'tyousee
I'mjustpassingthrough,fastasyou
sodon'taskme.
Careering,simplydaytoday,
engineeringeverythingIsay,
careeringfortheworkandthepay.
I'mjustapassengerpassingthrough,
I'mjustanaveragechap.
IfIsaidIhadn'tgotaclue
there'dstillcomethequestions.
Idon'tknow,can'tyousee
I'mjustanothercaseofwastedspace
sodon'taskme.
Careering,myapprenticeship
nonearerthanmypensionslip;
careeringdowntheCrestaRun,
Iscrewitupjustlikeanyone;
careering—pointlessanyway
todoitjustfortheworkandthepay.
Lookhere:Idon'tknow,can'tyousee
I'msoneartheend,getitstraight,friend—
don'taskme,don'taskme,don'taskme.
PortonDown
Won'thearasoundatPortonDown,
theclearliquidskeeptheirsilence,
buriedundergroundatPortonDown
thefastformofthefinalviolence.
Quiterighttobeworriedabouttheproliferation
ofnuclearbombsandpowerstations,
butthere'sadeterrentthat'sgoingto
unearthusyet…
HurryonroundaboutPortonDown,
aquickglimpseofthefuturewarfare
hiddenundergroundatPortonDown;
fartoofrighteningtoutterwhatyousawthere.
Theygotbacteriatodropuswherewestand,
theygotdiseasesstillunknowntoman,
theygotthevirusandamicrogram'senough
todoinacontinent.
Theultimatemadness,
justoneshatteredtest-tubetowipeouttheworld.
Itbeginswiththemustardgas,
itproceedstoHiroshima.
Theculturemoveson—
nowit'sbacterial,trulyinsane.
PortonDownwaitstofeverthebrain.
Won'thearasoundatPortonDown,
theclearliquidskeeptheirsilence
buriedundergroundatPortonDown,
thefastformofthefinalviolence.
HurryonroundaboutPortonDown
aquickglimpseofthefuturewarfare,
hiddenundergroundatPortonDown,
fartoofrighteningtosaywhatyousawthere.
NosoundatPortonDown,
fromPortonDown,
afterPortonDown.
MirrorImages
IfI'mthemirrorandyou'retheimage
thenwhat'sthesecretbetweenthetwo,
these«me»sand«you»s,howmanycantherebe?
Oh,Idon'tmindallthataroundtheplace,
aslongasyoukeepit
wellawayfromme.
I'vebeguntoregretthatweevermet
betweenthedimensions.
Itgetssuchastraintopretendthatthechange
isanythingbutcheap;
withyourinfantpiqueandyourangstpretensions
sometimesyouactlikesuchacreep.
AndnowI'mstandinginthecorner,
lookingattheroomandthefurniture
incheapimitationofalienationandgrief.
Andnowwe'regoingtothekitchen,
fixourselvesadrinkandacigarette,
gettingnoclosertobeingthejokerorthief.
Still,Ireflect,thisnervouswreck
whostandsbeforemecanseeaswell,
cansurelytellthathe'snotyetfree;
hecanturnaside,butcannomoreignoreme
thanknowwhichoneofusishe,
thantellwhatwearegoingtobe,
thanknowwhichoneofusisme.
Andnowwe'regoingtothekitchen,
fixourselvesadrinkandacigarette,
gettingnoclosertobeingthejokerorthief.
Thesemirrorimages,
thesemirrorimages
won'tstay,goaway,arenohelp.
Inthesemirrorimagesofmyself
therearenosecrets.
HandicapandEquality
Allmenarebornequalatthemomenttheyarrive:
checkthelimbsandsenseswerequiretosurvive.
Butsomecomedeafanddumbandblinded,
somehavedamagetotheirbrains;
parentsconstantlyremindedthatthey'llneverplay
thenormalchildren'sgames.
Theymaynotbenormal,
butthey'repeoplejustthesame.
IfChristhadbeenborndefective
tofulfiltheFather'splan
wouldhebeaseasilyaccepted
asGodmademan
ordoesthehumanvaluealter
inthecrippledhumanframe?
Thoughthetongueandfingersfalter
mustweshutthemoutandshutthemup,
andshutthecaseandwhisper«suchashame».
That'showweshutthemaway.
Mostofusarelucky,freefromaccidentsatbirth
buttheirvictimsshareourright
totheinheritanceofearth.
Foralltheirgrunts,theirstumps,
theirtumours,theireternalwheelchairs,
we'rethefreaks,we'retheinhumans,
ifwecloseoureyesandturnaside,pretend
thatifwedothey'llnotbethere…
They'vegottofaceit,sowe'vegottofaceit.
Stillthey'vegottolivewithit
inaworldwesupposedlyshare.
NotForKeith
In a general sense this song is all-too-uncomfortably modern.
Keith was Keith Ellis, the original Van der Graaf bass player.
OtherwiseIthinkthesongitselfsaysallthatisnotprivate.
InGermany,hisdaysfinallycaughthim;
Iwon'tinsulthismemorywithlong-distancegrief.
Tearsandwakesweren'thisstyle:
nothim,
notforKeith.
He'dhavelaughedinmyface
ifhesawitgetmournful,
he'dpullmeupshortandsay«Lifecarrieson»
inthatgentlewayofbeingcruellyscornful…
nowhe'sgone.
«Iwanttoseeitall,andeatit»
wasasclosetoethosashecame;
thoughheknewhecouldn'tbeatit,
henevergaveofhimselfanythinglessthanbest
inthegame.
Oh,oneforthegame…
Ineverdidsay,Ineverquitefoundtime—
hetaughtmealot,andIcarryitstill.
Neverthankedhimatallforhisfriendship
andnowIneverwill.
Thediarieswewritearethosethatwecravefor,
weneverputtheP.S.atthefootofthefinalpage.
Hedeservedmoretime,butheneverwasmade
formiddleage,
notformiddleage.
NotforKeith.
TheOldSchoolTie
Ohthebrightyoungmenintheirtight-buttonedsuits:
thelightbeamsoutfromcappedsmilestotheshines
ontheirlick-spittlebooks.
Ohthesesharpyoungsparkswiththeirfreshrosettes—
yeh,theartfulwaythattheypromisetheearth
toallsuffragettes.
Whattheywon'tpromisewedon'tknowyet.
Theysaythey'rebuild—andshapingsociety
butweknowthey'rejustsavingfortheirown
safehomeinpolitics.
Anythinggoes:lookatthemrun.
Comefromeveryside,nosesPinocchioclean;
lockinsynchromesh,oilthewheelsandthegears
ofthepartymachine
andthefinalgoalisacabinetseat…
inthetrappingsofpower,thepresumptiontospeak
forthemaninthestreet.
Oncetheymovein,they'reinforgood;
yeh,oncetheygetthatbedmade
it'sasafehomeinpolitics.
Jobsfortheboys:lookatthemrun.
There'sjustonethingnoneofusshouldforget:
apoliticalmanisjustinitforthepower
andthesmellofsucess.
Sure,somestartoutasidealists—
prettysoontheyallcopforidealcareers
andasafehomeinpolitics,
acushyjobinpolitics;
lookatthemrun.
Thepoliticiansfightitoutontheconningtower
buttheyallagreenottorocktheboat..
Asafehomeinpolitics
It'sbuiltonyourvote.
TimeForAChange
Timeforachange:
Ifeltbad,thingslookedstrange.
Home,homeontherange…
yes,it'stimeforachange.
«Well,youngman,whenyougrowup
whatdoyouwanttobe?»
«Please,sir,ifthat'salright
I'dreallyratherliketolearnhowtobeme.»
Switchonthelight,
gettinglate,almostnight.
Ashillingputsyouright,
youcanswitchoffthenight.
Theworldwaslookingstretchedandtight,
it'sanoverblownballoon.
I'vegotthefeelingsomethingbig
hasgottohappensoon.
Oh,timeforachange,
outofreach,outofrange.
GoandtellDoctorStrange
thatit'stimeforachange.
(ChrisJudgeSmith)
ImperialWalls
Strangetobehold
isthestoneofthiswall
brokenbyfate.
Thestrongholdsarebursten
theworkofgiantsdecaying
theroofsarefallen
thetowersaretottering
moulderingpalacesroofless
weather-markedmasonryshattering
Shelterstime-scarred
tempest—marred
underminedofold.
Earth'sgraspholdeth
itsmightybuilders
tumbled,crumbled,
ingravel'sharshgrip
tillahundredgenerations
ofmenpassaway.
(Anonymous8thcenturySaxon)
Mr.X(GetsTense)
Thecurrentaffairgetstobemybusiness,
Iheardthenewsontheradio:
thesunonearth…whatisthis?
Isthatthewaythatthecrazygoes?
Attentiontunedtothesatellites,
lookingdownforanoverview.
Inthechapelofspaceweareacolytes.
Inthebattleoftimewe'reallsoldierstoo
andtherelativechoirpushtheenergyhigher
Underfire.
Theslidingshowinthemacroscopic,
fingeronthebuttonpointingtoprogress.
Theapparatusroll,no-oneherecanstopit,
toobusylearningmore—alwaysknowingless.
Soonturkey-wrappedinthespacemanblanket
we'llofferuplameduckapologies
andsettledownforthefinalbanquet,
thegourmetdishoftechnology…
cryogenicdevicecatchesallhumanlife
underice.
Thecurrentaffairgetstobeallourbusinness,
it'sfilteredinthroughtheT.V.screen.
Thenorm,theaverage…whatisthis,
whenitgoesblankwhatdoesthatallmean?
Andwhat'sthedriveofeachindividual?
Andwhat'sthewaythatthestoryends?
IsitMr.X,leftasthelastresidual
holderoftheflame,conscienceofallmen?
Buthe'ssotensetoexpire
hethrowshimselfonthewire
underfire.
Isthisthewaytheworldends?
Underice,underfire?
Hastherebeensomemistakendesign?
Underice
gottofindthehumanvoice.
Lord,deliverusfromBabel.
FacultyX
Hopebyandby,hopebyandby—
motesintheeye,portcullisisshut…
askullisn'tmuch
ofacastletolivein
whenthechangeisgoingtocome,
thechangehasgottocome.
Explosionsinthebrainattesttoit.
evolutiondownthedrain—letalltherestdoit.
Ohyeah,theonlyresult
iscumulativedrek.
Itwon'tbethedrug,
itwon'tbethesex,
it'sgottobetheFacultyX
Lookingforamethod,Iplayastraightbat,
throwawaythechancestoslip.
Yeah,youtalkabouttheaverage—
Idon'tcareaboutthat
andmywordsareonlygivingmelip
WhenIknowthatthechangehasgottocome,
orwhatamIlivingfor?OrwhyamIhere?
I'mrunning,Igiveinmore,
farawayfromthenear.
Gometa-physicalworld,
hesignthatprotects
Itwasn'tthelast,
itwon'tbethenext,
it'sFacultyX.
Readingseers,sages,prophets,
obscurantisttracts,
drainingtheelixirtothedregs;
activeyeastinthebottomisontheattack
anditleavesmewithoutanylegstostandon.
StillIhopethatthechangewillcome
MeanwhileIdon'tknow,
IthinkI'llhavetogo,
goforthegoverningbody
myconsciousnesselects.
Itwon'tbesoclear,itwon'tbedirect,
it'sallthatIfear,it'sallIsuspect
andI'lldisappearinFacultyX
Ipluckallthesecharactersoutofthinair,
Ipushthemdownintothelungs;
IinfusethemwithmeaningasmuchasIdare.
Stretchoutfortheshorelineandwaitforthewave…
ABlackBox(1980)
GoldenPromises
BesiegedinthebattlementsofBabylon,
stilllookingforahat-pegyoucanhangyourheadupon—
nowyou'vefoundaplaceyouthinkisAvalon:
youcantalktoanyonehere.
Youcanthrowyourarmsaroundyournearestneighbour
andthesmilingones'lltellyouthatyou'vesavedher,
thatshe'ssavedyou…
Theyofferthegoldenpromises,
theinstantlydivine;
youswallowthegoldenpromises
hook,sinkerandline.
Ifyouchoosetothrowyoursoularoundtheattitude
reasoningandindependentthoughtgodownthetube
asyougoslaveringaftereveryinaneplatitude—
howweakyoufindyourselfhere.
Doyoureallyneedtoloseyourselfcompletely?
Howcomeyouseemtorateitallsocheaply?
It'ssoweak-kneed
togoforthegoldenpromises,
mail-orderholyvows;
yougoforthegoldenpromises—
Ithinkyoureallyoughttoknowbetterbynow.
SoIdomybestandIdomynut,
Itrytoexplainalltheseangles
butyouturnaway.
Oh,nowyou'relookinginthewhiteofmyeyes,
andyouknowwhatI'mgoingtosay:
don'tgoforthegoldenpromises,
don'tgofortheeasyway…
It'srighthereonthedoorstep:
fool'sgold—don'tthrowyourlifeaway.
LosingFaithinWords
Ijustcan'tseewhyyoucan'tseewhatImean,
butIcan'tmakethingsanyplainer,
thewordsgetintheway—
isthatquitewhatImean?
Ifnotnow,thencertainlysoonerorlater
we'vegotaproblemwithcommunication—
look,Iscrabblewithmyhands
Itrytogetsomehead-roomfromtheelevation
butyoujustdon'tunderstand
Mostofthethingswesaymeanwemostofthetime
treatourspeechwithderision,
flapourhandsinbody-telegram—Iknowthatgetsthrough
somuchbetterthananythingsaidwithprecision.
We'vegotaproblemwithcommunication
andit'sgettingquiteabsurd…
well,IthinkI'mgoingtoflipoutfromthesheerfrustration,
yes,I'mlosingfaithinwords.
We'vegotaproblemwithcommunication,
onlygettingthroughinanagrams—
Itrytogetsomelinkagefromarticulation,
Itrytogetsomehead-roomfromtheelevation,
Itrytopullbacksomethingfrommyeducation…
Yes,Itryto,tryto,trytobutIjustdon'tunderstand,
Itry,Ijustdon'tunderstand,
Italk,youjustdon'tunderstand.
SometimesIdon'tknowwhyIbother,
butI'mbothered.
TheJargonKing
Heprescribesthesubject
heproscribesoutsiders
histermshaveagoldenring.
Hewantstofindsomeorder
quantifyingchaos
inwordsthatallthechildrensing.
Hetabulatesthelexicon
vocabularyminimised
bowdowntotheJargonKing.
Allquestionsbecomesosimple
ifweeattheinaneanswer
ifweallagreetoju-juspeak
wefitintotheformula
weallwithoutexception
approvetherule.
Wedon'tunderstand
hemustbeclever
hemustbeclever
hemustberight
hemustberight
wedon'tunderstand
Closedtheranksandbarricades
imposedthesecretlanguage
complexityallcatch-phrased
word-druggedanyanguish
pigeon-holedallusions
shutthevaultbehindus
It'sanobviousconclusion
we'llbethechattelsofHisHighness.
BowdowntotheJargonKing
andhisminioncode-words.
Herecomesthereign
Fogwalking
Everythingclumsyslow-motion,
Ilookforthesource.
Buildingsloomuplikeicebergs
oncollisioncourse.
Idon'twanttogointhere,
Ijustwanttobealone,
unpickthestitchesoftime
inLondon
intheno-gozone.
I'vebeenkickingaroundlikeadog,
lostmyselfintheblankmassoffog,
it'ssomekindofservice.
Allhumanity'sfall-outisthere,
slumpedindoorways
andmouthingcoldair—
Ihaveheardthis.
Fogwalking,fogwalking.
Sincethecurfew
thestreetsarehalf-dead,
allthegoodfolkasleepintheirbeds,
it'ssoeasytogoofftherails
whenthefogspores
arebreedinginsidebyhead.
Fogwalking:there'sapresencethatIsense
Fogwalking:theneckmusclestense
Fogwalking:it'srighthereinsideme,
trytofindadefense—oh,no.
Fogwalkingthroughthewreckage,
fogwalkingthroughtheworm-eaten
NightApple,
fogwalkingthroughwhatusedtobe
Whitechapel.
TheSpirit
The tune was written in my teens, as a setting for John Betjeman'spoem«ThearrestofOscarWildeattheCadoganHotel»!The
sentiment'sanaffirmationofstruggleagainsttheodds—verymuch
myrelationshipwiththeelectricguitar…
Suchdistancetothetipsofthefingers,
theganglionloomjerksinside;
thebodygrowssteadilystranger
butthespiritwon'tbedenied.
Thatsharphalogenflashjarstheeyeball,
thelimbspumpinoverdrive;
thebodygrowsseeminglyweaker
butthespiritwon'tbedenied.
Yeah,theash-markstandsoutontheforehead
asthevacuumsneaksupontheeyes;
thebodybecomesaconstanttraitor
butthespiritwon'tbedenied.
Andtheycallthatlivinganormallife,
butnormality'snotstandardised.
Thoughthebodygetsevermoreroot-bound
thespiritwon'tbedenied
Yes,thespiritsurvives.
InSlowTime
Dancethedance
tillshowtime
theshowgoeson
Dancethedance
inslowtime
ifthat'swhatyouwant
Dancethedance
inthebackofthecar
inthecocktailbar
tillshowtimeletitride
Dancethedance
IfeelI'vebeenherebefore,
thiscouldbeanywhereatall
inslowtime.
Dancedthedance,oritsoonwillbe;
dancedthedance,I'llbebackherewithme
innotime.
Innotimedancedthedance
It'sshowtimedancethedance
inslowtime.
Flight
FlyingBlind
Ialwaysforgethowcrazythingsare
sosometimesitcatchesmeoffmyguard
whentheymakesense.
Thelineontheroadtrailthearrowinthesky,
Isearchforthemoteinmybrother'seye
beneaththepence…
atimeofbluntinstruments.
StilluncertainwhenI'vewoken
orwhatconstitutesaconsciousmind,
thoughthethoughtremainsunspoken
IknowI'mflyingblind.
Breakingintocoldsweatonthewhite-hotcoals
thepenniesfromheavendropthroughmysoul:
itdon'trelent.
AtthebackendofdreamsI'mamazedtoawake…
Ioffermytheoriesbutjustcan'tshake
thatseventhsense
towhichthere'snodefense.
Itseemedthetimewasforaction,
itseemedsocooltobethatkind…
mytonguewrithedtoformsomeretraction
butIknewIwasflyingblind.
Iwantthingstobefast,downtothepower-dive;
Iwantthezero-gravityheroestoplaydead,
butstayalive.
Wewantittobeslow,allthewaytostall;
wetalkaboutathousandthingsthatneverchangeatall.
No,itneverchange…
ItwasthenthatIknewI'dbeenthoughtless,
somethinghadslippedmymind:
I'dstrappedmyselfintotheFortress
buttheFortresswasflyingblind.
Wegotfullclearance,
sosomeonedownthereoughttoknow
thetruthofourdisappearance—
Ifeventhatstillshowsitaccusesandblamesme,
butnothingwasquitewhatitseemed.
Sometimesthingsworkoutsostrangely
thatitmightaswellallbedreamed.
TheWhiteCaneFandango
TheWhiteCaneFandangoinMorsecode,
trytoshakethroughthemessage,
shaketheload;
onlyvenialsin,runningonthespot
tillthedancebegins.
Wheredoesamangowhenthemusclescramp?
Trytowriteoutapostcardonapostagestamp
withadrawingpinpunchingouttheBraille
forthewholewithin?
Upsetthecontangoonyourfuturestock;
payingbackwardation,holdontowhatyou'vegot—
suchasidewaysgrin!
Somedayyoumayneed
totradethatin.
Ifweridethisright
thefuturewillfallinourhands.
Ifwesurvivetheflight
thefuturewillworkout—
nothing'sthatblackandwhite.
Control
Thecolour-codedchartsarespread,
butwe'restillglidingdeepintothered,
theradioisdead
everyvalveblownopen.
Theradarscreenflicksmonochrome,
airtrafficcontrollerwantstogetonhome,
waitingforaphonecall
toreleasehimfromresponsibility.
Nobodygoestoseehimanymore
exceptforthemanfromtheministry.
Hewantedtobe,hewantedtobe
themanatthehelm,incommandoftheflightpath;
he'sflyingachair,quitebeyondcontrol;
he'sgoingtohavejustonemorechance
atabarrelroll.
Allinadream,allasadream,
thecolourstoobright,themusictoodeafening—
theblack-outworldhasjustbeguntoshow.
Thesecracked-outwordsIoffer…
butIstilldon'tknow.
Coolbluesuffusethecolourgun—
ohcomein,comeinnumberone:
yourtime'snearlyrun.
Speed-freezetheframe,
thepresentandthepastholdfast…
It'stoofast,thethingdon't,
thethingwon't,
thethingdon'tlast.
Cockpit
Therollingdiceclashtogether,nevermakeupthescore;
thatolddevice,theejectorseat,gluedtothefloor.
Everybodywaitsforeveryonetomakeashow,
no-onewantstobethefirst,admittingthattheyknow
howanythingsthat'sgonedownhere
couldfitintoananalyticgroove.
Waitforthetacticalmove,
waitforsomeactionweallcanapprove.
Toomuchtodrink,forthecupreachesdowntothesea;
toomuchtothink,thebarometerpressuringme.
RollingdowntheweatherforanEasterparade,
reelingouttheMaydaysinthehopeofbeingsaved,
buttheradioham'soutgivingblood—
no,no,he'snotlistening.
Thecricketerknowshis«Wisden»,
thepilothasgothis«Jane's»,
butthesumofthisfactualwisdom
don'thelpustoflytheplane
(no,anditneverwill…)
Beneaththetartantwo-piecesomethingripsundone…
Waitfortheladdertorun
waitforthesnakethattheladderbecomes.
Apassengerhitsthecockpit,willingtochancehisgame:
pullsouthisgunandcocksit
inthehopethatitallmightchange.
(Oh,butitneverwill…)
Afly-leaffromthelibraryshowsothershavebeenherebefore,
tried,failedandkickedoutthedoor;
theaircrewdon'tcareanymore.
Nowtheyjustwait
forthebeatofthesilk-wormwing,
waitfortheheattocomedownonus
fullforceofthelaw.
Silk-WormWings
Fullforceofgravitypullsmedown,
I'llbebetteroffoutofthere;
aerobaticspinaround,
I'lltakemychancesintheopenair.
Sycamoresilk-wormwings
orRomanCandletotheground,
there'sonlyonethingforsure:
whentheballoongoesup
theaeronautcalmdown.
NothingisNothing
Hesaynothingisquitewhatitseems,
hesaynothingisquitewhatitseems;
Isaynothingisnothing.
ABlackBox
Softly,theangelssingtheirtimeandspacerefrain:
there'ssomethingineverythingifyoucanonlypindownitsname
Aerobaticthoughtsatthebackofmymind—
Isitnothingbuttheloopinglineweallfollow?
NothingbutthespiraltwistofDNA?
There'llbenolookingbackfromtomorrowontoday.
Sothewireistripped,split-secondsdefecttotheirsuccessors;
theumbilicalcordisripped—
hereweallareinfreefall.
IstallwhereIam,asiftoseewhereI'vebeen,
onlyrunningdowntheloopinglineweallfollow,
onlychasingdownthespiraltwistofDNA.
Therecanbenolookingontotomorrowfromtoday.
Life/death/night/day…
coldbreathwillsurelyflyaway.
Istheempireofsensationlockedinablackbox
deepinme,encodedtheresomehow?
Itfirestheimaginationtoflyonawingandaprayer
throughmylife.Isthathowitis?
(There'llbenolookingbackonthis…)
Thisisnow,whichwillbethen?
Isthisthemeans?
AllIknowforsureis
thisistheend.
Nolookingbackfromtomorrow,
no,there'llbenolookingbackontoday;
betterbelookingontotomorrow…
betterthinkontoday.
SittingTargets(1981)
Breakthrough
Artimpliedsci-fistory.Idon'tknowifthegunsareslungacross
thedesksinaggressionorresignation.Idoknowthattimeisthereal
questionhere.Foxytext.
Thevisitorsfindthechildrengonefromschool:
agedrelationsslingtheirgunsacrossthedesks…
there'llbenobreak-timeforthemunless
theytalkabouttomorrow
asthoughit'salreadyonitsway.
Amen,ohyes,they're
waitingforthebreakthroughintime.
Thevisitorshidenoacesuptheirsleeves
andtheclassroompulsestomanydifferentdrums.
Ifonlyabreakthroughintimewouldcome
there'dbesomechanceforthevisitedones.
Wecouldtalkabouttomorrow
asthoughwebelievedinthat.
Wecouldtalkaboutitrightnow
anditwouldcomeasashock
tofeelthefingernailgrowonthetriggerfinger—
stillthevisitorsclockus
waitingforthebreakthrough,
waitingforthebreakthrough
withtimeonourhands.
(It'sthereallthetime.)
MyExperience
An unusually mysterious subject for a three-chord trick;
somethingofthefilmnoiraboutit,Ithink.Icertainlyhadacouple
of grainy cinematic images in mind while writing it. The questions
andthesilenceskeepnagginghere.
Itwasnothing,itcamefromnowhereatall,
itwasacasualremark,notacurtain-call.
Lateforbreakfast—blackcoffee,brandy-laced…
thatlookonyourface.
I'llrememberlastnight,
I'lllookoutforthesigns:
youwerecaughtinthelight…
Timeaftertime
it'sbeenmyexperience
thatwhentherowgetsserious
acertainsilencewillfall…
ButIjustcan'tstopit,
whydon'tyoutellmewhat'swrong?
Myheartgoeslikearocket,thefeeling'ssostrong.
Ijustcan'tstopit,whydon'tyoutellmewhat'swrong?
Don'tthinkaboutittoolong.
Icouldarguethisanotherway,
butonanotherdayImighthavetoshout.
Youkeepyourmouthshut,
butit'stoolateforthatnow:
thewordgotout.
Intranslationit'slost,indesperationit'smimed;
isthisParadiselost,orParadisetimeaftertime?
It'sbeenmyexperience
thatwhentherowgetsserious
acertainsilencewillfall…
ButIjustcan'tstopit,
whydon'tyoutellmewhat'swrong?
Myheartgoeslikearocket,thefeeling'ssostrong.
Ijustcan'tstopit,whydon'tyoutellmewhat'swrong?
Don'tthinkaboutittoolong.
Ophelia
Two parts the Lady of Shallott to one part Ophelia, actually, I
guess.Idon'tknowifthefeelinggoesforthestranger,forher,orfor
both of them. There's a certain inevitability here, anyway. This is a
real«found»song.
Thattokendragonyourcigarette,
thatwell-knownfaceinthefire…
itcouldbesomeoneyoucan'tforget,
someoneyou'velearnttoadmire.
Andit'sstrangehowthefeelinggoes.
Allchange—
downtheriverOpheliagoes.
You'retreadingwater,thepriceissteep,
yousayyou'llcopewithitall;
you'vemadesomepromisesyoucan'tkeep,
youthrowyourselfagainstthewall,
youthrowyourselfagainstthewall.
Andit'sstrange…
Youheardanoiseinthefiregrate,
youlooktoseewhogoesthere—
it'sjustthestranger,he'scometoolate
andevenhe'sunprepared
tofindthecupboardsobare
Andit'sstrange…
downtheriverOpheliagoes.
Empress'sClothes
She'sherenow,perfumecoiledlikeathuggeescarf,
suchapowerfuldrugtomakeyousonakedandclean.
Andyouwanttotellher,
there'ssomuchtodisclose,
thisideayou'vegottosellher:
anewsetofempress'sclothes.
Whowasthatwomaninthemasquerade,
dothoseeyesstillgiveyoufever?
Whowasthatwomaninthemystery-play,
doyoustillwanttopleaseher?
Whereisthewomanwhocanofferescape,
doyoulookforyourfreedom?
Youseeher
andyouwant…
Youwanthertowearthatfinery,
thestylethat'sneverseen;
you'retryingtobreakthedeadlock
ofthisstrangleholdingscene…
oh,look,
anewsetofempress'sclothes!
Thehereandnowstandsinyourway;
youcarrythebell,bookandcandle…
shewon'tmakeyougo
butshewon'tletyoustay.
Andyouwant…
Youwanthertowearthatfinery,
thestylethat'sneverseen;
You'retryingtobreakthedeadlock
ofthisstrangleholdingscene;
shemakesyouwanttoconfessitall—
youdon'tknowwhatitmeans,
butshemakesyousee
Empress'sclothes.
Glue
Halfwaybetweenthezoo
andthetempleofyourArt…
butwhatdoyoudo
withthismotionoftheheart?
Who'llbelookingforyou
whenitallfallsapart?
Oh,butwhatdoyoudo,
andwheredoyoustart
whenpeoplearetheglue,
whenitallfallsapart?
Hesitation
Thisisnotimetohesitate,
thelineslipsintooverload;
themixturetoothick,
thetouchtooclosetothemotherlode.
Time—there'ssolittletime
todoanythingthat'snotuseless…
youtriedforalittlewhile
tohideyourfacefromthefuture.
Nowyouthoughtitwasreleased—
youfindthatit'scaptured,
itstickstoyourhand,youcan'tletitgo.
Whatyouknewaspainhasturnedintorapture,
butnothinggoesaway,itjustchanges.
Youknowit'stherighttempo,rightplace,
butsomething'sgonewrongwiththecardiograph.
Oh,yourdayshadowandyournightface,
youthoughtitwasforever
butitdoesn'tlast.
Time,there'ssolittletime
todoawaywiththetension.
Itryforalittlewhile
toputitallinsuspension.
IthoughtIwasreleased,
IfindthatI'mcaptured,
thegroovesticks,itwon'tletmego.
Theglassstainisnowseenasfractured
andtryasImayIcan'tchange
butIknowit'sthe
wrongtempo,wrongplace
andsomething'sgonewrongwiththeautograph.
Oh,thedayshadowandthenightface
conspireintoprophecy…
Thisisnotimeforhesitation.
Thisisnotimetohesitate,
it'snotimetolookforanotherroad;
theshiverbegins,
thetouchtoocoldonthemotherlode
Thisisnotimeforhesitation.
SittingTargets
Auto-biographical (ha ha). The car's always a good place for
serious conversation — no eye contact! The motto for these
recordings was «keep it simple, keep it clean» — but it's a messy
storyanyway.
Wecantalkaboutitinthecar,
wecantalkaboutitwiththedrive.
Keepyoureyesontheroadupahead,
(don'tforgetwhatwesaidabout)
stayingalive.
Ifwe'dbeenstuckthere
justafewhoursmore
I'dhavecrackedup,I'dsay.
No,younevercantellwhenit'scoming.
It'ssohardgettingoutoftheway…
tobesittingtargetsissurely
nobetterthanrunningaway.
Sittingtargetsinthecar:
I'llbethinkingaboutit—
notsofar,nosofartodrive.
Thistimewemadeourgetaway,
we'dbeenstallingfortoolong.
Keepyoureyesontheroadupahead
whileItrytoforgetwhat'sbeengoingwrong.
(What'sbeengoingon…)
You'dbettercheckupontheCB,
seewhatTail-EndCharliesay:
«Oh,younevercantellhowit'sgoing,
no,younevercanseehowit'sbeen,
buttostaysittingtargetsissurely
nobetterthanlivingadream.»
Sittingtargetsinthecar…
I'vebeenthinkingitover,
it'snotsofar,notsofartodrive.
Inthecar…
Wecantalkaboutitinthecar,
surelywecantalkaboutitsomeothertime.
Keepyoureyesontheroadupahead,
Idon'tseemtobeabletousemine
andI'mlosingcontrolofmybody
andI'mrunningscared.
Oh,we'releftwithablack-and-whitemovie,
apositionalstateofaffairs,
anobsessionalinterestinmoving
justtoprovethatwe'rethere,
sittingtargetsinthecar.
I'llbethinkingaboutit,
notsofartodrive…
sittingtargetsinthecar,
I'vebeenthinkingitover,
it'snotsofar,notsofar,
nottoofartodrive.
StrangerStill
Well if it's not to be the cafe it's almost certain to be the
restaurant. The bulk of these lyrics were written straight off over a
Parisian lunch. I've often been caught like this, between panic and
ennui(usuallywaitingfortheshow,ratherthanafterit).Itmayseem
somewhat abstract to drag Entropy into the equation., but modern
scientific metaphors are there to be grabbed and surely currently
relevant?
Strangerstillinanothertown,
hownormaltositoutthedance,
eatingthegoodmealbymyself,
toastingtheemptyglass
andthey'realreadysettingoutthenextplace,
alreadyforgettingaboutthelast.
No,nothingcouldbelessstrange:
inentropy
nochange,nochange,nochange.
Nodangerinanormallife,
bettersteadydowntheadrenalinpump.
Excessrefractioninthemirror
onlyleadstothequantumjump…
Oh,butitleavesmeinlimbo—
howstrange,whatastrangerIbecome.
No,no,nothingcouldbelessstrange,
inentropy
nochange,nochange,nochange.
No,Iknowhowtobehaveintherestaurantnow,
Idon'ttearatthemeatwithmyhands.
IfI'vebecomeamanoftheworldsomehow
that'snotnecessarilytosayI'maworldlyman.
Keeponshufflingthemenu
andtheordernevercomesontime.
No,there'sonlydiffractionpatterns,
noreadingbetweenthelines,
onlytherateofemission,
andreasonallowsnorime.
Nothingcouldbelessstrange
inentropy
nochange,nochange,nochange.
No,nothingcouldbelessstrange…
Entropy…
…astranger,aworldlyman.
Sign
Wrongdrinktoorder…
suspiciongrows.
Strongsituation…
Oh,no-oneknowswhereyou'vegonetointhepagannight
andtheneonreflectionsspreadcadmiumwhite.
Youcameherelookingforsomething
butthiswasn'tit,quite.
Hey,takeaPolaroid,
exit,
andwellyoumight.
Signthepicture,getoutoftheframe;
signthepicture,andthrowitaway.
Signthepicture,signthepicture,
throwthepictureaway.
Nowsheturnsherattention
andhercameraonyou:
thiscouldbeallofthemoments
thatyou'lleverlivethrough.
Oh,butyourheartbeatstherhythmofprimevaltattoo…
Ihearyoumakeyourexcuses
asyouusuallydo.
Signthepicture,getoutoftheframe;
signthepicture,andthrowitaway;
Signthepicture,signthepicture,
throwthepictureaway…
…althoughit'sgoingtocomeback.
You'vegotacertainknack
ofmakingofsuchthings
auspicioussigns.
WhatIDid
Aprettypassintherear-viewmirror,
it'scomingontheovertake…
I'vegottostoppanicking,
gottostaycool,
gottolearntolivewithmymistakes.
Overduedebttothetaxman,
Itriedtohaveandeatmycake.
IthinkImusthavebeencrazyinretrospect;
allthelinesruntogether
buttheyjustdon'tseemtoconnect.
IthinkImusthavebeencrazy
todoallthethingsIdid…
trytokeepthepotonagentlesimmer,
butsomethingblowsoffthelid.
Iwanttoupdatemymemory,
Iwanttorewritemypast…
Ooh,nowIfoundout:nochance.
IthinkImusthavebeencrazy
todothestuffIdid
IthinkImusthavebeencrazy,crazy,crazy.
IthinkImusthavebeencrazy
butthat'sthepricewepay—
everyluckythrowofthedice
willcomebacktousoneofthesedays
Iwanttoupdatemymemory,
Iwanttorewritemypast,
Idon'tlikewhatit'stellingme,
itallfloodsbacksofast;
IguessIwasmyownworstenemy,
nowI'vecometoaprettypass.
Aprettypass,aprettypass,
there'snothingprettyinthepast
IthinkImusthavebeencrazy,crazy.
CrazytodowhatIdid.
CentralHotel
Bruxelles.Yes,Ifoundmyselfonthebalcony,lookingdownon
the road works which went on year after year, Yes, I keep going
on/comingback.Thejokestaysthesame—andsodoesthatbuzzof
electricguitar.
Ifoundmyselflyingonthebalcony,
striplingterror,nakedtothebone;
thesecretasteroidjunglenearlydoneforme—
Isawitalljustamomentago.
IknowI'dbetterwatchout
fortheCentralHotel…
I'mnotgoingback.
Repetition,superstition,singularity,
thougheverycellinthebodyhaschanged
thewallsmoveinwell-accustomedhilarity—
thecircuitchangesbutthejokestaysthesame.
IknowI'dbetterwatchoutfortheCentralHotel.
IthinkI'dbettergetout,I'mnotfeelingsowell.
AndIwon'tbegoingback,
notifIcanhelpit.
Ican'thelpit,Ican'thelpit
ifIstillamwhatIwas;
Ican'thelpit,Ican'thelpit,
can'tstopthethereforebecause
Ican'thelpit.
ThegraceofgodshowsI'llbegoingon,
I'llbecomingback.
Iknownothingofthemilesofthemarathon,
Ihearnothingofthefootfallbehind,
IsearchforrhythmandIfindthatIhaven'tone…
slowmotionintherunner'smind.
IknowI'dbetterwatchoutfortheCentralHotel
IthinkI'dbettergetout,I'mnotfeelingsowell
IknowI'dbettercheckout,butanyoneherecantell
I'llbecomingback,
I'llbeback.
I'mtheCentralHotel.
EnterK(1982)
ParadoxDrive
Thethoughtcrossedmymind—
howcurious,whyshouldIwantsomuchshut-eye?
Fightingthedarknessandfurious,
oh,butIoncemorefallintothesong…
justthenormalunconsciousness;
couldthatbewrong?
Alloutintoactionthenalldownintosleep—
checkthatattraction,itmustbemorethanskindeep.
I'vecheckedthetwenty-fourhours,
I'vedonethestay-up-all-night;
inacertainwaythat'spower,
butit'snotwiredupright.
Upforthepleasure,thenit'sdeadtotheworld;
ourlivessurelymeasuredbytheunconsciousthird…
LivingonParadoxDrive,
wemustbelivingonParadoxDrive.
Thethoughtcrossedmymind,howcurious—
whyshouldIwantsomuchshut-eye?
Fightingthedarknessandfurious…
oh,butIoncemoredroppedofftothedeep,
thesweetcomfortofalifeonmyown,asleep.
Upforthepleasureordeadtotheworld,
alifesurelymeasuredbytheunconsciousthird…
LivingonParadoxDrive,
wemustbelivingonParadoxDrive.
I'vecheckedthetwenty-fourhours,
I'vedonethestay-up-all-night;
inacertainwaythat'spower,
butit'snotwiredupright,
itstillisn'tright.
TheUnconsciousLife
I'mincommand,
I'mincontrol,
Iamthecaptainofmysoul.
Still,I'muncertaininonemajorrole…
oh,Idriftthroughtheunconsciouslife,
shiftthroughtheunconsciouslife,
liftupmyunconsciouseyes:
beyondallnormalpainandpleasure
weshouldtreasuretheunconsciouslife.
We'vegotourreasonsformostthingswedo,
wecouldsurelyrationalisethemthrough.
Afalseringofconfidence
wouldcharacteriseustrue—
oh,we'redeepintheunconsciouslife
asleepintheunconsciouslife,
peepingthroughunconsciouseyes.
Beyondallnormalpainandpleasure
weshouldtreasure,
treasuretheunconscious,
treasuretheunconsciouslife.
Somethingmakesmenervous,
somethingmakesmetwitch,
somethingmakesmescratchthatPavlovianitch,
(Wonderwhatthatisnow…?)
SomeonethatIbarelyknowmustunpickthestitch
tounraveltheunconsciouslife,
traveltheunconsciouslife,
gathertheunconsciouseye…
farfromsheddinglightonanymotive
thecandleisvotivewhenitburnsatbothends.
I'mnotincommand,
I'moutofcontrol,
IamtheShip'sBoyofmysoul…
Oh,wedriftthroughtheunconsciouslife,
shiftthroughtheunconsciouslife,
livethroughtheunconsciouslife.
Accidents
Thismeetingisacoincidence
whichdeservesasecondlook:
we'veseenthechapterofaccidents
becomethelongestinthebook.
Iseeyourfaceinthepictureforbetterorworse,
allpowertotheaccident!
Oh,thesweetestistheoneI'mholdinginmyarms
andthefleetestistheonewhosurvives
butthemeetestistheonewho'srunningonthespot
wheretheaccident'sabouttoarrive.
Iknowmyplaceontheplanet,chapterandverse,
allpartoftheaccident.
Iknowmyplaceinthestory,alineofblankverse,
apartoftheaccident.
Nosystemworthitssalt
laysallitscardsuponthetable;
nodisciplineofthought
willrendermemoreable
tobuckthoserandomthrows.
Thismeetingisacoincidence
whichdeservesasecondlook—
we'veseenthechapterofaccidents,
it'sthelongestinthebook.
Oh,thesweetestistheoneI'mholdinginmyarms
andthefleetestistheonewhosurvives
butthemeetestistheonewho'srunningonthespot
wheretheaccident'sabouttoarrive…
(Theaccidental,theaccident!)
Yourfaceinthepictureforbetterorworse,
allpowertotheaccident!
Iknowmyplaceontheplanetchapterandverse,
allpartoftheaccident.
Iknowmyplaceinthestory,alineofblankverse,
apartoftheaccident.
Iseeyourfaceinthepictureforbetterorworse,
allpowertotheaccident,
allpowertotheaccident!
TheGreatExperiment
«Isthatallthereistoit,»heasks,
«nomoreconjectureorcontroversy?
Don'tthinkIcouldgothroughit,
Icouldn'tlivewiththememory.
Nowisthehour,itcomeseventually;
howgreatthepowerasitfallsonme!»
He'sraisinghissenseofoccasiontothelimit—
(Thebigmomentiscomingup.)
Practised,hissenseofevasion…orisit?
(Nosidestepordummyrun.)
Cravingacertainindulgence—wouldyougiveit?
Wouldyougiveitintime?
Treadingwater,makingwaves
fromthecradletothegrave;
homebyawhisker—closeshaves!
I'mwaiting,
whatIsaidImeant:
nofaking
TheGreatExperiment.
Neartheendofthereelnow,
he'shangingonbyhisfingertips.
Heknowshowitfeels;
atlastthekissofunearthlylips.
Nowisthehourtogetatightergrip.
Howgreatthepowerasthetidebeginstorip!
I'mwaiting—
nofaking
TheGreatExperiment.
Don'tTellMe
Youdon'thavetosayathing,
thesilenceissweet;
we'vebeentogethertoday
inawaywemightneverrepeat.
Oh,yourheadonthepillow,
thedistanceinyoureyes—
alreadyyoumightbe
rehearsingtheword«Goodbye».
Whentheeveningcomesofthisperfectday,
whentheshadowsrunwillyoulookaway,
willyouslipaway?
Don'ttellmeanything.
Youdon'thavetosayaword,
alltoowellIunderstand:
there'sanervoustension
inthetouchofyourgentlehand.
Thatmakesmeafraid—
I'veseenyoulikethisbefore…
themomentyoufindsomebodynew
youfindyourselfbored.
Oh,Idon'twanttoloseyou.
Whentheeveningcomesofthisperfectday,
whentheshadowsrunwillyoulookaway,
willyouslipaway?
Don'ttellmeanything.
Nowtheevening'scome,
nowI'mleftalone;
nowthepassion'sdone
andyou'regoinghome…
oh,whenwillyoutelephone?
Youdon'ttellmeanything.
No,youdon'teventellme
thebellwon'tring.
SheWrapsitUp
Youknowthatshe'sgotsomethingshewantstogive;
hardtotellifit'sofspiritorthelifeshelives…
maybesomewherebetweenthetwo.
Oh,thewaitingtoseewhatitis!
Theenergydonor,lookingoverhershoulder,
sheseesitall,sheseesitslippingaway.
There'sabackboneshiverfortheenergygiver…
shewrapsitup,andthat'safinalwrapfortoday.
Somethingsshe'llsoonlearntolivewithout,
whileothersshe'snotsecureenoughtodoubt.
It'llbehardtostaysoclose
whenallthatspecialemptinessfloodsout.
Theenergydonorshootsitstraightfromtheshoulder:
sheseesitall,sheseesitallrushingthrough.
There'sabackboneshiverfromtheenergygiver…
shewrapsitup,shewrapsitupandgivesittoyou.
Jumpingshells,theelectronswilldance
likedusk-timefireflies.
Justaswellthatyoutookthatlastchance
toextendallyourby-and-bys.
Let'sbeclear:
don'tbetoofaraway…
oh,butdon'tgetsonear!
You'llremembertodayfortherestofyourlife.
Theenergydonor,lookingoverhershoulder,
sheseesitall,sheseesitslippingaway.
There'sabackboneshiverfortheenergygiver;
shewrapsitup,andthat'saheavyrapyou'llhavetopay.
Theenergydonorshootsitstraightfromtheshoulder:
sheseesitall,sheseesitallrushingthrough.
There'sabackboneshiverfromtheenergygiver—
shewrapsitup,shewrapsitupandgivesittoyou.
HappyHour
Fuelledbyalcohol,
shootingoutwordslikearocket,
likeaprophetoutofBabylon
methodactingtheabsurd…
Shootmethosehighballs
tillI'mlituplikeI'mpluggedinasocket;
lockmeeyeballtoeyeball,
let'snotbotherwiththewords.
Oh,bringontheclowns,bringonthenight,
pourmedoublevisioninblackandwhite.
I'mfalling,falling—don'tgivemethatlook!
I'mfalling,falling,it'stheoldesttrickinthebook,
Mychickadee,mypassionflower,
showmethewaytotheHappyHour.
Idon'tliketoseethat:
oh,no,Idon'tlikethewaythehandisshaking,
shape-makinglikeanacrobat
onhiswaytothetrapeze.
Myfriendsinthecrowd
arealltakingbets—
they'retakingawaythesafetynet.
Falling,falling—don'tgivemethatlook!
I'mfalling,onlyfalling,it'stheoldesttrickinthebook,
vertigoonthehigh-wiretower—
isthisreallywhattheymeanby'HappyHour`?
Thelinebetweenthesocialandthesuicidal
sofinehemightnotknowwhenhe'scrossedit,
whenhe'slostit;
whenthesocialkickbecomesthegauging-stickofsurvival.
Sohere'stothecircus,
let'sdrinktothegameofforgetting
themarionettestringsthatjerkus,
therealworldjustoutsidethedoor.
Iknowthatmylegshavegone
andIknowthatthelighthereisfarfromperfect…
I'verehearsedit,soI'llcarryon
untilIwinduponthefloor.
Myfriendsinthebar
willstandmearound,
they'lltoastmeonmywaytotheunderground.
I'mfalling,falling—don'tgivemethatlook!
I'mfalling,onlyfalling,it'stheoldesttrickinthebook,
Mychickadee,mypassionflower,
showmethewaytotheHappyHour.
Vertigoonthehigh-wiretower—
isthisreallywhattheymeanby'HappyHour`?
Putonthegreasepaint,we'regettingreadyforHappyHour.
Doyouhearmenow?Canyoufeelmenow?
I'minthemiddleofHappyHour…
Putonthegreasepaint.
SevenWonders
Well,itmusthavebeenheresomewhere,
thatwhichtheculturehighlyprized:
thelistofancientbuildings,
theattitudeofmind,
thewisdomoftheprophets,
thecatalogueofbooks…
Youcan'tgetoffit,
youdon'tknowwheretolook.
Iknowyoudon'tknowwhattosay
andit'sstrangenow,seehow
everything'schanged,
includingtheSevenWonders.
Nothingispermanenthere.
Newkick,newgame,newtheory,
therestreducedtonought:
itonlytakesamoment,
oneclearandlucidthought.
Oncetheprocesshasbeentriggered
allpreviousprocessdisappears…
Idon'tknowwhatitisyoufear,
Idon'tknowwhatitisyoufear—
theshiftisnothingtobeafraidof.
Strangenow,seehow
everything'schanged,
includingtheSevenWonders.
Nothingispermanenthere,
that'spartofthespellwe'reunder.
Gettingoldthen,saywhen
you'rehappytohold
yourpersonalSevenWonders.
Nothingispermanenthere.
Patience(1983)
LabourofLove
Youdon'trememberallthethingsI'vedone;
younevercatchthecarefulwordsIchoose;
yourpresentwillnotadmitmypatientefforts…
it'salabouroflove
Ioffertoyou.
Unselfishness,doesthatholdthespacebetweenus?
Ahelplessness,anothing-left-to-prove?
Asilencemoreeloquentthananypassion?
It'salabouroflove
Ioffertoyou…
It'sagiftoflove.
Takethishandandyouwillholditsstories;
beat,theheart,andfindthetell-taletruth;
takethisgift:—receiptwillgiveitvalue.
It'salabouroflove
Ioffertoyou,
it'sagiftoflove.
FilmNoir
Hecastshimselfasanadventurer,
allfootonfloorandhellforleather;
shenevertoldhimwhathemeanttoher—
perhapsthat'sforthebetter.
She'sneverclearlyseendividinglines
betweenreallifeandpartsshe'schosen,
confusescharacterandrisingsign,
sexandemotion.
Shewaitsinthecaravan
atthesideoftheset
forthescenewithherleadingman
thathe'llnotforget…
Thingsgetcrazyonlocation
andtheyhadtheirlittleswing;
onlyyesterdayhetoldher
thatitdidn'tmeanathing.
She'sinlovewiththeheroofthemovie
butshe'slostherselfonsomedarktrip;
she'sinlovewithbeinginthemovie.
Callforaction!
Thisisit:themethodactress
andtheshootingscript.
Soshewaitsinthecaravan
forthefilm'sfinalscene
andherlove/hatefortheactionman
willfillthesilverscreen…
Onthedresseristhepistol,
inthechamberaretheblanks,
inherpocketarethebullets
withhisnameupontheshanks.
She'sinlove…
Callforaction,thisisit:
themethodactressandthehit.
JustGoodFriends
Wesetouttomakeasingle—butforbetterorworsemadethis
instead! The song is one of a number of room-and-story, near
cinematicefforts.
Drawingbackthecurtains,
sluggishcitydaylightintheafternoon…
here'sthespecialsilence,
justbeforeyouwalkoutofthehotelroom.
Eachtimewe'resocloseIassume
thatwe'llneverbeagain.
Oh,howlongcanwepretend
thatwe'rejustgoodfriends?
Acasualaffairisallthatyoucanspare
fromyouremotionalchange;
acalendarofmeetings,
strangersonthestreet
thebestweeverarrange.
NowIjustcan'tstandallthepain,
alltheconstantmakeandmend:
howlongmustwepretend
thatwe'rejustgoodfriends?
Igaveyoumydevotion,
hidingnothingupmysleeve.
IfIwalkedcleanoutofyourlife
wouldyouevennoticemeleave?
Somuchtangled-upemotion,
shouldIstayorshouldIgo?
IfIwalkedcleanoutofyourlife
howlongwouldittakeyoutoknow?
Arewesuchgoodfriends?
Youusedtosay«Iloveyou»,
youusedtosay
«Youmakemefeelaliveandyoung».
Nowwe'rejustahabit,
aflavour,onceamonth,
totitillateyourtongue.
Howsordidthishasbecome
asthemeansapproachtheend
oh,howlongcanwepretend
thatwe'restillgoodfriends?
Igaveyoumydevotion,
hidingnothingupmysleeve.
IfIwalkedcleanoutofyourlife
wouldyouevennoticemeleave?
Somuchtangled-upemotion,
shouldIstayorshouldIgo?
IfIwalkedcleanoutofyourlife
howlongwouldittakeyoutoknow?
Arewesuchgoodfriends?
Arewestillgoodfriends?
JeunesseDoree
Theyoutharevotingwiththeirfeet,
suchashamethatthedance-beat
getssocomplicated.
Pretty,prettyitseems…
onsecondglance,thelookisoverrated.
Inthehot-housethere'samagicpotion,
timelessmotion…
Nowandagainnowlastsforever;
jeunessedoreegildingthelilyofpleasure.
Theyoutharevotingwiththeirclothes,
suchashamethatthehippose
issooverstated.
Roundandrounditgoes:
howcarelesstherapturethat'scalculated.
Inthepicturelostdevotion,
wavelessocean.
Timeandagain
stylegoesoutoffashion;
jeunessedoreetakingtheheatoutofpassion.
Lookatthekidwiththegoldentouch,
checkoutthestonyexpression;
lookatthemanwiththegoldenarm
andthesensationallesson.
Follow-my-leader'sagamewecanplay
tillweswallowthetailwithoutthinking:
Catchthehook,toetheline
nevermindthatwe'resinking!
Theyoutharevotingthemselvesin…
butthewheeltakesafreshspin
andtheyfindtomorrow
gaudygarmentswornthin,
allatbestrentandtheworstareborrowed.
Closingorders,fadingnation,
dissipation…
timeandagain,time'sunforgiving;
jeunessedoreegildingthelilyofliving.
Nowandagain,nowandforever;
jeunessedoreegildingthelilyofpleasure.
Cut.
Traintime
Alongthetracksthewiresarehumming
inburstsofcodelikefar-offdrums.
Fatheringthemessage:
furtherupthelinesomeone'sshouting
downthepassageoftime.
Thecorridorrestrainsthewindow,
noviewwithouttheeyewithin.
Bolduponthethreshold
butholdingontheline
we'reshoutingdownthepassageoftime.
Relativesspeakonthephone,onthetrain,
talkingbeforetheyhavethoughttoexplain;
voicespitchedwildlyontracksinthenight
can'tpickthepaceup…
ohlettherebelight!
Howlightbecomesthesoul.
Youknowyourselfthecentreofattention,
youseeyourselfthelocusofevent.
I'msorryifit'spainfulquarryingthelime,
stagecentre,
shoutingdownthepassageoftime.
Thecorridorretainsitsshadows,
itssecretscompartmentalised.
Dampingdownonambience,
clamptheteethandgrind,
shoutingdownthepassageoftime.
What'stheretoseeormakeclear?
What'stheretoknow
whenthevoiceisrighthere?
What'stheretopromiseorvow?
What'stobelieve,whenthetimeisrightnow?
Relativesspokeonthephone,onthetrain,
talkingbeforetheyhadsoughttorefrain;
voicesprojected,spearsinmid-flight
frozenforever…ohlettherebelight!
NowMorethanEver
Betweencomaandconsciousness
nohardandfastline,
nochancetovoteonthemotioningeye.
Amysticalvisionorafallfromgrace,
thechaseinslowmotionthroughalienspace?
Idon'tknowwhattomakeofthedream-time:
itseemsasthoughI'mme,
butI'mnowmorethanever
happeninginsidemyself—Idon'tknow
whetherIneedanythingelse.
Storedinformationorsecretiveclue,
somuchwillfitthedesign…
onefieldoflifewherefreewill
won'tcutthrough:
thedreamandtheunconsciouseye,
inrealtime.
Wesurfbetweenwaking
andthebreakersofsleep
theunconsciousocean,stillwatersrundeep.
Welaydownalllogic,
allsenseofcontrol,suspenddisbelief
inthewindowofsouls.
Idon'tknowwhattomakeofthedream-time:
itseemsasthoughI'mme,
butI'mnowmorethanever
happeningonlyinthought…
Idon'tknowwhether
anysenseiscaught.
Storedinformationetc…
…thedreamdisappearsinthelight.
Inthelaboratorythey'rewakinghimup:
thedreamsonthelipsbuttheysmashthecup.
Apsycho-experiment,andthereisnodoubt—
thedream'sanexperienceIgocrazywithout…
Idon'tknowwhattomakeofthedream-time:
itseemsasthoughI'mme,
butI'mnowmorethanever
happeninginsidemyhead…
isthisaforeverwiththeegodead?
Storedinformationetc…
…thedreamandtheunconsciouseye.
Inrealtime
it'snowmorethanever.
Comfortable
ShelikestokeepGodoutofchurch,
especiallywhensheprays:
allinitsplace,allsafelystored
forsomerogationday…
theparadoxissoapparent,
thesenseabsurd,butalltooreal;
thenonsenseisarrant
butshejustwantstofeelcomfortable.
Apoundinthecollection-box,
aname-platebytheaisle;
shealwayswearsahat,
forHe'llappreciatethestyle.
Paysnoattentiontothesermon,
Christinhimselfhasnoappeal,
thesocialcustomistheturn-on
andshejustwantstofeelcomfortable.
Treadingnotonherillusions,
Iwillnotwalkuponmyown:
westandamongthecreaturecomforts;
we'restandingon
thestockpilesoffirststones.
WestandonthebrinkoftheUltrapower,
assumeit'saproperplace,
viewthelivinghourbyhour
inthefirstpersonsingularcase.
Onwiththeusual,complacent,
waitforthemortalwoundtoheal
whentheabyssisadjacent…
whatrighthavewegottofeel
comfortable?
Onwiththeusualcomplacency,
onwiththecustomaryzeal;
shedoesn'tneedtomatchavalency,
shejustwantstofeelcomfortable.
It'sherblindnessandherblessing
thatthethoughtwillnotoccur
thatheaven,whenitcomes,mighthave
nospecialplaceforher.
She'llneverlookattheenigma,
shedoesn'twantthingsquitethatreal.
Oh,that'ssomekindofstigma—
Whatrighthasshegottofeel
comfortable?
Shedoesn'twanttothinkaboutit,
shedoesn'twanttotalkaboutit,
shedoesn'twanttolookatit.
Itmakesherfeeluncomfortable.
Patient
Asysteminthemaking,
self-healingfortheblind,
sittinginthewaiting-room
ofthepatientmind;
ragingattheillness
whentheragemaybeitscause,
thepurposeofthewillislost
inthesearchforanescapeclause.
Fatalconvalescence,
thewoundbecomesaweal;
thepoisonisinessencejust
thevirusofthereal.
Butthere'ssympathetichealing,
thepowerofthesoulbandages,
concealingallthatwecan'tcontrol.
Waitingforthedoctortocome.
Asysteminthemaking,
self-healingfortheblind,
sittinginthewaiting-room
ofthepatientmind…
butthereisn'tanyanswer
theconsciousnesscanquote
whentheloadeddiceofchance
arethere,rattlinginthethroat.
Waitingforthedoctortocome.
Youputyourfaithinothers;
thefearcouldnotbeworse,
butNature'snotyourmothernow,
justyoursucklingnurse.
Thereisn'tanydoctor,
thereisn'tanycure…
thatmightcomeasashocktoyou,
butcanyoureallybesosure?
Canyoureallybesure?
LoopsandReels(1983)
Incontextwasall.
ThecontextoftheKora:dislocation.
AgiftfromSwitzerland(ofallplaces),itfoundit'swaybacktoEnglandwhereitsatasanobject
strippedofpurposeandidentity.Thisdidnotfeelremotelypositive.Monthslaterthesongcame.The
instrumentitselfdictatedthestyleandthetune,neitherofthemremotelyclosetotheoriginaldesign
andpurpose.Thecautionarytalegrewanddirecteditselfasmuchat.theplayerinthecontextofthe
instrument,asattheimaginedotherinthatofthemask.
ThecontextoftheLoops:physicality.
The tape snaked out, often room wide, from the focus of record replay heads. A physical
junction where it was edited imposed a subsidiary rhythm to whatever had been registered on it. A
slower,slowerpulseeachtimetheeditbumpedacrosstheheads.Lifeexpectancyreducedwitheach
pass.Oxideshredding,thesoundgraduallygrewdullerandmoredistant.Inthisworldofstraining
motorstimewouldnotstandstillformanipulation.Itstretched,butunderstruggle.
ThecontextoftheReels:accumulation.
Eventually all their fragmentary snatches of time were stitched together. The whole which
emergeddidnotanddoesnotmakeacomfortablecover.
ARitualMask
ARitualMaskuponthewall
furnisheshissurroundings
andhethinksthat'sall.
ARitualMask,
itspowerstillstrong,
amementoofhistravels,
thathegotforasong.
Hegotitforasong.
Itwasthesongofthecenturiesundisturbed,
thesongofsecretsandpowerwords;
thesongofaculturenotgrownimmune
tothevirusofprogress,
tothetheftofthetune.
TheRitualMask,
theevileye
inhabitshisapartment,
inhabitshismind
withasongofvengeance,
asongofadebtrepaid,
asongofjustice,
asongofahandunstayed,
asongofacultureasoldasthehills…
thatsitsuneasyontheliving-roomwall
likeasnakeabouttokill.
TheRitualMask,
itwon'ttakelong
beforehefindsoutthebargain
hasturnedoutdreadfullywrong.
Oh,hegotitforasong.
TheMoebiusLoop
Indecisionanduncertainty
catchyounowastheyneverhavebefore…
howcomeyoudidn'trecognize
therevolvingdoor?
Areyougoingtotakesides
onthechequeredfloor?
Itusedtobesoeasy,
yousaweverythinginblackandwhite.
Whenyoulosttrackofallthemovesyou'dmade
youlostfaithinwrongandright.
Itdoesn'tseemconceivable,
lookwhat'shappeninginyourhand.
Isitjustatrickofcomprehension
oramasterplan?
Oh,thechangeinyourperspective,
fromthegutternowyoustoop…
howcomeyoudidn'trecognizethefieryhoop?
Howareyougoingtotakesides
nowyou'reontheMoebiusLoop?
Nowyou'reontheMoebiusLoop.
Skin(1986)
Skin
There'sashiverdownthespine
ofthebodymap…
howcomeeverythinggetssophysical?
Withyourfingeronthepulse
andyourheadintheclouds
everything'ssotactile
Inyourprivateworld,
Inyourlittleworld.
CHORUS:
Undertheskinyousearchforparadise,
undertheskinsomekindofparasite
remainsconcealed.
Undertheskinatrueidentity,amemory
willsoonberevealed,undertheskin.
Hitthatbutton,notimetolose—
everything'ssoimmediate.
You'dhaveitallrightnow
Ifyougottochoose
Inyourprivateworld,
suchatinyworld.
CHORUS
Issomethingouttogetyouundertheskin?
Fullofthepromiseofparadise?
Paradisenow?
Everythinggetssophysical,
everything'ssoimmediate
Inyourprivateworld,
suchatinyworld.
CHORUS
Doessomethinggettoyou
undertheskin?
AftertheShow
One of many Actor songs which have littered my path. What
doeshappentothoseliveswhichtreadtheboards?What'sthetradeoff?Thereareseveralonionskinlayersofrealityhereandsomeof
themareobviouslyself-referential…
Hemadeabitofmoney,
that'ssomethingyoumightliketoknow…
He'llbedrinkinginthecafeonthecorner
aftertheshow.
He'sbeensomanypeople,
heworethemalllikepoisonedvests,
stillplayingthesoliloquyfromHamlet
closetohischest.
Wheredotheactorsgoaftertheshow?
Wheredotheactorsgo?
Hehadhishourofglory,
that'ssomethingyoushouldkeepinmind…
Whenhe'sdrinkinginthecafeonthecorner
there'snosenseoftime,
justwaitingonforGodot,
convincedhe'sbeenhereyearsbefore…
he'stakenthatphilosophyinGerman
squareonthejaw.
Wheredotheactorsgoaftertheshow?
Wheredotheactorsgo?
Hemadeabitofmoney,
that'ssomethingyoumightliketoknow;
he'llbedrinkinginthecafeonthecorner
aftertheshow
Wheredotheactorsgoaftertheshow?
Wheredotheactorsgo?
PaintingbyNumbers
It'snotthatcomplicated,
nomorethanaclenchoffist—
shewanttopaintherheartout,
shewanttotellitassheseesitis.
Authoritycondemnsher,
theysaytopaint'sawastewithoutabase,
somebedrockofidea.
Paintingbynumbersdoesn'taddup,
Paintingbynumbersdoesn'taddup,
it'spassionlessbed-rest,
work-bodythat'sheadless,
aheadthat'swithoutheart—
paintingbynumbersdoesn'tadduptoart.
Herconstantvowsmeannothing,
notcontentalonethatsells—
TheMarketTheorybeckons,
no-onerememberswhatthestorytells;
no-onerememberspassion,
wejustrecitetheline
thatartisfineandfashioncostly.
Paintingbynumbersdoesn'taddup;
safetyinnumbers,putyourhandsup
inmutesurrender…
they'llbreakherorbendher
fortheheartonhersleeve.
Paintingbynumbersallthemodernworldbelieves.
Andthewholethingfallsapart
whenthemovement'smoreimportantthantheart;
whenwe'remoreconcerned
withwhat'sbeenthoughtthansaid
thisisthemomentwhentheculture'sdead.
It'snotthatcomplicated,
it'ssimpleascanbe:
shewanttopaintherheartout,
theywantaprogrammefortheB.B.C.
whereacademiccriticscantalkofartthat'sfine
likeholywine—theBlessedIntellectuals!
Paintingbynumbers,safetyinnumbers…
ThepoetsfromVenusassumethatthey'veseenus—
they'requicktodepart.
Paintingbynumbersdoesn'tadduptoart.
Shell
This was originally called «Galapagos». Does that make any
more sense of the «turned turtle»? I'm not sure what «he's
doing»/«we're doing»… but sure as hell we're writing our own
(unknown)histories.
Turnacard,turnapage,
theactionsuretostart,
second-stagereaction
toillogicalthoughtsonrandomlines—
inaBorgesdreamwemovetoward
thewritingoflives.
Leaveitout,leaveitin,
noedits—
withashout,withagrinIsaid
itwasacertaintythatI'darrive
inanEschersketch
wewalkaround
thedrawingoflines.
Thecharacteruncertainty
ashecontemplateshislot
andtriestomovewithurgency
thoughhe'srootedtothespot.
Onthebrink,ontheedge,
butlatelywhatIthink,
whatIsaidescapesme
inaflash,atigerburningbright—
doesthevisionarytranceobscure
theburgeoningnight?
Andshesaid«Whatareyoudoing?»
Andhesaid«Whatdoyouthink?»
Oh,no,
whatoneartharewedoing?
Thecharactersprocrastinate
onthethresholdofthedoor;
there'ssomethingherethatfascinates,
thoughthemeaning'sstillunsure
andtheplotsothick.
Isitsomekindofhistory?
Sketchthethumbnailtothequick.
Oh,eventhoughit'sfullofcontradiction,
thoughit'sflawedinthedesign
thisisnofiction,
it'salifeline.
Hereweare,therewewent,
fullcircle,shootingstars,
heaven-sent,turnedturtleonthebeach
ourshellsareleftbehind
lifealibrary,likeamemory
ofourghost-writtenlives.
AllSaidandDone
Allthewordsintheworld
wouldn'tmakeyoustaythisevening;
thoughIscrabblearoundforanyIcansay,
sohardtotakeourleave,
sohardtostopbelieving.
Iguessweknowthissilencewellenough,
andyou'llbegoingbyandby;
I'mscaredthatanythingIoffer
mightbetakenforalie.
CHORUS:
Allsaidanddone,
andthere'snowaytomakeitanydifferent.
Iholdmytongueasyou'rewalkingaway.
Sogoodbyecomes—
oh,Idon'twanttomakeitdifficult
butnothing'seasy
whenthere'snothinglefttosay.
Nowweonlytalkasthoughtimewereheavyweather
withastorm-cloudbrewingoneachhastyphrase…
allthewordsintheworldwouldn'tputusbacktogether.
Maybewehadouropportunities…
mostofthosechancespassedusby;
I'mscaredthatanythingIoffer
mightbetakenasabribe.
CHORUS
APerfectDate
Aperfectdatetohesitate,
Ihopeitwon'tbetoolong.
You'reasuckerforthepunch
andthetelegraphbellsareringing;
nowit'scomingtothecrunch
asyoustumbleontheJaffaGate.
Ithinkyouknowhowithappensonthestage
whentheheavenlychoiraresinging—
you'vebeentakenbyaperfectdate.
YoumadetheMountofVenusyourJerusalem,
you'remarkingtimeassymbolfordebate;
youhopetofindsomemomentclosetoinfinite,
youhopetofindaperfectdate.
Aperfectdatetohesitate.
Thefuturebeckonsuson.
Therecomesatimetohesitate—
Ihopeitwon'tbetoolong.
You'reasuckerforthepunch…
…you'vebeentakenbyaperfectdate.
You'vebeenplayingonahunch
andthestringsofyourheartarezinging.
Yeh,youcutloosefromthebunch
butthatdoesn'tmeanyou'vesealedyourfate.
Ithinkyouknowhowithappens,
thoughit'sstrange,
whentheheavenlychoirstartsinging:
you'vebeentakenbyaperfectdate
FourPails
Fourpailsofwaterandabagfullofsalts.
Thatisallweare,thatisallamancomprises,
chemicalsalone,withnospirit,soulorghost—
nothingsobizarre.
Noamountoffaithdisguises
whatistrueiswhatwefearthemost
Nothingcansurvive
savethethingsmenleavebehindthem.
Anyothercasewouldbereallytooabsurd—
ifthoughtsremainedalive
surelymodernsciencewouldfindthem?
No,thesoulisnothingbutaword.
AllthewondersManachieves
emergefromcerebraltissue.
Chemicalreactions'ebbandsurge
formthatThingthatisyou…
It'sasadphilosophy,
butbettersadthanwrong.
Facethetruthinstead:
whenyou'redeadyou'redead,
whenyou'regoneyou'regone…
nowshe'sgone.
Fourpailsofwaterandabagfullofsalts.
Thatisallshewas,allmyloverrepresented—
thatsoundsjustasmadassayingshewillneverdie.
Foolsmayclutchatstraws
buttruthmustnotbecircumvented:
asthetreefalls,somustthattreelie!
Nowthatsoundssoodd…
onceIwouldhavepreacheditbrightly.
NowquestionsappearIrationallycan'tignore…
NothingnessorGod,
Whichofthemseemsmoreunlikely?
OnceIwouldhaveansweredclearly,
nowIonlythinkI'mnearlysure.
(ChrisJudgeSmith)
NowLover
Inthehereandnow…
Betweensensationatthenerve-ends
andarrivalofinformationatthecortex
timeelapses.
So,yousee,eachtimewetouch
wedidsointhepast.
Now,lover,
slicingthroughtimeinaperfectcurve,
Dueforamomentofenergy;
somehowwe'llgetwhatwemostdeserve
inthehereandnow.
Inthehereandnow,
althoughcompletelydifferentpeople
inthemomentsbeforeandafterhavingsex,
wearetime-locked.
Cracked,forgottenstatues,
wearestrangledintheundergrowth,
lostinancientmagic,wearemotion,
wearewonderfulflow.
Wearetime-locked,
Unknowingofthecode,butaddictedtothepulse
Now,lover,
meltinthecrucible,
fleshandbloodbodiesconsumedbythecatalyst.
Somehowwe'llraiseoursightsfromthemud,
wearealwaysnow,
weareAlwaysNow!
Ifwewerealwayshereandnow,
insteadofslightly,nowandthen…
soimmaterial,solost,embracing
allthegracethatcomesbeforethefall.
Ifwewerealwayshereandnow,
electricshiverinthespine,
howcouldweturnaway,seelifeasgreyanddrab?
Howcomewedon'tseewhatwehave?
Ifwewerealwayshereandnow,
soultosoulandskintoskin…
Isitsomekindofmake-believe,
isitsomekindofdreamwe'rein,
withamintcopyoforiginalsin?
Inthehereandnow,
betweensensationatthenerve-ends
andthearrivalofinformationatthecortex
timeelapses
Cracked,forgottenstatues,weare
strangledintheundergrowth;
lyingonthemattress
ofthemagicandthewonderful,
nothingreallymattersaswe're
suckedinbytheundertow…
WeareMotion,weareFeeling,weareNow!
Althoughcompletelydifferentpeople
inthemomentsbeforeandafterhavingsex
wearetime-locked,wearetime-locked…
Thoughweknow
eachtimewetouch
wedidsointhepast.
Nowcomeon,comeon,lover,
slicingthroughtimeinaperfectcurve,
dueforamomentofenergy…
somehowwe'llgetwhatwemostdeserve
inthehereandnow.
Meltinthecrucible,fleshandblood
bodiesconsumedbythecatalyst,
surrendertonothing,
welcomethefloodofthehereandnow.
Slicingthroughtimeinaperfectcurve,
dueforamomentofenergy,
somehowwe'llgetwhatwemostdeserve;
meltinthecrucible,fleshandblood
bodies,consumedbythecatalyst,
surrendertonothing,
nipthethoughtinthebud.
Wearealwaysnow,
WeareAlwaysNow!
Ifwewerealwayshereandnow…
YouHitmeWhereILive
Afterfinishingtherecordingof«Skin»Iwasstillfiredup,and
bashed out this tune in a week or so. Only a madman would have
played, rather than sequenced, all the keyboard arpeggiation. That
manwasI.
Therewassomethingintheconversation,
ancientlanguageswerebreakingthrough;
Iwasfallingforinfatuation—
howaboutyou?
Yousayit'snothingspecial,
that'sjustthewayitis…
youhitmewhereIlive.
ThoughIdrinkthecupitleavesmethirsting—
whatonearthamIsupposedtodo?
WhenItrytospeakIfindmy
burstingheartfullofyou.
Yousayit'sonlynatural,
yousayforgetandforgive…
youhitmewhereIlive.
Iwasoncethemanwhofeltnopassion;
IwasnothingtillIfellforyou.
You'readuelistinyourownfashion,
eyesthatrunmethrough.
Yousaythatit'samixedblessing,
butIshouldtakethegiftyougive…
youhitmewhereIlive.
AndCloseasThis(1986)
TooManyofMyYesterdays
Somanyyearsago,Ithoughtyouweretheone—
whoknowswhenpeoplechange,surrenderintostrangeness,
adriftupontheirlives,encompassedbythepast?
Whoknowswhichonebecomesthelastgoodbye?
Don'ttrytotellmenothingdies.
Don'ttrytotellmenothing'schanged,
don'ttrytotellmenothing'snew,
toomanyofmyyesterdaysbelongtoyou.
Ishelvedmybrokenheart,Iputyoufrommymind,
Igotupfrommyknees,Ipickedupallmypieces,
butseeingyouagainputsshakesintomysoul.
JustwhenIthinkI'mfinallyoveryou,
don'tcomeandshowmethat'snottrue.
Tellmeaboutit,talktome—Ihearitcoming,Ifeelitcoming,
thewayyouwantthisthingtobe.
You'reonlytradingonourmemories
don'tgoandsayyoustillloveme.
You'retradingonmymemories,you'retradinginarosypast;
youknowI'mlostonstormyseas…butIstillstandbeforethemast,
beneaththestarsandundersailtowardshorizonsoutoftrue…
BehindthedanceofsevenveilsIstillseeyou…
Tellmeaboutit,haveyourway;
Iseeitcoming,Ihearitcoming,
Iknowwhatyou'reabouttosay.
You'vehadtoomanyofmyyesterdays,
andIdon'twanttofallagain.
Don'ttrytotellmenothing'schanged,
don'ttrytotellmenothing'snew,
toomanyofmyyesterdaysarelostinyou.
Faith
One of my (all too?) rare totally optimistic songs. Perhaps it's
only in the first flush of a relationship that things are as simple as
this;orisitlater,whenthey'remorecomplicated?
Eachmomentisprecious
thosethatIspendwithyouareaprize—
Icountmyselfluckyjustbeingalive
whileyou'reinmyeyes.
Seeing'sbelievingandIbelieveinyou
Ican'tconcealit,justwhatIfeelforyou.
Seeing'sbelieving,Iknowthatyou'llseemethrough.
Ibelieveinyou
Ihavefaithinyou
Iputmyfaithinyou.
Doubtcastsitsshadow
oneveryperfectplanthatismade
butI'llbebesideyou
throughthosedarkdays—
I'llbewithyoucomewhatmay.
Don'tletmedown,
nowthatI'vefallencompletelyforyou.
EmpireofDelight
Memoryextendsitsempire,holdstheframe
butblurstheline.
Someothertimeinvadesthesense,
amomentcaughtandlost,secondsight.
SuddenlyIfeelyounearme,
worldsawayandcloseasthis.
Onestolenkissuponmylipsand
themomentslipsawayinmid-flight.
Somanyyearsago,andnowit's
hardtorecalljustwhatyoumeanttome.
StillIwait,I'mpatient,
forthememorycomestomeeventually.
Hereyouare,andthoughyoumaysoonbegone
somehowthesongstillburnsasbright.
Ifeltithappenheretonight—
here,intheempireofdelight.
Dreamandghosttheworldaroundme,
youseemasrealaseveryouwere…
butinabluryourbreathonmycheek
hasgoneandtheeveningcomeintonight.
Somanyyearsago,andnowit'shard
torecallquitewhatyoumeanttome.
StillIwait,impatient,
thoughthememorycomestomeeventually.
HereIam,forevercaughtupinthismystery
andthen,
thatmomentwhenthefireignites—
Ifeltithappenheretonight,
here,intheempireofdelight.
Silver
Youlayyourplans,Itakethemastheycome,
Iunderstand:wedancetodifferentdrums.
It'snotinanyschoolbook,
you'reheretoteachalessontousall…
weplaybydifferentrule-books.
Whatyousay,whatyoudo,
they'resuchdifferentthings,whichistrue?
Nowthetelephonerings,Mephistophelescalling…
Fortypiecesforeachlieyou'vetold
Ihopeyourliningsastheyallunfoldaresilver.
Oncewewerefriendsinouridealistdays,
still,let'spretend,it'sfunnyinaway
thatnowourfriendship'stoken
youliketosayIoweyoueverything—
somedebtsremainunspoken.
Doubletalk,doublestandards,
youspeakwithtwotongues,truth'sabandoned,
alllifehasbecomeone-waytraffictolucre.
Youtakeyourmeetingsontheclothofgold,
justdowntheriverfromthelivesyou'vesoldforsilver.
Thesilvercrossedyourpalm,oh,canyouseethefuture?
Ihopeyou'llknowwhenyousoldyoursoul.
Argente,argent.
Allthethingsyou'vedonewillcarrytheirowntaint
andadaywillcomewhenyouchorusthecomplaint
thatyourfriendsdon'tdoyoufairly;
thebackyouturned,theshouldersthatyoushrugged
nowfittheblamequitesquarely.
Whatyouwant,whatyouneed,
youremotionalgreedall-consuming
butnoheartswillbleedandthecoffersareempty.
Yes,intheendyou'dgiveitallaway,
butonthesocketsofyoureyestheylaythesilver.
BesidetheOneYouLove
You'rehelpless,entrancedbythemagical
touchofherskinagainstyours,adrift—
whatelseistherebutthis?
Itfeelssosweet
tofallasleep
besidetheoneyoulove
Rememberthisfireside,thisquietroom,
embersnowflickeringtheirlast,likeghosts
andstillsheholdsyouclose.
Whoelsecouldknow
suchafterglow
besidetheoneyoulove?
Somedaythememorywillcomeagain
asvividassensationnowandthen
there'llbeno«why?»or'when?'.
Whoelsecoulddo
thesethingstoyou
besidetheoneyoulove?
Itfeelssosweet
tofallasleep
besidetheoneyoulove.
OtherOldCliches
Imightaswellgiveyouallthereis,
Imightaswelltakeitalltheway:
what'sgoneisforgotten,andanyway
surelywordsalonecouldnotwreckyourday?
Thecake'snotworththecandle,sotheysay…
'Nothingventured,nothinggained,nohardfeelings'…
otheroldcliches.
I'veheldbackmyfeelingsforsolong
whileclutchingatstrawsinthecaravan—
I'llsaywhatImustandtakeitlikeaman.
I'vefixedmygrin,I'veraisedalaugh,
andaftertheback'sbeenbrokenbythewaitinggame…
'Mustn'tgrumble,can'tcomplain,nohardfeelings',
otheroldcliches.
SuddenlyIseethescalesfallingfromyoureyes—
thisrevelationsurelycomesasnosurprise?
Well,whatd'youwant?Whatd'youexpect?
Whatdoyousay?
Canitreallybesopredictable?
Nowallofthesecretsaregivenaway,
whatwordsofforgivenessaretherelefttosay?
Holdmenow,don'tletgo,
holdme,soontherecomesapriceIcannotpay,
Itakethewordsbackstraightaway:
'I'msosorry,Ididn'tmeanit',
begforgiveness,begandpray…
blindself-pity,
otheroldcliches.
Confidence
Behindthesmileofconfidence
somewhereyou'llfindthewantedman
blank-facedandwaryofconversationwithhimself.
Aroundtheringofconfidence
they'redancingtoadifferenttune;
theothersseemsoconfident,whydon'tyoutakealeaf
fromthestormwe'repassingthrough?
Inconfidencewesailacrossthesevenseas
tohidebehindtheveil—inconfidencethekey!
«I'mingoodform,I'mfeelingfine,»
responsiblyhowwellyoudo—
there'snothingIcansayabout
theusualcocktailofpublicfaithandprivatetaboo.
Inconfidencethetrickisthereforalltosee—
Inconfidencethekey!
Oh,don'tanyoneletthecatoutofthebag,
don'tanyoneadmittohumanfrailty.
Someoneletthecatoutofthebag.
Confidentiallywelearnwe'renotalone,
inlackofconfidencewe'renotalone.
Behindthesmileofconfidence
somewhereyou'llfindthemortalman
wavinghisarmsinsomeurgentsecretsemaphore…
SoI'llfacetheworldwithconfidence,
I'lltoughenupmypointofview,
whatbetterwaytolivealife,
whatotherwaycantherebeofseeingthisthingthrough?
Inconfidencethetrick,inconfidencethegame,
thethingthatmakesustick—
inconfidencetheflame!
Insidetheringofconfidence
somewhereyou'llfindastone-ageman
lostintheforestwithdarknessfalling,
strikinghisflinttoholdback
theroaring,thealien,theworld.
Wearenotalone.
SleepNow
Incomprehensible,confusedandcontradictorythoughtheyare,
thisissomekindofefforttodepictnon-possessiveparentalfeelings,
and specifically those of a father, naturally. «As though he never
knewthemeaningofthewords»isexactlyright.
Sleepnow:
anotherdayinyouryounglivesisdone,
gotosleepnow;tomorrowbravenewworlds
willsurelycome,andtroubledeep;
you'resuchawonder,suchamysterytome.
Somewhere
yourfuturefriendsarelyingasyouare
andyourlovers
rightnowareonlycryingbabesinarms
oh,theworldturnsunderourfeet,
ourlivesarepassingby
inoursleep.
Sosoonyou'llbegonetothatwideworld
thetunesofadulthoodcallinglittlegirls.
Remember,
whateverelseinlifeyoufindtodoubt,
doremember,
althoughyouhearhimmostlyinashout,
yourfatherlovesyou
asthoughheneverknewthemeaningofthewordsuntiljustnow.
Sosoonyou'llbegonetothatwideworld
onetuneofchildhoodIsingmylittlegirls…
Sleepnow,
onedayI'lltellyouhowmylifehasbeen.
Oh,sostrange
tothinkyoureyeswillfallonthings
thatminehaveneverseen,theseeyesthatgentlyflicker
insomelostchildhooddream.
Sleepnow,
safeandwarminthehavenofyourbed,
gotosleepnow…
Althoughyouwon'trememberwhatI'vesaid,
yourfatherlovesyou
asthoughheneverknewthemeaningofthewordsuntiljustnow,
asthoughheneverknewthemeaningofthewords.
InaForeignTown
Hemlock
Hereitcomesuponthescreen,
thepropagandaofthemilitary-industrialmachine.
Bynowwefindthere'slittlechoice:
whenourmasterstellus«smile»werejoice.
Withthenuclearshieldsafelyinplace
we'reassuredofthesurvivalofthehumanrace.
Theearthisflatandpigscanfly—
swallowhardandbelievethelies.
Inthesealleysallareblind:
skittlesfallforthedreamsofhumankind.
Andnuclearpowerissafeashell—
Swallowhard,youngWilliamTell.
Theearthisflatandpigscanfly—
Ifyouswallowhardyoubelievethelies.
Inthebanksthedealsaremade—
ofcoursethere'snoprofitinlendingtheThirdWorldaid.
Ifthelardershellsarebareletthepeopleeatcake
andthankthegovernmentsfortheair.
Meanwhile,inthecells,secretpolice
championfreedom,offerjustice,keepthepeace.
ThePopetalkstoGod,theAyatollahtoo—
swallowhardandbelieveittrue.
Theearthisflatandpigscanfly—
ifyouswallowhardyou'llbelievethelies.
It'sahemlockworld.
It'sahemlockworldthatwemustdrink—
swallowhardanddon'ttrytothink.
It'sahemlockworldthatweallface—
swallowhardonthebittertaste,
ontheaftertaste.
It'sahemlockworld.
InvisibleInk
Followtheinstructions,
theenvelopeissealed:
we'rewaitingonanupdate,
somethinglikethereinventionofthewheel.
Whomadetheworldsocomplicated?
Whomadethewatchwordwaitandsee?
Iwakemyselfup,shakemyselfup,
takemyselfapartbutstillcan'tsee…
theesotericislostonme.
Followtheinstructions
theyspeakinmanytongues,
inunlimitededition
andthelaststepontheladderisthebottomrung.
Thediagramissoconfusing,
anagrammaticalthemystery;
Iwakemyselfup,shakemyselfup,
breakmyselfapartandfindinme
theesotericmachinery,
theesotericinvisibly.
Followtheinstructions,
telluswhatyouthink;
theylosesomethingintranslation,
theymightaswellbeprintedininvisibleink.
Esotericmachinery,
theesotericinvisibly;
theesotericislostonme,
theesotericinvisibility.
Whomadetheworldsocomplicated?
WhoputthealphaintheABC?
Iwakemyselfup,shakemyselfup,
breakmyselfapartbutfinally
theesotericislostonme.
Theesoteric,notimetothink,
Theesoteric,writtenininvisibleink.
Ininvisibleink
indivisiblelink
ininvisibleink.
Sci-Finance(Revisited)
Yougotsomeshares,it'sacapitalventure,
youhedgeyourbetswithagilt-edgedbond,
you'restretchedouttightbythetermsofdebenture,
thegameison.
Yougotafortuneonpaper,
howitshinesontheVDU!
Thesimpletruthisthatsoonerorlater
themarketplaysyou.
Theregoesthedaylight!
Nightcomesonthecitysosoon.
Inthedanceofthetypicalcapitalists
whatpiperplaysthetune?
Money'sideal,money'spower,
money'sthedrivethat'smorethanskin-deep,
hardatworkthroughthetwenty-fourhours—
oh,butmoney'snevercheap.
Youmadesomeprettydeals,Ihearyousay,
JudasandFaustaresqueakyclean…
whenthelastofthedealshavebeenclearedaway
whatcomesuponthescreen?
Theregoesthedaylight—
nightcomesonthecitysosoon.
Inthedanceofthetypicalcapitalists
whatpiperplaysthetune?
Onlythemoney.
Butthedealincludesus:
Weputourselvesintothestocks;
whenwebuiltupthetempleofthemoney-god
weopenedupPandora'sbox.
Theregoesthedaylight,
nowthereissilenceonthefloor,
onlymoney-computerschatterprivately,
nopeopleanymore.
Nopeopleanymore,
onlythemoney,onlythemoney,
Isthatwhatyouwant?
Isthatit?
Theregoesthedaylight.
ThisBook
Awayfromthepast,thischanceisthelast,
wearechangingcompletely,
wearemovingthefeast,wearemotion.
I'veseenyoubecomethebrideofthesun,
yousurrendersosweetly,
sacrificingyourselftodevotion.
ThisbookisendedandIputitdown,
thisbookisendedandIputitdown,
I'msaved,I'msavingforthefuture.
ThisbookisendedandIputitdown,
findI'mbefriendedinaforeigntown,
I'msaved,I'msailingforthefuture.
Butonlyyesterdaynight
Istoodinthepouringrain,shoutingatthethunder:
Isaid«Lord,I'mstartingtounderstandthehiddenmystery.»
Lord,thecompassfallsinmyhand,
Icansailtothefarhorizon…
Couldyouconceiveamirror
whereyoucouldneverseeyourself?
Awayfromthepast,theiconoclasts,
wearechangingcompletely,
wearebreakingthemould,wearerapture.
I'veseenyouastridethewindandthetide,
mydarkangel,yougreetmewithasamuraisword,
closethechapter…
ThisbookisendedandIputitdown,
findI'mbefriendedinaforeigntown,
I'mhere,butI'mnearertothefuture.
Butonlyyesterdaynight…
ThisbookisendedandIputdown,
findI'mbefriendedinaforeigntown,
thisbookisendedandIputitdown.
TimetoBurn
Timetoburn,wecouldtalkalltheproblemsthrough…
Arethepromisesstillunbroken,
dothespokenwordsstillringtrue?
Oh,andwhereareyou?
Timetoburn,wakesandweddings,celestialchoirs,
andwhileonehandshakesonthebargain
seetheotherstokethesutteepyre;
sowe'reallonfire,
burningfortomorrow.
Somuchtimewish-andhoping,
soonthefuturewillcome
withabridalwreathforthewedding
inthehandsoftheprodigalson.
Somuchleftundone,
herewearewithtimetoburn.
Somuchtimewishfulthinking,
allthewhitestoflies
withtheprodigalcaughtattheborder
andtheorderofserviceawry.
Notimeforgoodbyes,
willweeverstarttolearn?
Timetoburn,wakesandweddingsbecomeconfused,
allthefacesover-familiar
inthewhirlwindofdeja-vu…
Oh,butwhereareyou?
Timetoburn,allourlifelinesaregatheredround
withaspeechfromthebackofapostcard
allthememoriesfreeinonebound.
Free,andgonetoground,
free,andgoneforever.
Free,andgonetoground,
soIwillremember
somuchlostandfound.
Herewearewithtimetoburn.
Auto
Here'sasensationIwouldn'ttrade—
pinpointintheonrush,
dancingtotherhythmofthewiperblades.
Upaheadontheautobahn
headlightslikealavastream;
upaheadinthedistanceiswherewe'regoing,
wherewewillhavebeen.
Backinthemotor,keepgoingovernight;
we'vegotnocertaindestination
butforallweknowwemight.
Sogetbackinthemotor,let'sdriveitanyplace…
bettertotravelhopefully
thantoarrive,inanycase.
Whileyoucheckoutthemap-book,
justlikeanovelthat'salloutofjoint,
ourpassportintoanonymity…
stickapinintothevanishingpoint.
Icoulddriveforhours,
don'tevenneedtoknowthewaytogo;
Icoulddriveforever
withsomeclassicalmusicontheradio.
Backinthemotor,backintooverdrive
andifwetravelhopefullythenwe'llknowwe'realive.
Getbackindasauto,let'sdriveitanyplace,
bettertotravelhopefullythantoarriveinanycase.
Wecoulddriveforever,
wecoulddriveforever,
Icaughtyouthinking,Ibetyouwere,
thatwecoulddriveforever
inthenever-neverlandofthemetaphor.
Backinthemotor,keepgoingovernight;
We'vegotnokeytothehighway
butforallweknowwemightaswell
getbackinthemotor,let'sdriveitanyplace,
bettertotravelhopefullythantoarriveinanycase.
Sogetbackinthemotor,let'sgetonwiththedrive
andifwetravelhopefullythenweknowwe'realive.
Getbackinthemotor.
Let'sgetbackinthemotor,
getintunewiththemotor,
getback.
VoteBrandX
Here'sthemodernpoliticalman,forsurehe'snobody'sfool,
believesinmediacoverageasapromotionaltool.
Trustinhimbecausehe'sgottherightface;
justincaseyouharbourdoubt
hereisaslogantotout.
He'ssuchaprincipledman,allheart,ruledbyhisbrain:
You'veseentheTVcommercials,you'veseenthepostercampaign,
you'veseentheadsinthepapers,there'snothingelsetoexplain.
Justsomewordstomaximisethemarket,
justamessagethatwillreachthetarget,
promisesthatturntodust.
Heisamanyoucantrust.
Thisisamanofthepeopleinpoliticsnow.
Politicsnow,it'sjustlikesellingsoappowder,
nomoneydown—youluckypunters—
fullguarantee,
fiveyear'strialfree!
Heisamanyoucantrust.
Bydintofmarketresearchheknowswhichtruthsheshouldtell;
he'sgotthemarkofconviction,itservestheagencywell;
yes,he'soncourseforelectioninpoliticsnow.
Trustthepropagandists'manifesto,
trustthepoliticianwiththepromo,
trusttheadstobuyyourvote.
Voteforbrandx,it'sjustlikesellingsoappowder,
whatevernext?Youluckypunters,
fullguarantee…
Whatevernext?
Showtrialsbydecree…
Theshowtrialsarefree,
theshowtrialscomefree,
voteforbrandx.
SunCityNightlife
Tothecitybeatonatreacherouscurve,
upuponthehighwireyou'reobserved—
youliveasyoulive,you'llgetwhatyoudeserve:
Highlife,digthosehighlights,
suncitynightlife:
you'llbelikeamothconsumedbyaflame.
It'sarichman'sworld,kickthosebeggarsandfools;
Conspicuousconsumptiontheonlyrule,
butthelawofretributionwillbeterriblycruel.
Oh,butyoumustn'tstoptothinkaboutyourplaceupontheplanet;
ifyoudid,youmightsteelyourselfaway
anditdoesn'treallymatteriftheshowgoesuptomorrow.
Afterall,thispettyplaceisdaytoday.
Highlightsofthehighlife,
dancingatmidnight,
dancingallmoralexistenceaway.
Nightlife,highlights,highlife,twilight…
Oh,youmustn'teverthinkaboutyouplaceupontheplanet,
don'tlookfurtherthanthebottomofadrink,
don'teverthinkaboutthewayyou'llfeeltomorrow,
don'tstopdancingortheboatwillsink…
allinallit'sgonebeforeyoublink.
Highlightsofthehighlife,
suncitynightlife,
you'llbelikeamothconsumedbyflame…
Twilightofthehighlife,
chimesatmidnight…
you'restilldancingallmoralexistenceaway.
ThePlay'stheThing
Howcouldheknowsomuch?
Howcouldhebearsuchknowledge?
Howcouldhedaretowriteitintheplays?
WhatisitShakespeare'dsay
ifhecamebacktoday?
Surelyhe'drecognizethesemortalcoils.
Howdowecarryon?
No-oneknowswheretheyfitin,
no-oneknowswhotheyare
orwherethey'vebeen.
Whatdoesthewritermean?
Howdoweplaythisscene?
Whatdidn'tShakespeareknowthatwedonow?
Stiffenthesinews,
wearhard-favour'drage,
allhistory'sdrama,
theworldisastage.
«Thereisahistoryinallmen'slives,
figuringthenatureofthetimesdeceas'd;
Thewhichobserv'd,amanmayprophesy,
withanearaim,ofthemainchanceofthings
asyetnotcometolife,whichintheirseeds
andweakbeginningslieintreasured.
Suchthingsbecomethehatchandbroodoftime…»
Oh,buttheshowgoeson,
onthroughthesevenages—
Thatoftheworldmustmirrorman's,infact.
Herecomestheseventhact,
seehowthemirror'scracked,
herecomessanseverythingforhumankind.
Tocapturetheconscience
ofnationsandkings
allhistory'sdrama—
Theplay'sthething,theplay'sthething,theplay'sthething.
Howcouldheknowsomuch?
(Thequotationisfrom«HenryIV»Pt.2,ActIII,SceneI)
UnderCoverNames
Nothanksforthememory,nothanksatall,
nowaywecanwipetheslateorcontriveescape
fromthenameswe'recalled.
Nothanksforthememory,hereitcomesagain,
thisliferunningonthespot,thoughwehidealot
withourcovernames.
Wecannomorechangethepastthanshedourskins.
Butwekeeponthinkingthatwemightgosomeplace
wherenotasoulknowswhathasgonebefore,
withsuchheadfulsofself-accusation
thatwedon'tevenknowourownnamesanymore.
Nothanksforthememory,
nothanks.
Callthembyadifferentnameandturnabout—
wecannomorechangeourspotsthanwashthemout.
Nothanksforthememory,lockedintheframe.
Nowaywecanchangethepatternofthingsthathappened
undercovernames.
Andwekeeponskirtingroundthetrueconfession,
withfreshidentitiesandbest-laidplans;
Andwekeeponworkingtooutreachtheshadow,
buttheshadowwilloutruntheman.
Withsuchheadfulsofself-accusation,
thatnopseudonymscanhideourshame,
lostinajungleofourowncreation,
lostinalabyrinthofcovernames…
Wecannomorechangethepastthanliveagain.
Wecannomoreshedourskinsthanknowourrealnames.
Nobodyknowsourrealname,
nobodyknowstheirrealname,
wehideundercovernames…
Nothanksforthememory.
Smile
Thejokesareeverywhere,
thesecretdeal'scomplete—
Moneytalks,somegoodadvice,
thepoliticiansrunlikeclockworkmice,
allfitsthemasterplan.
Adatabaseonthetelephone
andcablesunshinefloodsyourhome—
so,timesaregood?
Fatcatsgetfatterdaybyday,
thosewhosititoutwillmaketheirway,
sothingscan'tbethatbad.
Ooh,asmilehassetuponthisland,
ooh,aselfishgrinofignorance;
Ooh,yousimplyhavetoplaythegame.
Thejoke'sonus:
thisismoreandmoreridiculous.
Everything'sgreat,
objectivitytaboo;
self-satisfactionpumpingup
minorachievementstocoverup
allthefailuresandmistakes
andifyoudon'tsmilealong
you'reapublicenemy,youdon'tbelong…
Theblacklistsareinthemail.
Thereisn'tanyroomfordoubt,
we'llallbeequalwhenweshareitout
butoutsiderswillgetnothing.
(OriginalGermantextbyHerbertGrönemeyer,translatedbyPeterHammill)
OutofWater(1989)
EvidentlyGoldfish
Checkthehonestyofwhat'sonoffer,
truedetectiveorafakefakir?
Alltheevidenceiscircumstantial—
asmudtheevidenceisclear.
Paranormaltheinvestigation—
wheredothingsgowhentheydisappear?
Alltheevidencehasbeentrumpedup…
asmudtheevidenceisclear,
Ithinkwe'reontosomethinghere,
Ithinkwe'reintosomething,
Idon'tknowbutmaybewe'reallgoldfish
inthementalsphere.
Evidentlygoldfish,
neverquestioningenvironment
self-evidentlygoldfish,
weswimincircular
experience.
Churchoflogicaldeliberation,
schoolofaccidentalwheelsingear,
surfaceknowledgeisaseriousmatter,
alittleconsciousnessisdangerous,dear;
alltheevidencemustbesummedup—
asmudtheevidenceisclear,
Ithinkwe'reintosomething,
Idon'tknowbutmaybe
we'reallgoldfishinthementalsphere.
Evidentlygoldfish
neverquestiontheirenvironment;
Self-evidentlygoldfish,
weswimincircularexperience;
Evidentlygoldfish,
roundandroundandroundandround
withinourconsciousness
inthementalsphere.
Asmudtheevidenceisclear.
NottheMan
Therearesomanyquestions,
therearesomanydoubts—
thisisautosuggestion
yourspiritisgivingout.
IfIofferedmyreasons
wouldyougivemeabreak?
Nowit'sallopenseason,
nosenseofgiveandtake.
YouseeI'mnotthemanIwas…
ButifI'mnottheman
thatyoutookmetobe
doIfadefromyourdreams,
disappearfromyourmemory?
Lookatme:
ifI'mnotthemanIwas
thenwhowashe?
Therecanbenoreturning
tothesceneofthecrime…
forperfectionyou'reyearning—
someromance,someforeignclime!
Isthememoryexplicit
understrictruleofthumb?
Itwasalwaysimplicit,
thischaracterI'vebecome.
ButifI'mnottheman
thatyoutookmetobe
doIfadefromyourdreams,
disappearfromyourmemory?
Irememberitwell,
Icanguesswhatwentwrong…
youbelievedallthosewords
inthepopularsongs…
but,ifI'mnottheman
thatyoutookmetobe,
didIwalkinyourdreams?
I'venoideawhothatpersoncouldbe.
Lookatme:
IfI'mnotthemanIwas,thenwhoishe?
NoMoonintheWater
So
ifit'sjustsothen
whereisitnowwhen
Ifindthemoment
uncertain?
Brokenwaterpail—
nomooninthewater,
trytoholditnow.
So
Iwanttoholdon
reflection'sallgone,
noego—so.
Brokenwaterpail—
nomooninthewater,
trytoholditnow,
brokenwaterpail,
holdmeinthemoment,
nomoreegonow.
Iwould
drinkthedregsofdaylight,
breakthebreadofconsciousness
anddream:
dreamdayfornight,
nightfallaroundus,
waking,dreaming,
awaketothedream.
Brokenwaterpail—
nomooninthewater,
trytoholditnow,
holdmeinthemoment,
nomoreegonow,
nomooninthewater,
nomoreegonow.
OurOyster
Thisone'sauthentic,
sonofagun,
asoundtrackfromChina
intheuniversaltongue…
Theworldisouroyster
toplunderatwill,
thoughthepalateisjaded
byallbutthethrill
offishoutofwater,
lifeintheraw…
withoutunderstanding
ofwhatlife'sworthfightingfor.
Outofuniversallanguage
somestuffnevertranslates—
thereportscomeinclusters
butforwordsit'stoolate…
sixo'clockentertainment,
tearsofanguishandrage…
inthezoosofthemedia
thespiritofmomentiscaged.
There'sonlyonelanguage
thewholeworldcomprehends,
there'sonlyonemessage
asthedarknessdescends…
Doyoustillhaveaquestion
ordoyouretract?
There'sawholeworldofdifference
betweentheobserverandtheact.
They'replayingWorldMusic
inTiananmenSquare,
they'replayingWorldMusic
inTiananmenSquare,
thewhistleofbulletsintheair.
SomethingaboutYsabel'sDance
Inthenewhotel,onFiestaNight,
thestaffarebored;
DonnaYsabeldanceszombie-like,
theguestsapplaud…
Thecolorislocal,thetouristsaretanned,
thenativesarerestless
andeverything'ssecond-hand.
Placesdisappear,butthenames
endureasalibis;
memory'shazyhere,no-one'sreallysure
ofhowtimeflies…
Welldrunk,thebassplayer
criesintohisbeer—
areYsabel'smotherorYsabeldancinghere?
Afterhoursallthecouriersare
inthebarroundthecorner
withthedriversinagameofcards…
InburstsYsabel,
herhairletloose,herlimbssetfree;
onthetabletopsshe'sdancingtoamemory—
conversationstopsandeveryeye
isturnedtosee…
somethingaboutYsabel'sdance.
It'sashrinkingworld,
it'safun-packedcruise,amuseumtrip:
skirtthenativegirl,checktherabiddog,
rejointheship.
There'snoCharlieMingus,
hisTijuana'sgone…
thissmileforthecameraisalljustatouristcon.
Butafterhoursallthecouriersanddriversknow
ofacantinawherethere'severychance
thatshemightshow;
andmaybeYsabel
willdancethedanceforrealagain,
hermother'sfootsteps,viceandvirtue,
lustandloveandpain.
There'ssomethinghere
theanthropologistdarenotexplain,
somethingaboutYsabel'sdance…
GreenFingers
He'llbeyoungforeverifhekeepsthisup…
sothebedroomplayboy'snevergoingtogrowup.
Theheartisasecretgarden
towhichtherearenoshortcuts.
Onlygreenyoungfingersmakethegardenbloom;
fortheseriousyoungmennowisalwaystoosoon.
Theheartisasecretgarden,
theheadisadarkenedroom.
Closeyoureyes…
howdoesitfeeltobeinlove?
Muchtoodifficult,youshove
greenfingersintogloves.
Getthosefingersdirty—
nowyou'regettingwarm;
bloodthosehandswithpassion,
turnyourfacetothestorm.
Theheartisabedofroses,
theheartisabedofthorns.
Bleed,greenfingers,bleed.
Somefuturememorystirs…
someone'salwaysgettingburned
ifintensityholdstrue.
Ifit'srealtobeinlove
howdoesitfeeltobeinlove?
Greenfingersstrippedofgloves.
OntheSurface
Onthesurface
phosphorusgleaming;
deepdown
wecarryondreaming.
Onthesurface
compassandchartschecked;
deepdownthecurrentsrun
inashiningvortex,
inaswirlingvortex.
Onthesurface
oiltroubledwater
sailssettheseasonfire
tothefarthestquarter…
Arewedreaming?
Dreamdeepofchildhood,
dreamdeepoffuturedays—
it'llallcomegood,
deepdreaming.
Onthesurface
headabovewater
legskickthecarry-on…
(dreaming)breakthesurface;
dreamingoflong-lostchildhood,
hopingforbetterdays—
it'llallcomegood,
deepdreaming.
It'llallcomegood,
deepdreaming.
It'llallcometothesurface,
it'llallrisetothesurface,
deepdreaming.
AWayOut
Outofjoint,outoftrue,
outoflove,outoftheblue,
outoforder,outoforbit,outofcontrol,
outoftouch,outofline,
outofsyncandoutoftime,
outofgas,outoftread,
outofroad.
Outofdate,outofstock,
outofuse—out,out,damnedspot!
Youwantout,youwantoutofitforgood.
Outoftherunning,outofthegame,
outonyourfeet,clearoutofrange,
outofcontext,outofcontact,
outofthewoods.
Out,out,lookingforawayout,
nostrawsarelefttoclingto;
out,out,goingforthefade-out…
butwhatdoyoufadeinto?
Outonthetown,outforlaughs,
outofservice,outtograss,
outofmourning,outofpurdah,outonbail,
outofkilter,outofgrace,
outtogetoutofthisplace,
outofthisworld,outandout
beyondthepale.
Rightoutofcharacter,outofsympathy,
sofaroutuponalimb
you'reoutofyourtree…
Outofbreath,outoftune,
outofyourheadandoutofview,
downandout,outforthecount,orisitjustforrevenge?
Outofsight,outofmind,
leaveitout,leaveitbehind
outofreachofallfamily,allfriends.
Out,out,goingforthebale-out,
noparachuteaboveyou.
Out,out…you'llnotfeelthefall-out.
IwishI'dsaid«Iloveyou».
Fireships(1991)
IWillFindYou
My traditional weakness for the simple three-chorder shows
through again, I'm happy to say. A plain song, but honest still, I
hope!
Trappedlikearabbitbythefutureglare,
onrushingheadlightsthatblindyou,
afrightenedrunaway,
atleastyouknowIcare,
Iwillseek,Iwillsearch,Iwillfindyou.
Wearewritteninthestar-crossedsky,
thespiritmusicremindsyou…
youcanrunandhide,butsurelybyandby
Iwillseek,Iwillsearch,Iwillfindyou.
Faraway,inanotherlife
yousayyou'regoingtofindyourfreedom…
don'trunawaytoanotherlife.
Don'tbeafraid,there'snodarkunknown,
noshadowstalkingbehindyou;
don'tbeafraid,
whenyou'relostandmostalone
Iwillseek,Iwillsearch,Iwillfindyou.
Faraway,inanotherlife,
thingsmightnotbesoverydifferent…
don'trunawaytoanotherlife.
Trappedlikearabbitbythefutureglare,
onrushingheadlightsthatblindyou,
afrightenedrunaway,
atleastyouknowIcare,
Iwillseek,Iwillsearch,Iwillfindyou.
Curtains
The first great bittersweet swell of Lord orchestration (on the
album).Thecharacters'ownsenseofheightenedfictionhasbrought
them to this morning moment in a darkened room. What «nothing»
happened last night, that brings them to this pass, this «brush of
fingertips»?Sad,butexemplary.
Well,Tommywokethatmorning
withaheadfullofrocks
andSylviawasinshock.
Thestorythey'dbeenfaking
hadfrozenontheirlips
andfallenthroughthebrushoffingertips
andthoughtheypackedtheirbags,
readyfortheroad,
thecurtainsandthebedroomdoor
stayedclosed.
ForSylviaandTommythisisacurtaincall
they'vebeenrunningawayforyears
butprideinflight
precedesacertainfall.
SoTommyrubshisstubble
asiftocheckhisfaceisthere
andSylviacombsherhair
justlikenothingreallyhappened…
they'llcarryonasbefore
butthisthingwon'twork,willit,anymore.
Andthoughthebagsarepacked
readyfortheroad
thecurtainsandthebedroomdoor
stayclosed.
ForSylviaandTommy
there'snowherelefttohide:
they'vebeenrunningforyears
tofindsomekindofthrill
totakeawaytheemptiness
thattheybothfeelinside.
Makingthefictional
outofthematteroffact;
masqueradethepicture
butnowtheframe'sallcracked.
ForSylviaandTommy
there'snothinglefttotry:
they'vebeenrunningforyears
tofindsomekindoflife
thatoffersanexcitement
thattherestofuspassby.
SoTommywokethatmorning
withaheadfullofrocks
andSylviawasinshock.
Thisstorythey'dbeenfaking
wasfrozenontheirlips
andfallingthroughthebrushoffingertips
andthoughthebagsarepacked
readyfortheroad
thecurtainsandthebedroomdoor
stayclosed.
ForSylviaandTommy
there'snowherelefttogo:
they'vebeenrunningawaysolong
there'sjustnostrengthtocarryon
theycan'tgetbacktowhattheyknew
alifeabandonedonceandlongago.
HisBestGirl
One of the simplest things I've written in ages. A film story in
frozenandslow-motionframes:thefootontheacceleratorpedalof
transitorypossession.Whatdomenorwomenwant?
FootdownintheGTiCabriolet
tothevillaintheSouthofFranceforvacation…
Keepyourheaddown,baby,
keepyourhairingoldencurls
andyouwillalwaysbehis,
andyouwillalwaysbehisbestgirl.
Fastforwardonthehandycamvideo;
topthattanup,glowingU/Vonthesunbed;
atthehealthfarmyou'llbe
guardinghisinvestmentwell.
Keepyourheaddown,baby,
keepyourwitsaboutyounow…
andyouwillalwaysbehis,
andyouwillalwaysbehisbestgirl.
Beadsandbangles,it'stoolate
toclaimyourindependencenow:
yourringsandbaublesare
themarksofhispossession.
Keepyourheaddown,baby,
keepyourcounseltoyourself.
Keepyourhairon,baby,
keepyourwitsaboutyounow
andyouwillalwaysbehis…
butwillyoualwaysbehisbestgirl?
FootdownintheGTiCabriolet,
hisnewfriend'syoungenough
tobeyourdaughter…
FootdownintheGTiCabriolet.
Andyouwillalwaysbehis,
butwillyoualwaysbehisbestgirl?
Oasis
The«secretface»isoneofabsolutesilenceandrest,one-on-one
inatempestofnow:coolwater.Thisisalovesonginwhichtheego
demandsneithertobemassagednortobepowerful—merelytobe.
Besidethepoolofclearwater,
fedbyasecretspring,yourlipsaresealed
butinyourbodylanguage
angelssing.
IswearontheBible,
swearonthesacredandprofane
IthinkI'mdrowninginthevortex
youreyescontain.
Yoursecretface,
showmeyoursecretface.
Withstarsandmoonlightforshelter,
yourbreathingcloseinmyear,
thewindiswhisperingamystery
formetohear:
yoursecretname.
Tellmeyoursecretname,
oasisinadesertworld,
tellmeyoursecretname.
Letmedrinkfromthewellofsecrets,
pluckthefruitfromthetree
andfeelyoursecretworldenvelopme.
Yoursecretface,
showmeyoursecretface.
Showmeyoursecretface,
nakedasthesun,
silentasthestars,
secretoasisinadesertworld.
IncompleteSurrender
This song covers several musical bases, from murky analogue
synthtoFury'ssoling.It—likeus—isthesumofitsparts.Neither
men nor women are complete in themselves, even when
acknowledging their opposite halves. To give one's all cannot mean
to surrender completely, yet a failure to surrender is ultimately a
failure to give. If this song speaks of a particular moment, it is
diametricallyopposedtothatin«Curtains».Herethesurrenderisto
wholeness,ratherthantoseparation.
Sweetheart,Iwanttoholdbacknothing
sweetheart,Iwanttogivemyall.
Rollonthefeminineside,
thelionliesdownwiththelamb.
Beneaththemalesurface,
thechaosmerchant,we'reallhalf-human:
understandonlylove'snotblind,
onlylovesurrendersuptheheart.
Thewoman'sheavywiththefuture,
withintuitionunalloyed;
behindthesmirkofthemachoman
isthequiveringlipofthelittleboy.
Putitallinplace,Icanalmosttasteit,
soIsurrenderupmyheart.
Iwantnothingmorethantobe
oneforonce,tofeelyouonewithme;
nofinermystery,nomysterywhenwestart
tosurrenderupourhearts.
Sweetheart,
Iwantnothingmorethantobe
oneforonce,tofeelyouonewithme;
there'snomystery,nomysterywhenwestart
tosurrenderupourhearts.
Where'sthebridgetotakeus
acrossthesexualdivide?
Whatarcofheavenmakesuscomplete,
makestheplanetsclashandthestarscollide?
Withemotionsbarewewerebothalive
forasecondthere
andwebothsurrenderedupourhearts.
Sweetheart,Iwanttoholdbacknothing,
sweetheart,Iwanttogivemyall.
Andwebothsurrendered,
incompletesurrender…
Fireships
The most complex song (of the album), but formed from a
variety of simple components. Lots of guitars, lots of Jackson and
Gordon.FromtheArktotheIroncladsweareconfidentofourown
abilities,ofourownindestructiblenature.When—eventually—we
send up our flares in distress or triumph we little think that they
themselveswillsetfiretous.TherocketthathitsMan'sroofandsets
theboatablazeisofHisownmaking.
There'sasmokescreenonthehorizon,
fireshipsundersailtonight…
Here'stheArmadaofSouls,
here'stheflotillafromGodknowswhere;
fromgopher-woodtothelastoftheironclads
incommonconcerttheysenduptheflares.
Whileweturnandturnaround
therockethitstheroof…
weneverthinkthatwe'llgetburned,
we'refireproof,
wethinkwe'refireproof.
Keepastiffupperlip,thebandplayon
throughtheraisingofthetoast;
thecaptain'ssteadyatattentiononthebridge;
it'ssurfacematters
thatappeartomattermost.
Wewatchthegalleonsrunaground,
stillwestandaloof;
weneverthinkthatwe'llgetburned,
wethinkwe'refireproof.
Wethinkwe'refireproof,
weneverthinkthatwe'llgetburned;
Wesailonfireships,
weneverthink,sowe'llgetburned.
Straightfortheeyeofthehurricane,
downtothelasteyetooth
weneverthinkthatwe'llgetburned,
wethinkwe'refireproof.
Here'stheArmadaoflight,
here'stheflotilla,forheaven'ssake…
We'resailingunderaflagofconvenience,
castingourmessagesinbottlesinourwake.
Soweturnandturnaround
therockethitstheroof…
weneverthinkthatwe'llgetburned,
wethinkwe'refireproof.
Weneverthinkthatwe'llgetburned,
wethinkwe'refireproof.
GivenTime
Italkedmyselfintothecornerofdeliveringtheguitarsoloon
this one; David's orchestration is fantastic. The song addresses the
questionofresponsibilityforourselves.Wethinkwehaveallthetime
intheworld;andthatthingssimplyhappentous.Inrealitywehave
only each moment in which our lives are set and, by omission or
commission,wemakethoselivesourselves.Sowehaveno-oneelse
topraiseorblameforwhatoccurs.
There'snotimefordullregrets,
no-oneunderwritesyourdebts.
Nosatisfactionguaranteed,
butthismuchIbelieve
wemaketheliveswelead.
Bestfootforward,facetheday
asthemomentslipsaway
likeawhisperonthewind;
thetideturnsasitbreaks…
Giventime
weleadtheliveswemake.
Thecurvethatwetraceintime
ashapeofourowndesign.
Sayit'soverwhenit'sdone
didyoulearntotouchsomeone?
Longagoandfaraway,
voiceslingeron…
longago,justyesterday,
caughtintheclayofmaterialneed.
Giventime
wemaketheliveswelead.
Giventime
wemakethelivesweleave.
Reprise
This collage is a re-working of many specific themes, musical
and lyrical, from the rest of the album. Their juxtaposition and
recurrence points to both the limitlessness and the singularity of
choice.Thisisanalternatewindowonthescenes…
Wethinkwe'refireproof,
weneverthinkthatwe'llgetburned;
wethinkwe'refireproof,
weneverthink,sowe'llgetburned;
wethinkwe'refireproof.
Reprieve,
reprise.
Ifhegottodoitallagain
wouldhedoitoverandover?
Inreprise,reprieve?
Butwillshealwaysbehis?
Gaia
AUniversalsong—Order,Chaos,Hope.Bothalamentforand
ahymntoMotherEarth.Allthedarknessandallthelight,together.
There's another wonderful moment of Lord orchestration where
everything sucks itself into weighty darkness. And then… Be Calm,
it'sDone.
Butterfliesonthewheel
ofaworldthatturnsunyieldingly…
everyfragilebeatingwing
movesthemotorofthething,
oh,Gaia!
Butterfliesstirabreeze
andtheripplesflowunceasingly:
farawaythecyclonesswirl.
It'sawhole,connectedworld.
Oh,Gaia!
Wipethosetearsfromyourtiredeyes:
everybreathyoutakeasacredsigh.
Butterfliesonthewheel
makingorderoutofchaos
andeachrippleintheair
turnsthemotoreverywhere.
Crythosetears,thendrythosetiredeyes:
everybreathyoutakekeepsyoualive.
Butterfliesasweare
freezeinflightbeneaththestarrysky
buttheghostsflyonandon…
inthissenseweallbelong,
oh,Gaia!
Andthesumofalltheparts
istheall-forgivingheart
ofGaia.
Oh,Gaia!
TheNoise(1992)
AKicktoKilltheKiss
This is something of a follow-on from «Fireships» and the
man/womandivide.Ittakessomethingofaharderlineon«howcan
wegeton/moveforward»,though,than«IncompleteSurrender»,say.
Averysimplesongstructurebeliessomeoddwalkinglines.Myrole
hereiskeyboard(Igraduallyworkmywayuptothefrets);Furygets
tostruthisstuff.
He'dlikeyoutocallhimlucky,
theoriginalself-mademan;
nosenseofwide-screenvision,
nogenderstrangenesshecanunderstand.
Rollontheold,oldstory,
youcancallitoriginalsin;
yeh,stampthatoneinhispassport,
pasteitandcolouritin.
Colourinahistoryofprideandprejudice;
whathewantsismystery,butwhathegetsisthis:
akicktokillthekiss.
Hethinksitfaircompetition,
somehowhavingandeatingthecake,
whenthewomenareintheirbodies
andthemenareallovertheplace.
WhathewantsisParadise,ofwhichhehasnoclue.
Whathewants:Oblivion.(«…Baby,allIwantisyou.»)
Whathewantsandwhatheneedsareverydifferenttricks…
Gotsomestrangephilosophythroughgoingfor
thatdictionarytic
andthekickofkiss-me-quick.
Akicktokillthekiss
andhesays
«Baby,allIwantisyou.»
LikeaShot,theEntertainer
Thetunehasbeenaroundforanumberofyearsnow,butittook
meanagetopinitdown.Ifinallyfinishedthelyricsona(rare)day
off on tour. Although there are elements of self-reference here, the
questions are really more «What's the story? To whom is it more
important, listener or teller?» than simply stage-side whimpers.
There's a complicity here, even when the raconteur runs out of
stories,Ithink.
Likeashotfromthebarrelofasmokinggunhe'snot,
stillheaimsforadoration.
Onthespotwherethekettlehasbeencalledblackbythepot
heawaitshistruevocation.
You'resohot,eggsarefryingwhereyouwalkuponthestreet,
whatyougotisthesecretthathe'dtradehissoultokeep.
Likeashothewilltellyouallhisstories—
isthatwhatentertainstheentertainer?
Likeashotoftheelixirofyouthyourtradeinstock,
bothacurseandaprotection;
likeashot,inlikeFlynn,he'lltiehistongueupinaknot
toprofesshistrueaffection.
You'resohot,eggsarefryingwhereyouwalkuponthestreet;
you'resohotthatheturnstotangoeverytimeyoumeet.
Likeashothe'llbethrownuponyourmercy—
isthatwhatentertainstheentertainer?
Entertaintheentertainer…
Likeashot,likeapaparazzipicturegonetopot
hisdecaybearsnoreversal;
ontherockshewilltakehismedicinestraight
butthisisnot,Irepeatnot,dressrehearsal.
You'resohot,eggsarefryingwhereyouwalkuponthestreet;
Xthespotwherehehopeshe'llalwaysfalluponhisfeet.
Whatashockwhenhestumblesinthespotlight—
isthatwhatentertainstheentertainer?
Let'stalkaboutsomethingelse;let'stalkaboutus;
let'stalkaboutegocentricity;let'stalkaboutkeepingitup.
You'resohot,eggsarefryingwhereyouwalkuponthestreet;
whatyougotisthesecretthathe'dtradehissoultokeep.
Likeashothe'llregaleyouwithhisstories—
isthatwhatentertainstheentertainer?
Likeashothe'llbethrownuponyourmercy—
isthatwhatentertainstheentertainer?
Whatashockwhenhestumblesinthespotlight—
isthatwhatentertainstheentertainer?
Let'stalkaboutsomethingelse;let'stalkaboutus;
let'stalkaboutegocentricity;let'stalkaboutkeepingitup.
TheNoise
Take it as you like, make of it what you will. It's clear that a
greatdealofmypublicgrowingupwason/withNoise.That'soneof
the elements of release to be found in music of whatever genre.
(Unfortunately, there seems to be more calculated — rather than
instinctive — Noise of late years… but maybe it's shifting again
now.) Musically, everyone gets to put in the lead boot here, apart
from the odd moment of Jackson flute. Even he's quickly back on
tenorhorn.
IlovedtheNoise,
electricbreath;
Noisefilledtheemptiness,
roaredintheemptiness.
Anoisetostripthepapercleanoffthewall,
anoisetocrackthemasonrylikeabreaking-ball,
thecuttingedgeofsonic,thewavethatneverbreaks
andtheheartandsoularepumping
meawake,meawake,meawake.
IlovedtheNoise,
shaketothecore;
that'swhattheNoiseisfor.
Nothingcameofnothingexceptwhatwasleftbehind
inthebarrageofthebombard,underorgangrind.
I'mcaughtthereinthemoment,bug-eyedovernightdrive
andtheheartandsoularepumping
mealive,mealive,mealive,mealive.
Andintherushofthesilencewithmyarms
wrappedroundmewarm
I'mholdingbreath,impatient
forthedarkbeforethedawn…
Justatthecrackofdaylight
that'llbethecurtaintorn,
that'llbethegroundinaforewarningmurmur
oftheNoise,ofthestorm.
IlovedtheNoise,
electricbreath,
Noisefilledtheemptiness;
IlovedtheNoise,
Ilovedtheheat—
pump-pulsethatprimingbeat.
Astatementofintention,anelementalplan—
theNoiseisinthetemple,theNoiseisoutofhand;
theneedleontheendstop,crescendointhechoir…
yes,andtheheartandsoularepumping
meonfire,meonfire,meonfire,meonfire.
IlovedtheNoise,
I'vedrunkmyfill;
theNoiseiswithmestill.
IlovedtheNoise
thoughnowit'sgone
somegloriousechoesoftheNoisestilllingeron.
Poweron.
CelebrityKissing
In which Fury in particular comes on strong. The kisses were
originally theatrical, rather than celebrity; but they could be any
fake ones. There are at least a couple of award-winning
performancesburiedinhere.
Celebritykissing,thishasgottostop;
yeh,they'reswarminglikeflies,
they'relikebeesaroundthehoneypot.
Celebritykissing,willitneverend?
Well,youknowandIknowthisisonlypretence…
Yougiveitallyou'vegotinradianceonthepodium,
manicuredfingersgripthefigurine.
Youtaughtusallyouknewinmissionaryposition;
throwyourarmsaroundyourlatestscene,
itcouldhavebeencelebritykissing…
Thishasgottostop:
yeh,they'reswarminglikeflies,
they'relikebeesaroundthehoney;
youwerewonderful,darling,doesitneverend?
Well,youknowandIknowthisisonlypretence.
Theysawyoucomingforathousandmiles,
knewsomethingwickedbytheprickingofthethumbs;
theycan'tbelievethischeekyou'returningisyourbetterside;
Ithinktheypreferreditwhenyouactedyounganddumb.
Soyoutakeittothelimit,
takeitfromthetop,
shakeittillit'sbroken,
doesthepennyneverdrop?
Celebritykissing,thishasgottostop:
yeh,they'reswarminglikeflies,
they'relikebeesaroundthehoney.
Youwerewonderful,darling,doesitneverend?
Oh,youknowandIknowthisisonlypretence…
Oh,lookout.Oh,yeh,willthepennydrop?
Somekindofmadnessincharacterization,
somekindofmethodinyourmade-upface;
yougotyourwake-upcall,youropeninvitation,
yougettopartyinthepaganplace.
Thisisonlypretence.
Cutandprint,cutthatkiss,cut…andprint:
thisisonlypretence.
WheretheMouthis
AsclosetoastraightbluesasI'meverlikelytoget,Isuppose.A
fewplainMaxwellreferencespokeout;butreallyyoucantakeyour
pick of financial finaglers these clays. Another frame from the
continuingSci-financestory.
Moneywherethemouthis,penniesontheeyes.
Timesarehardandyoufindthatyou'reintrouble
butit'shardtosympathize.
Youtalkupquiteastory,youblowthebubblewell.
Moneywherethemouthis,silver-tonguethesell.
Putuporshutup.
Cutpriceorcut-up.
Putuporshutup.
Moneywherethemouthis,willtherebejustdesserts?
White-collarcrime—yeah,thesumming-up
willreckonsurelynobodygothurt.
Hey,offerjamtomorrow—thecashwilldoquitewell.
Withyourfairsharesforall,trytopracticewhatyoupreach
whentheyringthatLutinebell.
Hey,putyourmoneywhereyourmouthis
andhopethemoneytalkwillspringyoufromthecell.
We'veheardtheemptypromises,thebarelyveiledthreats;
we'veyettoseethecolourofthemoneynow—
we'veyettoseeit…
Oh,butwe'llgettoseeit,youbet.
Putuporshutup.
Cutpriceorcut-up.
Putthemoneywherethemouthis.
Yeh,youcoppedforquitealot,buteverythingyougot
felloffthebackendoftheyacht.
Youdidyourbesttogreasethemachinery,
youshutusoutofthetalkingshop:
thedesksareemptywhenthebuckfullstops.
Hey,youputyourmoney
whereyourmouthwasnot.
Youputyourmoneywhereyourmouthwasnot.
Well,putthemoneywherethemouthis,
snufflinginthetrough.
Yeh,putyourmoneywhereyourmouthis,
withthepigsinthetrough.
Wherethemouthis,
wherethemouthis.
TheGreatEuropeanDepartmentStore
Naturally,IdomybesttobeaGoodEuropean!ButIdon'tthink
thatnecessarilymeansthatweallhavetobeidentical.Intheworld,
of consumption we become ever more so and don't do ourselves or
therestoftheworldanyfavoursbythat.
It'satriumph,materialtriumph,
massconsumptionandconformity.
Downinhardwaretheshelvesarestackedup
withthelatestlineinluxury.
Theperfumecounterhasmake-upladies
allimmaculatelymake-believe;
theysellyoulifestylepackage
andyou'dbetterbuy
becauseyou'renevergoingtoleave.
Nationsofshoppersconsumeinafrenzy
thesecurityofbrandednames;
they'refightinginthefoodhall
forexoticvegetablesandfruit,eco-friendlygame.
Itdoesn'tmatterwhichcurrencyyouuse
becausethey'reallexactlythesame.
Andit'sallonoffer,everything'sonoffer,
multi-nationaldoor-to-door
intheGreatEuropeanDepartmentStore.
It'sonoffer,it'sallonoffer,youcanpackitflattotakeaway:
ScottishheathertoSpanishleather,
GermanturniiptoDutchweather-vane.
Ifyou'vegotthemoneythedoor'swideopen,
theyareonlyheretopamperyou.
Theethnicartroomhasplunderedseveralcontinents
todecorateyourlivingroom.
Itdoesn'tmatterwhichcreditcardyouuse
orifyouevensignyourrealname
becausethey'reallexactlythesame.
Andit'sallonoffer,guaranteednatural,qualitycontrolassured
intheGreatEuropeanDepartmentStore.
Hey,let'sshop;let'sgo!
IntheGreatEuropeanDepartmentStore…
Ooh,theshopping'ssomethingshockingnow;
ooh,willtheshoppingneverstop
intheGreatEuropeanDepartmentStore?
PlanetCoventry
Thelastsong(ofthealbum)tobecompleted,perhapsbecause
it'sonewhichcouldhavebeenarrangedinmanydifferentways.Fury
wasn't around by this stage, so I had to knuckle down to the guitar
parts myself. Good clean fun. And yes, I do sometimes dream of
nakednessonstage…
Youfindyou'restandingalone—notsosplendid,isolation.
IntheGreenRoomthetalkisallofrighteousindignation
andyoumightaswellhavelanded
insomestrangeanddistantgalaxy.
TherulesareunspokenonthePlanetCoventry.
Whatreactioncanyougauge,nakedonthestage?
Thegravity'snotsogreat,buttheatmosphere'schilling;
youmadesomeseriousmistakes
thedayyoupushedyourselfforthegrilling;
andthejigsawpieces—takealook—ajumbleofasymmetry.
AllthecornersarecutonthePlanetCoventry.
Outoforder,outofreach,
brieflessonthebeach;
noreactionyoucanguage,
onlysilencefromthefrontrow,
silencefromthebackrow,
silenceandyou'renakedonthestage…
wakeup.
Youdreamedyou'dnoneedofdreams:that'sanaliensituation.
IntheGlasshousethemimersmillindangerousmutation
andyoumightaswellhavelandedinadifferentreality.
TherulesareallbrokenonthePlanetCoventry.
Outoforder,outofreach,brieflessonthebeach;
onemorepunterforthechop,driedupinthedock;
headlesschicken,totalblock,tongueaGordianknot;
noreactiononthispage,
onlysilencefromthefrontrow,sliencefromthebackrow,
silencefromtheprompter,silencealltherage—
onlysilenceandyou'renakedonthestage.
Youwakeup,andyou'renakedonthestage.
PrimoontheParapet
Thisisthemostseriouspieceon«TheNoise»bysomedistance.
Primo Levi was an author, chemist and — crucially — Auschwitz
survivor who wrote a sequence of brilliant books about his
experiences until his suicide a couple of years ago. His main
message was, naturally, that one should forget neither what
happened nor the depths to which human soul is capable of
plummeting. The music here is simultaneously tricksy and
straightforward—themainriffwasarealfind.
Hecrawledonhallowedgroundwithoutamap;
hewalksonhollowlegs,leavingnofootprint;
driftslikeaghostthroughthequartersoflostdesire,
breathingunderwater,
stillrunningthroughthefire.
FourhorsemendrivethecoachofHolocausthome
andwithwhatsenseofhistorydoweviewourbrightnewworld,
withthevideonastyblastingthroughtheset
ofournextdoorneighbour?
Dowelearntoforget?Dowelearnjusttoforget?
Andrawbarbaritysleeps,sporeinsoil?
No-oneaninnocent,no-oneentirelyimmune.
Stillwewaitforasaviour,therearenosaintsasyet.
Justtheguiltofsurvival,
welearntoforget.
Theblindesteyeisturnedonthebeastweclothe,
drabintheuniformofsilentacquiescence.
SoI'llraisethistoasttoPrimo,climbingupupontheparapet
withonefinalwordofcaution:
wemustlearnnottoforget.
There'spaininremembrance,
butwemustlearnnottoforget.
Here'satoasttoPrimo,
let'slearnnottoforget.
Here'satoasttoPrimo,
forgivebutdon'tforget.
Here'satoasttoPrimo,
let'slearnnottoforget.
Onelastwordofcaution
fromtheveryrimoftheparapet.
Onelastwordinremembrance…
wemustlearnnottoforget.
OffensichtlichGoldfisch(1995)
LyrictranscriptionbyHeinzRudolfKunze
OffensichtlichGoldfisch
PrüfclieEhrlichkeitderAngebote,
FreundundHelferoderBösewicht?
Allesläßtsichirgendwiebeweisen—
Genauesweißmanebennicht.
übersinnlichistclieUntersuchung—
gibt'seinJenseitsodergibt'sdasnicht?
AlleAnhaltspunktefreierfunden…
Genauesweißmanebennicht.
Ichglaub',ichseh'allmählichLicht,
ja,wirgehörenalle
zuclerGattungGoldfisch,
dienichtweiß,wovonsieträumtundspricht.
OffensichtlichGoldfisch,
keineFragenan'sAquarium.
ZuselbstverständlichGoldfidsch,
wirschwimmenimmernurimKreisherum.
KirchelogischerBedachtsamkeiten,
ZufallsschattenspielimSchummerlicht…
Halbgebildetseinist.anzuraten,
zuvielVerstehen,undclerMenschzerbricht.
DieBeweisewachsenzuGebirgen,
Genauesweißmanebennicht,
ja,wirgehörenalle
zuclerGattungGoldfisch,
dienichtweiß,wovonsieträumtundspricht.
OffensichtlichGoldfisch,
keineFragenan'sAquarium.
ZuselbstverständlichGoldfidsch,
wirschwimmenimmernurimKreisherum.
OffensichtlichGoldfisch,
immernurimKreisherum
imBestiarium,
bisdasAugebricht.
DieKältekilltdenKuß
Erwünschtsich,dunennstihnglücklich:
DerOriginal-Self-Made-Mann.
KeinSinnfürHorizonte,
füralles,wasernichtvereinnahmenkann.
WiederdiealteGeschichte,
undihrNamemußErbsündesein.
Ja,StempelsodeinenAusweis,
klebeundfärbedasein.
SiegreichstetsseinstarkerArm,
seinHungernachGenuß;
waserwill,istfremdundwarm,dochimmerstehtamSchluß:
DieKältekilltdenKuß.
Hey,soistdasnunmalimLeben,
ererkämpftsichvomKuchenseinStück.
UndclieFrauensindweichundweiblich,
unddieMännerversteinernimGlück.
Waserwill,heißtParadies,
dochkommtesniedazu.
Wasersucht:Vergessen.
(«Baby,allIwantisvou.»)
Waserwillundwaserbraucht,
stehtnichtimselbenStück.
SeineWeltanschauungliebterblind,
erklebtanseinemRegeltick
unddemKickdesInstantFick.
DieKältekilltdenKuß,
undersagt:
«Baby,allIwantisyou.»
Dichzufinden
KaninchenstarrevordemSchlangenblick,
ScheinwerferschockzumErblinden,
verschrecktundungeschützt,
michdauertdeinGeschick,
ichlaßnichtsunversucht,dichzufinden.
UnsreNamensteh'ninSternenschrift,
Urlaute,cliesichentzünden…
dutraustkeinemmehr,jedochwasmichbetrifft:
Ichlaßnichtsunversucht,dichzufinden.
WeitvonhiersolldasLebensein,
dort,sagstdu,findestdudieFreiheit…
laufnichtdavon,denndichtrügtclerSchein.
KeindunklerFremdertutdireinLeid,
keinSchattenreichkanndichbinden…
habkeineAngst,
wenndeinHerzschlagausdirschreit,
ichlaßnichtsunversucht,dichzufinden.
Favorit
BleifußdrücktdasGTiCabriolet
zuderVillainclerSonne
vonSüdfrankreich.
HaltdenKopfschief,Babv,
singfürihndasalteLied.
InEwigkeitbistDusein,
undDubistimmerseinFavorit.
SchnellerVorlaufaufdemflimmerndenUrlaubsfilm:
DubrauchstFarbe,holDirStrahlenvonderSonnenbank.
DuverwaltestseinInvestment
aufderSchönheitsfarm.
HaltdenKopftief,Baby,
undhabniedasletzteWort.
InEwigkeitbistDusein,
undDubistimmerseinFavorit.
PerlenkettenfesselnDich,
zuspätfürdieUnabhängigkeit.
InSamtundSeideglüht
dasBrandmalseinerHerde.
ZiehdenKopfein,Baby,
werhatDichumRatgefragt.
MachDeinHaarschön,Baby,undhabniedasletzteWort.
InEwigkeitbistDusein,
dochbleibstDuimmerseinFavorit?
BleifußdrücktdasGTiCabriolet.
DieNeuewirkt,schonfast
wieDeineTochter.
BleifußdrücktdasGTiCabriolet.
InEwigkeitbistDusein,
dochbleibstDuimmerseinFavorit?
KaufhausEuropa
LobderMasse,TriumphderKasse,
allesschlingtimTrogdenEinheitsbrei.
DieRegaleentblößenHardware
mitdemletztenluxuriösenSchrei.
DieDuftabteilunghatMake-Up-Laclies,
dieseh'nzumVerwechselnwirklichaus;
kompakteLifestylepackung,
alsokommschon,kauf,
denndukommstniemehtrhierheraus.
Käufernationenfrenetischgeborgen
imGefühlvonMarkenqualität;
siekämpfenanderKühlbox
umexotischfruchtigfrischesGrün,öko,wennesgeht.
InwelcherWährungauchimmerdubezahlst—
fürUnterschiedeisteszuspät.
Undhiergibtesalles,hiergibt'swirklichalles,
ohneGrenzen,TüranTür,
hierimKaufhausEuropa—wasbrauchenwir?
Billigpreise,Bedürfnisreise—
packeseinundfühldichgutdabei.
DeutscheHeide,Franzosenseide,
WetterfahnenausderWesttürkei.
AlleTürenoffen,solangeduGeldhast,
hiersindallefürdeinWohlseinda.
DerEthnicArtRoomhatKontinenteleergeraubt
zurZierdedeinerPergola.
MitwelcherKarteduauchimmerbezahlst,
undwelcherNameaufderrechnungsteht—
fürUnterschiedeisteszuspät.
Undhiergibtesalles,garantiertnatürlich,
kontrolliertundausgewählt—
hierimKaufhausEuropa,woLeistungzählt.
Exundhopp—let'sshop!
HierimKaufhausEuropa.Wasdarfessein?
Ooh,vomKaufengibteskeinVerschnaufen,
ooh,hörtdasKaufenniemalsauf?
HierimKaufhausEuropa:EinHamsterlauf.
UnserKaufhausEuropa—wasdarfessein?
DerLärm
IchliebeLärm,
denAtem-Strom;
LärmhobdieLeereauf,
dieErdenschwereauf.
DerLärmreißtdieTapeteglattvonderWand,
derLärmdurchbrichtdasMauerwerkwieeinElefant,
derSchallaufMesser'sSchneide,
dieWelle,dienichtbricht,
undespumpenHerzundSeele
michinsLicht,michinsLicht,michinsLicht.
IchliebeLärm
durchMarkundBein—
genausosollersein.
SchallundRauchdasalles,Lärmumnichts,
dochhierunddortbebtundorgelteinInferno,
kreischteinSchlußakkord,
dirKrafthältmichgefangen,
übernächtigtundklein,
undmirpumpenHerzundSeele
Lebenein,Lebenein,Lebenein,Lebenein.
UndindemAnsturmderStille
haltichatemloseWacht,
ichwarteungeduldig
aufdentiefstenPunktderNacht…
geradebeiTagesanbruch
fälltderVorhang,steigtderSchwan,
undderGrundentläßteinemurmelndeWarnung
vordemLärm,demOrkan.
IchliebeLärm,
denAtem-Strom,
LärmhobdieLeereauf.
IchliebeLärm,
seinDynamit—
alsZündstoffpulstderBeat.
VerlautbarungdesWillens,
eindunklerPlanwirdklar,
dasTosenistimTempel,
istnichtmehreindämmbar,
dieAuslaufrilleknistert,
einChorfegtüber'sLand,
ja,undespumpenHerzundSeele
michinBrand,michinBrand,michinBrand,michinBrand.
IchliebeLärm,
Lärmganzundgar,
erbleibtmirimmerdar.
ZwarflohderLärm
längstdiesenOrt,
dochruhmreichklingenseineEchosweiterfort.
Poweron.
Oase
ImWeihersilbertdasWasser,
gespeistausdunklemGrund,
duglänztundschweigst
undEngelsflügelstreifendeinenMund.
Ichschwör'beiderBibel,
beiHimmel.Hölle,WeltundGlück,
ichkönnt'ertrinkenindemStrudel,
indeinemBlick.
Geheimgesicht,
zeig'deinGeheimgesicht.
InmildemMondlichtgeborgen,
deinSternenatemamOhr,
derWindträgtflüsterndeinMysterium
ausderFernevor:
DeinLosungswort.
SagmirdeinLosungswort,
OaseinderwüstenWelt,
sagmirdeinLosungswort.
EinenTrunkausdemQuelldesFremden,
pflück'dieFruchtmirvomBaum,
nimmmichindeinenunbetret'nenRaum.
Waskeinersah,
zeigmir,waskeinersah.
ZeigdeinGeheimgesicht,
sonnenhellsonackt,
sternenklarsostill,
geheimeOaseinderwüstenWelt.
DieProminenzküßtsich
DieProminenzküßtsich,wieverbrauchtdasist:
EineSchmeißfliegenbrut
summtundschwärmtringsumdeneignenMist.
DieProminenzküßtsich,endetdasdennnie?
Dennduweißtundichweiß,
dasistnichtsalschi-chi…
Duschmilztfürunsdahin,
duschimmerstaufdemPodium,
gepflegteHandwürgtdenTrophäenhals.
DugibsteinBestespreisiinMissionarenstellung:
dochderAnlaßdeinesRedesschwalls
heißtbestenfalls
DieProminenzküßtsich…wieverbrauchtdasist:
EineSchmeißfliegenbrut,
sieumtanztdenhöchstenHaufen.
Duwarstwundervoll,Darling—hörtdasniemalsauf?
Dennduweißtundichweiß,keinergibtwasdarauf.
Siesah'ndichkommenkilometerweit,
dasKribbelnindenFingernzeigteBösesan;
dieWange,dieduhinhältest,
solldiebess'reSeitesein?Duwarstihnenlieber
alsdeinsteilerWegbegann.
UnddutreibstesaufdieSpitze,
biszurParodie,
wringstdenletztenTropfen,
fälltderGroschenwirklichnie?
DieProminenzküßtsich,verbrauchtdasist:
DieProminenzküßtsich,wieverbrauchtdasist:
EineSchmeißfliegenbrut,
sieumtanztdenhöchstenHaufen.
Duwarstwundervoll,Darling—hörtdasniemalsauf?
Dennduweißtundichweiß,keinergibtwasdarauf.
O,paßauf!
Na,na,fälltderGroschennoch?
EinQuentchenWahnsinnalsCharakterfaden,
einStückMethodeimmaskiertenBlick;
kriegstdeinenwake-up-call,bistimmereingeladen
zurPartyrolleimBarbarenstück.
DieProminenzküßtsich,wieverbrauchtdasist:
EineSchmeißfliegenbrut,
sieumtanztdenhöchstenHaufen.
Duwarstwundervoll.Darling—hörtdasniemalsauf?
Dennduweißtundichweiß,keinergibtwasdarauf.
DieProminenzküßtsich,wieverbrauchtdasist:
EineSchmeißfliegenbrut
summtundschwärmtringsumdeneignenMist.
DieProminenzküßtsich,endetdasdennnie?
Dennduweißtundichweiß,
dasistnichtsalschi-chi…
Dasistnichtsalschi-chi.
KnipsdenKuß,Klappe,Schluß,gutgenug:
DasistnichtsalsBetrug.
DieTinteverlischt
FolgdenInstruktionen,
ProblemeerstenGracls.
Wirwartenaufeinupdate,
sowaswiedieNeuerfindungunsresRads.
WermachtdieWeltsoschwerverständlich?
WerhatdasKennwortausradiert?
DieStirninFalten,nichtsbleibtbeimAlten,
derKopfgespalten,dochichbleibfrustriert:
VonEsoterikganzunberührt.
FolgdenInstruktionen,
invielenZungenlaut.
Allesda,inrauhenMengen,
undderletzteSchrittderLeiteristaufSandgebaut.
DasDiagrammistsoverwirrend,
anagrammatischlalltdieLiturgie,
dieStirninFalten,nichtsbleibtbeimAlten,
ichgrabinmeinemHirn,dafind'ichsie:
DieesoterischeMaschinerie,
meinunsichtbaresvis-'a-vis.
FolgdenInstruktionen,
dichhateserwischt,
übersetztklingtallesunklar,
manhältsiesichvorAugenunddieTinteverlischt.
EsoterischeMaschinerie,
meinunsichtbaresvis-'a-vis,
dieEsoterikerreichtmichnie,
dieesoterischeVerdunklungsstrategie.
WermachtclieWeltsoschwerverständlich?
wieWerschriebdasAlphaindasABC?
deStirninFalten,nichtsbleibtbeimAlten,
ichraufemirdasHaar,bisicheingesteh':
DieEsoterikverfehltmichmehrdennje,
dieEsoterik,dieverwehtwieGischt,
dieZauberformel,derenTinteverlischt.
Ganzuntrennbarvermischt,
daßderInhaltverzischt,
wenndieTinteverlischt.
Auto(WiederimWagen)
Wirfahren—waskönnteschönersein—
LichtpunktinderBrandung.
ScheibenwischerrhythmuslädtzumTanzenein,
LichterkettenderAutobahn,
lavahellerGegenwind.
ImmerbleibtinderFerne,waswirseinwerden,
jegewesensind.
WiederimWagen,
nichtswasunshiernochhält,
wirhabenkeinefestenPläne,
aberalleZeitderWelt.
Komm,steigeinindenWagen,
egalwohin,meinKind…
besservoranmitZuversicht
alszuerreichenwaswirsind.
DuenträtselstdieKarte
eindunklesMärchen,dasvonSchwärmernstammt,
PassierscheinfürdieUnauffindbarkeit,
unsreFahneindenFluchtpunktgerammt.
EwigkeitamSteuer,
mirganzegal,wohindieReisegeht.
Ichwillsoweitfahren,
wiedasRadiomirBachindieOhrenweht.
WiederimWagen,
dieNachtisteinschwarzesLoch,
undsiehewirbewegenuns—
alsogibtesunsnoch.
SteigeinindasAuto,
hauchdenRückspiegelblind,
besservoran,sohoffenwir,
alszuerreichenwaswirsind.
Undwirfahr'nfürimmer…
undwirfahr'nfürimmer…
gibzu,auchDuhastschondrangedacht,
wirfahrenweiter,wilder—
indasNirgendniemandslandderschnellenBilder.
WiederimWagen,
VollgasdieganzeNacht,
derHighwaywahrtseinGeheimnis,
zuvielZeitimStandverbracht,
alsosteigeinindenWagen,
hauchdenRückspiegelblind,
besservoranmitZuversicht,
alszuerreichenwaswirsind.
Komm,steigeinindenWagen,
hierversteinernwirdoch.
DennwennwirinBewegungsind,
dannpulsierenwirnoch.
SteigeinindenWagen.
Komm,steigeinindenWagen.
Hörihmzu,laßdichtragen.
Steigein.
Gaia
SchmetterlingaufdemRad
einerWelt,dieunaufhaltsamkreist…
jederzarteFlügelschlag
AntriebskraftfürNachtundTag,
OGaia!
Schmetterling,hauchstimLicht,
kleineWelle,diestetsweiterweist…
weitentferntwächsteinZyklon.
EineWelt,inKommunion.
OGaia!
Weinenicht,esisthoheZeit:
JederAtemzugdemGrundgeweiht.
SchmetterlingaufdemRad
locktdieOrdnungausdemChaos.
JedeWelleinderLuft
treibtdenMotor,derunsruft.
Weineruhig,danntrocknedeinenSchmerz:
JederAtemzugbelebtdeinHerz.
Schmetterling,KornderWelt,
eingefror'nbeimFlugimSternenzelt,
dochderGeistwehtewiglich…
ererinnertunsandie,oGaia!
AlleskönntversöhntzurRuh,
läuftaufihreMittezu,
aufGaia.
OGaia!
Schlaftnun
Schlaftnun—einalterTagsagteuchKindernAdieu,
dochschonMorgentrinktihrvomSchaumderWelt
undtuteuchweh,
ganzsicherlich.
WasfüreinWunder,füreinRätselspielfürmich.
FreundeauseurerZukunftliegenjetztwieihr,
großeLiebenschrei'nnachdergroßenMutterbrustvollGier…
oh,dieWeltdrehtsichunentwegt,
einLeben,dassichnieschlafenlegt.
Wiebald,Mädchen,
wiebaldempfangtihrdenRufderJugendzeit,
undnichtshälteuchhier…
Dochdenktdran,
wasimmersonstimLebeneuchverstört,
vergeßtesniemals,
auchwennihrihnzuhäufigschreienhört:
DerVaterliebteuch
alshätt'erniesorechtverstanden,
wasdasheißt,bisgeradejetzt.
WiebaldziehtihrdemheimdieFernevor…
nureinLieclderKindheit,singicheuchsanftinsOhr.
Schlaftnun—ichsageuchspäter,wiemeinLebenwar,
fälltdasschwer—ihrwerdetseh'n,
wasmirnichtmalderkühnsteTraumgebar,
imFlackerneurerLider
wirdeinWunschwachundwahr.
Schlaftnun,warmbeschütztindemHafeneuresNests,
schlaftundträumtnun.
Auchwennihralles,wasichsag,vergeßt,
derVaterliebteuch,
alshätt'erniesorechtverstanden,
wasdasheißt,bisgeradejetzt.
Alshätt'erniesorechtverstanden,
wasdasheißt…
RoaringForties(1994)
SharplyUnclear
SharplyUnclearisbasedonaguitararpegiationwhichmakes
an obvious nod in the Beatles direction — although the musical
principlebehinditgoesbackmuchfurther.Itis,perhaps,awordto
the(over?)wise;maybethecynic'sviewofacynic.Thecharacterit's
addressedtoisself-confidenttoasomewhatoverbearingdegree.
You'venevershownatraceofhumanfrailty,
No-onecouldevercatchyouonthehop:
Eachpost-moderntakeontheaction
wouldfindyou
already,inprinciple,totallyhot,
allself-referentialcommentary
andamarketingman'ssenseoftalkshop.
Thesharpertheimageyoucut
themoreyouseemunreal;
sosharpyoucouldcutyourself,
transparentlyideal.
Weallknowthathard-boiledlook,
youcookedituptofacedownthestares;
IfeellikeI'mwalkingoneggshellsaroundyou,
asthoughyou'realreadynolongerquitethere.
Youacknowledgeyourtrauma,
yourneurosisisstrippedandlaidbare.
Thesharpertheimageyoucut
themoreyoudisappear;
sosharpyoucouldcutyourself,
somehowthistransparency'sunclear.
Allthemirrorsinyourplayroom,
theytwistyourpsycho-epidermisintoshape.
Nodoubtyouemergedinyourmake-upbelieving
quitesimply,believingthatyou'dgotittaped
butthevacancyyouoffered
isalreadyaCheshireCatgape.
Thesharpertheimageyoucut
themoreyoudisappeared;
sosharpyoucouldcutyourself—
areyoustillreallyhere?
Andthesharpertheimageyoucut
themoreyouseemedafake,
sosharpyoucouldcutyourself,
transparentlyopaque…
Andthesharpertheimageyoucut
thelessyouseemedalive;
sosharp,butthisopenbook's
transparentlyjive.
Youweresosharpyoucutyourself,
sosharpyoucouldcutyourself;
youweresosharpyoumadeyourself
transparent
andtransparentlyunclear.
TheGiftofFire(TalkTurkey)
Thissongisprecededbyapassageofinstrumentalplayingthe
likeofwhichhasnot,Ithink,beenpresentonmanyofmyrecordings
of late. Eventually the song (of truth-telling? Of exploited
innocence?Ofconfidencemisplaced?)kicksin.
Likeawindinthewilderness
likeaswellontheocean…
wouldthespellbeunbroken
ifitwasneverphrased?
Shewasalwaysthepreciouschild,
shewasalwaysastrangeone,
aderangementrunsdeepdownthroughherinnocentgaze…
Thegiftoffireandthegiftoftongues,
thegifttoseewhatGoddessFortuneheldinstore;
prettysoontherewerewhisperingsofwitchcraft
fromthecouplenextdoor.
Shehadthegiftoftalkturkey,
thegiftoftalkturkey.
Shehadnomessageforthemarketplace,
shewasinflamedbyeachmoment,
shehadthesilverspoonofsoothsayfordestiny.
Shewasalwayscomingonwith
thegiftoffireandthegiftoftongues;
familyaffair,itwasafortunethatthey'dgot—
prettysoontheywerecookingupastory
forthecommunalpot;
ontheprimetimeslot
theyshotthegiftoftalkturkey.
Ohnowshecan'tstoptalkingaboutthewaysheseesitis
andshecan'tstoptalkingaboutherprescience.
Shecan'tstoptalking,howdangerousthatis
andshecan'tstoptalking,no,shecan'tstoptalking…
It'sthecurseofthefireandshe'sburningupbeforeus
inthetalkoftongues,flamesthatlickaroundthedross;
thegiftoffire,ifshe'sburningupbeforeus
it'sourcommunalloss,
theinevitablecost
ofthegiftoftalkturkey.
Whatawindfallofwickedness
whentruthgetswarpedtoperversion;
intheofficialversion
they'llalwaysmakeitquiteplain
whatwe'rereallynotmeanttosee.
Thegiftoffireconsumesallthosewhotouchit
andthegiftoftonguesisalwaysdouble-edged;
theygrewawarethatshewouldtakethemtotheledge,
soprettysoontheywereworkingupastory
aboutthebetstheycouldhedge.
Thegiftoffireandthegiftoftongues…
theytakehernameandtheygrinditinthedust;
allatoncethey'vegotalibistocoveranypossiblebust
andshe'sgagged,boundandtrussed
bythegiftoftalkturkey.
Butshecan'tstoptalking,thoughheraudiencedisappears
andshecan'tstoptalkingaboutherprescience.
Shecan'tstoptalking,thoughsheknowsthatno-onehears
shecan'tstoptalking,shecan'tstoptalking,
shecan'tstoptalking—howmiraculousthisis!
Shecan'tstoptalking,justlikeBernadette.
Shecan'tstoptalking,howdangerousthatis,
andshecan'tstoptalking,shecan'tstoptalking,
no,shecan'tstoptalkingaboutthewaysheseesitis,
shecan'tstoptalking,justlikeJoanofArc.
Shecan'tstoptalking—man,howdangeroussheis,
shecan'tstoptalking,
shecan'tstopthegiftoftalkturkey,
thegiftoftalkturkey.
No,shecan'tstoptalking.
YouCan'tWantWhatyouAlwaysGet(ifyouhaven'tgotityet)
Forgivemeformyobsessions,butthecentraltenetherewillbe
afamiliarone,albeitexpressedindifferentterms:onemustlivethe
presentlife,betweenKnownandUnknown…nootheroneiseveron
offer!«…Want» also acts as something of a real-world commentary
ontheimaginedstoriesofthefirsttwosongs.
Giveitabitofhardontherudder
hotontheheelsoffoottothefloor;
settingyourmindononethingortheother,
doyoustillfindyou're
alwayswantingsomethingmore?
Yes,andthethingyouwantforever
isalwaysthethingyoucanneverhave—
Iwantdoesn'tget.
Tryoutthelineof«Thisisoriginal»;
spinoutthestory:«Thisisbrandnew»;
giveabitof«Ineverfeltlikethisbefore»;
cuttothechase:«Ionlywantyou».
Andtheoneyouwantforever
willalwaysbetheoneyoucanneverhave…
Iwant
doesn'tget
(Here'samessagefromthefuture
youdon'thavetimetoforget…
Here'samessagefromthedarkside:
betterlivewithyourregrets.)
Andthethingyouwant'sforever,
it'salways,thethingyoucanneverhave…
Iwantdoesn'tget.
Whowasittoldyouyouwerethegiftedone?
Whowasitsaidthatyoursistheluckystar?
Somehowyou'realwayslookingtoshedyournextskin,
alwaystoobusytobewhoandwhatyouare.
Stilltheoneyouchaseforever
turnsintotheoneyoucanneverhave.
Iwant
doesn'tget
(Here'samessageforyourpresent
andthereisn'tanycatch:
betterlivethelifeyou'reliving,
noconditionsareattached.)t
Youcan'tlivealifeasconstantacquisition;
you'remissingthepresent,
alwayslookingtoliveinthefuturetense.
YoubuildupyourhopesforCorpusNonDelicti…
Thecrackoftemples—
who'reyougoingtosueforrecompense
whenthethingyouwantforever
willalwaysbethethingyoucouldhavehad?
IwantjustmeansIlack
butIdon'twanttoturntheclockback.
(Here'samessagefromthefuture
thatyou'dbetternotforget…
Here'samessagefromthedarkside
betterlivewithyourregrets.
Here'samessageforthepresent
ifyouhaven'tgotityet:
betterlivethelifeyou'reliving.)
Iwant
doesn'tget.
AHeadlongStretch
This is dense stuff, and contains the gamut of styles. from
reflective,almostpastoral,apssagestotrulymind-warpingsignature
shifts.Initsloosestsenseitistodowiththe«livingintheNow»to
which«…Want» alludes. An element of that involves getting older
andacknowledging(ifnotnecessarilycelebrating!)thefact.
I.UpAhead
Passageassured
onthegoodshipGoodbye…
dareIraiseupmyeyes
tostareintotherigging?
(Preparingtogo/comehome..)
Allwecouldhavedone
we'reatpainstoexplain
butallourmightinthemain
isonlyemptypromise
unfulfilledatlast
stillno-onecanbeblamed
forbreakingdailybread,
thinkingahead.
Blessedwithstrangegrace
andreluctanttoface
ineluctablefate,
IsayIsawthefuture
Isaidforgetthepast
butI'llnothearthelast
oflivesI'veneverled,
thinkingahead.
II.ContinentalDrift
Wemakethebedsinwhichwe'llstretch
inunconsciouspre-planning;
tendingandhedgingourbets
thinkingwe'rethinkingahead.
Outofthebluecomesthegivenlife,
outofthewindowvolition.
Insmallmiracles,inconstantreinvention
wemakesenseofeachcurrentposition.
Everychoicethatwemake,everytrickthatweturnup
appearsinitsprinciplesound.
Yeh,we'reself-mademen,mastersofourdestiny,
freeandunbound…
Intotheheartcomesthebravenewworld
wherewe'reslavestothestrengthofconviction…
Ibelievedecisionscomelikecontinentstoconquer
likeIbelievewe'renostrangerstofiction.
Everyroadthatwetake
meansajourneyrejected
wepretendwecanstillhaveitall;
everyfuturewedreamavirtualreality,
onlyvanitystillholdsusenthralled
whenthebestlaidplansofmiceandmen
allunravelinthejudgementcall.
Pridestillmakeusrideforafall.
Surelywelookripeforafall,
surelywelookripeforafall;
maybewejustrideforthefall.
III.TheTwelve
Thejury'soutuponthematter
andtheycanbarelybeartoadmit
thatallthetimethatwespendplanning
intheendwillmatternotonewhit.
ThoughI'vecertainlyconsidered
everyvitalproandcon
Igetnoscentofanacquittal
Ilosethedrift…thesignsarewrong.
What'sgoingon?
(Twelvesignsofthezodiac,
twelvehourstoface,
thetwelvedisciplesallaquiver,
twelvearrowsstrikeatwelve-tonecase.)
Roundandroundinrepetition
oftheflightfromboredomintothrill
andallthetimewe'rewaitingonthepunchline,
thehollowlaughwithin«wewill».
Whatwon'twegivetotakeup
theturningoverofanewleaf?
No-oneeverreachingfutureperfect;
beforeweknowit,beyondbelief
wecometogrief,
wehitthereef.
IV.LongLight
Signsserial
adriftintheair
immaterial
faceuptothephosphorflare.
Ghostessence
fuelsfireintherig;
incandescence
let'sdanceoutthemysteryjig.
Jig,
dancethedanceofmysterylight,
dancethedance,jig,
dancethedanceinfernallybright.
Darkwater
darkfiredownbelow…
stormquarter
timetodanceoutthemystery—no!
Thetwelvewillswingustocompleteness
rightfromthecradletothegrave
andallourfutureprojection's
onlysecondguessingseventhwaves…
Abreakintheconnections
wethoughtwerebuilttolast
here'sachangeintheweather,
Tsunamitime—
thewave'salreadyrollingintowardsusfromthepast.
V.BackwardsMan
It'sonlylookingbackwards
thatyouretraceyourhand,
it'sonlyinamomentofreversal
thatyoucanseewhereyoustand…
easeout,comethroughthefilmandthroughthemirror
welcomethebackwardsman.
Ohyes,thebeachstillstirstheocean,
andsoonthetidewillturnthemoonround
allisforgivenandallwasforeseen—
all'sasitevercouldbe.
Endsforcedmotiveoutofmeaning
meansallevenoutintheend;
retracingsteps,
intheprocessyoulearntostand,
learntowalkagain
somuchgetsforgotten,somuchisforsworn
inretrospect.
DidIreallydothat?
WasIeversoyoung?
It'shere,lookingbackwards
thatyouconfrontyourownface
it'sonlyinsuchmomentsofreversal
thatyou'resecureinplace.
Throughthefirebackwards
againandagain
returntobase.
VI.AsYouWhere
It'ssomerelief
tofindthepossibleinstore;
beyondbelief,
inovertime,I'moverboard…
unchartedwaters,fullfathomfive,
thefuture'srising,it'sjustarrived.
It'snotthesame
asIimagineditwouldbe
butthere'snoblame
ifeverylife'simaginary.
AndifIgetquitewhatIdeserve
that'llendthesentence,thetimeI'veserved
afullstoptothesentence…
Whenit'salldoneyouwilledthepersonyou'vebecome
inseriousfunit'sasyouwerethatyoubecome
andsoit'sdone.
VII.OrSoISaid
Isawthefuture
orsoIsaid…
Howstrangetheyseem,
thelivesI'veneverled,
thinkingahead.
(I'mreadytocomehome…)
Soheadon,
headlong,
headstrong.
(I'mreadytogo…)
YourTallShip
It'sananthem.It'sinC.Theydon'tcometomeallthatoften,but
thisoneisarealnatural…
Far,sofaraway…
surelyyouremember
logbookpagesfrayed
thatfannedtheflamesoflongago,
gutteredinthegrate,
shadowsintheembers…
lookaway,lookforhome.
Voicesontheair,
runningwiththecurrent;
windandtidesetfair,
shiptoshorethemessagegoes,
allinloveisfair—
acrosstheragingtorrent,
sailaway,sailforhome;
lookaway,lookforhome.
Land-lockedlovers,landlubfriends,inprocession:
allritesofpassagehaveanend.
Lookaway,sailaway,
sailyourtallshiphome.
Weareocean-borne,
farfromanyharbour,
fromourmooringstorn,
ghoststhatflyforallweknow…
turntofacethestorm
that'sbuildingofftostarboard,
sailaway,sailforhome,
lookaway,lookforhome.
LookawayintheRoaringForties.
Land-lockedlovers,littoralfriends,
thesuccessionneverends…
thespirit'swillingtocarryon;
allritesofpassagemakeusstrong.
Sailaway,
sailaway,
sailyourtallshiphome.
NoneoftheAbove(2000)
TouchandGo
Betweenthelightandtheshadow,
outofthecornerofmyeye
Isawyourfeathersallruffled,
anticipatingthesky…
You'vegotnoreasontostay,
daybydayyourimpatiencehasgrown.
I'mcaughtbetweenthedevilandthedeepbluesea,Iknow.
I'mreachingout
butwearetouchandgo.
Makingamealofthemoment
Imightcookupastoryortwo,
butthedishoftheday'sgettingcolder
andIknowthat,prettysoon,
you'llpickupyourbedandwalk,
openyourwingsandflyawayfromme
acrosstheleaden,hammer-headedsky
whileIcan'tbreatheaword,
nomatterhowItry.
Soscared
itshows
thatwearetouchandgo.
Ineverbroughtmyselftotellyou
howyoukeptallmydemonsatbay
butmysilencecameoutasindifference
andnowmydiffidencehasdrivenyouaway.
You'llbetheonewiththewings,
I'mgoingdowninflames,
stillmouthingoutthemystery,myangel,ofyourname.
Howtouchandgoourtendernessbecame.
(Soscaredtoshow
Iknowwe'retouchandgo)
Sotouchandgo,
somuchIcan'texplain.
(Somuchisunexplained.)
NamingtheRose
Hehadworkedonthisforyears
sincetheyknowthey'dbechildless:
tohybridiseathornless
anddeep-scenteddamaskrose.
Shewasalwaysbyhisside
inthelengtheningshadows…
thiscaseisclosed.
EnaHarkness,ConstanceSpry,
EmilyGrey,MargaretMerrill,
ZepherineDrouhin,AimeeVibertandBlancheMoreau—
allthesespiritsstillsurviveintheactofthegrower
(inpeaceandcompassionhe's…)
namingtherose,
namingtheroseinthememoryofsweetness.
Dedicationtothecall
andheoffersupthehope
thatloveconquersall.
It'snoteasytoexplain
howhefeltatherpassing
theverydayonwhich
themostperfectbloomwasfull-blown;
tendercrueltythatshe'd
nevershareinthismoment,
namingtherose.
Hetakesherashestotheseed-bed
andworksthemingently
sothathersoulwillriselikesap
intheplantsastheygrow
andthenwhisperinghername
writesitoutonthelabel,
namingtherose,
namingtherose
forthesakeofhersweetness.
Namingtherose
inthememoryofsweetness.
HowFarIFell
(Here'stheoldmanandhisnot-so-childlikebride;
here'sthehumblingofusall,delusionneverdies;
here'sthestory:anyonecanfallatanytimeatall.
We'reborntobefoolsinlife.)
Iwasthekingofthemountain,
Ihadeverythingthatmoneycouldn'tbuy:
atthesummitofambitionIwasreadyforthesky.
Iviewedtheworldfromthis,mycitadel…
oh,howIfell.
Silentandsleeping,thevolcano,
soIthoughtthatIstoodsquareuponmyfeet.
Iignoredthewarningtremorsinmyhubris,Irepeat—
Ineversawyoucoming,Jezebel…
oh,howIfell.
AsIlookbacknowonthetearsIwastocry
Iamholdingontothevestigesofpride,
Iamholdingon,butIwillneverbetheonetotell
howfarIfell.
(Here'stheoldmanandhisnot-so-childlikebride;
here'sthehumblingofusall,delusionneverdies;
here'sthestory:anyonecanfallatanytimeatall.
We'reborntobefoolsinlife.)
Afoolandhismoneyaresoonparted
andthere'snothinglikeanoldfool,sotheysay:
oncetheplastichadbeenmeltedquicklyyouwereonyourway,
leavingmedrowninginthewishing-well—
oh,howIfell.
You'llneverknowhowdeepyoucutme,
althoughanyonecanseethestateI'min.
SoIpaythepriceofsuchunoriginalsin…
butIwillneverbringmyselftotell
howfarIfell.
SomebodyBadEnough
Ikeepyourpictureinthebackofthebook
asindextomyhiddenpages;
asecretlife
iswherewemeet
andI'llnotletyougo.
IknowyouthinkthatI'mabitofacreep
butIwillgrowonyouinstages
untilyourecognisethatwe'rebothinsodeep
thatit'scontagious.
Andifyoulovesomebodybadenough
Ibelieveintheendtheywillofferyouintheirlives.
Ikeepthewebsitestockedwithpicturesofyou;
Ilovetoscanyourshockedexpression.
Iknowthatyou'retheonlyone
whoreallyunderstands
allaboutpossession.
Andifyoulovesomebodybadenough
youwillfollowtheirfootstepswhereverthey'regoinginlife;
andifyoulovesomebodybadenough
Ibelieveintheendtheyletyouintheirlives.
Andifyoulovesomebodybadenough
youwillfollowtheirfootstepswherevertheyleadyouinlife;
and,yes,Ilovesomebodybadenough
Ibelieveintheendyouwillletmeinyourlife.
TangoforOne
Andeverytimeyoucallme
Iwaittohearwhatfavouryourequireofmethistime…
Theobjectofyourowndesire,
noteverything'saboutyou,
I'mnotexactlyhangingonyourwords,
thisaudienceisrestive,
perhapsyou'venotobserved
becauseit'sme,me,mewithyou
andwhatIfeelmeansnotalot.
No,Idon'tneedthis,
you'rewelcometowhatyou'vegot.
Noteverything'saboutyou,
myworlddoesnotrevolve
aroundwhateverproblemyouwantsolved;
perhapsyoumightdobetterwithafreshresolve.
Butit'salwaysme,me,mewithyou
andIhavehadituptohere;
no,Idon'tneedthis—
you'rewelcometoyourself,mydear.
You'rewelcometotheparty,
sogladyourguestshaveallarrived.
They'reallreflectingyourbrillianceintheiradoringeyes.
You'rewelcometothismoment,
everybody'shereforyou…
butyou'llbedancingbyyourselfbeforethenightisthrough.
Noteverything'saboutyou,
noteverything'saboutyou,
noteverythingaboutyou'strue.
Andeverytimeyoucallme
yourself-obsessiongrows:
you'llstewinyourownjuices,Isuppose.
I'vehadenoughoflistening,there'snobodyathome;
noteverything'saboutyou,everybodyknows
thateverythingaboutyou'semperor'snewclothes.
You'rewelcometotheparty,
sogladthateverybodycame;
oh,howtheyadmireyouasyourworthisself-proclaimed!
Thespittoonsfillupwithvitriol
whileyou'repuffingupyourname.
Yes,you'rewelcometothismoment
youperceiveasyourrighteousfame;
andifexhaustingourpatience
haslongbeenyourchosengame
you'reawinner,you'reachampion…
inyourowneyesyou'reasaint.
Isthatwhatyou'vebecome?
Yes,you'rewelcometoyourself
butwhenthisone-offraceisrun
noteverything'saboutyou.
Noteverything'saboutyou,
andgettingonwithoutyouwon'tbehard,
ifofcomfortthat'sacrumb.
It'salwaysme,me,mewithyou;
surelyitcan'tbesomuchfun
tofindyou'redancingatangoforone?
LikeVeronica
WearyourhairlikeVeronicaLake
andhesaysyoulookeversopretty
ashebrushesthetearfromyourcheekalmosttenderly…
soonhe'llbehome.
Fallinginlovewasyourfirstmistake,
withaheartthatheldnotraceofpity.
Asyoulookinthemirroryouwonderwhatfaceyouwillsee
whenhecomeshome.
Soonhe'llbe
inthroughthedoorinacloudofrageandimpotence;
callingyouwhore,hisgreetingisaGlasgowKiss;
downontheflooryouraiseyourarmsbutthereisnodefence…
he'sonlyinlovewithhisfists.
WearyourhairlikeVeronicaLake
andthebruiseswon'tshowwherehehitsyou;
safebehindthecurtain,inprivate,insecretnobodywillsee
howhecomeshome.
Soonhe'llbe
intoyourfaceinaspittle-streamofvitriolandabuse,
fillingtheplacewiththestenchofalcoholandpiss;
nosavinggrace,nocomfort,noescapeandnoexcuse:
he'sonlyinlovewithhisfists.
Ifthisisallthatthereis
isn'ttheresomewheretorunto?
Ordoyouthinkinthefuturehe'llchangehisways?
Isthatwhyyoustay?
Heisnotyourheaven-sentprotector,heisnotanangelfromabove,
heisnotthemanthatyouoncemarried:nowhisfistsareallheloves.
Heisjustaweaklingandabully,heisnotthedevilindisguise;
heisnotthemanthatyouoncemarried,heonlywantstoseeyoucry.
Heonlywantstohearyoubeg,heonlywantstoseeyouhurt,
heonlywantstoseeyoubleed,heonlywanttomakeyoucry.Heisnotyourheaven-sent
protector,heisnotanangelfromabove,
heisnotthemanthatyouoncemarried:nowhisfistsareallheloves.
Oh,darling,darling,isthatwhyyoustay?
Hisfistsareallheloves.
InaBottle
Withthesenseofanticipationburningonhisskin
andthetrainofconsequencesrunningatfullthrottle,
beforethetouch,beforethekiss,
thismomentjustbeforetheirhistorybegins,
he'dgiveanythingtoputthisinabottle.
Nosenseoftime,nosenseofplace,
incaseofsenselessnesshe'llsweartoheralone,
(He'llsweartoheralone.)
thoughheknowstomorrowthiswillbeanotherfacehe'sforgotten
(Nomemory'squitehisown)
beforethefire,beforethefall,allthisismagical,
thefuturesounknown,
he'dpayanythingtogetthisinabottle,
(asifthat'sathinghecouldeverown)
he'dpayanythingtogetthisinabottle.
DonJuanhadbeensocarefulbutheletitslip
thattheelixirhecravedwasmoistuponherfaithlesslips
andinthehintofherperfumethatlingeredonhisfingertips…
distillation.
Overstrength,thiseau-de-vie.
(Whataslip'twixtthecupandthelipfinally…
Hegotthebottle,heknockedbacktheeau-de-vie.)
He'sstrippedofrecollection,
he'sleftwithnoprotection,
thiswon'tcomeagain,
althoughhealwaysknewthathe'dforesee
muchmorethanhe'deverremember.
(Thiswon'tcomeagain.)
Losingthethread,losingtheplot,
itwasn't/notpossibletostayonfireashewasthen,
he'ddoanythingtobreathelifeintheseembers.
(Butthesecretstaysuntold…)
He'dgiveanythingtogetlifefromtheseembers.
(andthefirehasgrowncold,cold,cold.)
Betweenthepresentandthepast,hismouthagape
andtheelixirhedrainedhastwistedessenceoutofshape;
andwithdarkperfumeheiswraithed
nowthatthegeniehasescapedfromthebottle.
Sangrial,theeau-d-vie.
(Whataslip'twixtthecupandthelipfinally…
eau-de-vie,eau-de-vie.
DonJuanhadbeensocarefulbutheletitslip.
DonJuanhadbeensocareful.
Eau-de-vie…)
Astart
Alwayswe'retooyoungtounderstand
thatlifeisneithercruelnorfair,
atrandomorwell-planned.
Sowestridealongtheshoreline
whileourfootprintsinthesand
arewashedawayandthen
say«CanIbeginagain?»
Butwhereyoucomefrom'swhoyou'vebeen
andtryasyoumayyourdebtsallstayunredeemed
(maybethat'swhytheyseem)
whenallhistory'sasdistantasyourdreams
youcloseyoureyesandcounttoten,
say«CanIbeginagain?»
Everyaction,everypassion,
everyrationalretraction,everybreathastart…
Alwayswe'retooyoungtocomprehend,
nobodyherewilleverknowthewholestory,
howitends.
(Ourloversandourfriends…)
Holdingthemcloselyinthenoblestofpretence—
life'sjustgotstartedwhen
youfindyoucan'tbeginagain.
(Everyaction,everypassion,
formsalittlechainreaction,everybreathastart.
Everymoment,lostorstolen
formsthestory,baseorgolden:gofromwhereweare.)
Alwayswe'retooyoungtounderstand…
(Everyaction,everypassion,
formsalittlechainreaction,everybreathastart.)
Present(VdGG,2005)
EveryBloodyEmperor
Bythisweareallsustained:abeliefinhumannature
andinjusticeandparity…allwehaveisthefaithtocarryon.
Imperceptiblethechangeasourvotesbecomemeregestures
andourlordsandmastersdeterminetocastus
intherolesofserfsandslaves
inthenewempire'sname.
Yesandeverybloodyemperorclaimsthatfreedomishiscause
ashebuffsuponhiscommontouchasaget-outclause.
Untonationsnationsspeakinthelanguageofthegutter;
tradingprimetimeinsultstheimperialimpulse
extendsacrossthescreen.
Truth'sbeenbeatentoitsknees;theliesembedadinfinitum
tilltheirrepetitionbecomesadictum
we'retraitorstodisbelieve.
Withwhatimpotencewegrieveforthedemocraticprocess
asourgloriousleadersconspiretofeedus
thelastdregsofimperiousdisdain
inthenewempire'sname.
Yesandeverybloodyemperor'sgothishandsuphistory'sskirt
asheposesforposterityoverthefresh-dugdirt.
Yesandeverybloodyemperorwithhissicklyrictusgrin
talkshiswayoutofnearlyanythingbuttheliewithin
becauseeverybloodyemperorthinkshisrighttoruledivine
sohe'llgospinningandspinningandspinningintohisowndecline.
Imperceptiblethechangeasonebyoneourvoicesfalter
andthedoublestandardsofpropaganda
stillallourrighteousrage.
Bythisweareallsustained:ourbeliefinhumannature.
Butourfaithdiminishes—closetothefinish,
we'reonlyserfsandslaves
astheempiredecays.
NutterAlert
Itmightcomeinaletter,
darknessfallsinatelephonecall;
Iawaittheunexpected
withoneeartothepartywall.
Isittheprickingoftheconscience,
isittheitchingofhairshirt,
isitthedictionarydefinition
ofaprecipicetoskirt?
It'sthenutteralert.
Thoughthisfaceisfamiliar
somethinginithasbredcontempt;
Ineveraskedforyouropinion
oryourback-handedcompliments.
Oh,butherecomesthatspecialnonsense
allthewordsoutinaspurt,
theunhingingofthetrolley
asthemouthbeginstoblurt…
it'sthenutteralert
Icanseewe'reintrouble
fromthatglintintheeyeyou'vegot;
there'snosensetothestory,
comprehensivelylost,theplot.
Andhowcontortedisthatlogic
yousoforcefullyexert:
you'reacarcrashinthemaking,
head-on,that'saracingcert.
It'sthenutteralert,
thisisthenutteralert.
AbandonShip!
Oh,theheptagenariansgotbehindthedecks
whiletheskeletoncrewwentthroughthemotions.
Itwasonlythemedicationthatwaskeepingthemerect.
Yeh,thedevilgotthebesttunes
sogodknowswhatcomesnext.
Andit'sdifficulttothinkofanythinglessmagic
thantheagedinpursuitofthehip.
Atthelifeboatstationthere'samountingpanic…
they'regoingoverboardforthisone—
abandonship!
Oh,thehumanitarianstookthemselvesbelow
whiletheytriedtodebatethelatestmotion;
meanwhileonlythemedicationservedtokeepthemonthego.
Soit'sdeviltakethehindmost:
wesailonthesloopJohnDoe.
Andit'sdifficulttothinkofanythingthat'sfactual
nowwefindourselvesinAlzheimer'sgrip;
soatdisembarkationit'snonames,nopack-drill,
we'reallanonymousonthisone—
abandonship!
InBabelsberg
Thecity'sspreadbeneathmyfeet,
butnottheonethatIwasafter
whileI'vebeenpoundingoutthisbeat
thelengthoftheKudamm.
Streetlegendsonthetouristmap,
afadingscriptinGothic,
outinthestudiothey're
rehearsingindragforalark.
Comeon,let'sgetlostinthedark.
Taleanotherstep,anothermove,anotherpace,
whatisn'twritteninthemanuscriptisanotetoplaywithgrace
andifIexitfromthisstoryinawayImightretrace
itwillhavefallenthroughthecrackswhenIcomeback
inanycase
anothertime'sanotherplace.
Thecity'sspreadbeneathmyfeet
fromthetopoftheMercedestower
andIcanseethedarknessclosingin
hourbyhour.
ButIcan'ttakeanotherstep,nofillingin,nocutandpaste,
abankruptprocessforthememory,thisterrainislaidtowaste.
No,nothing'swritteninthehistorybooks
thatdoesn'tleaveanastytaste;
soshouldIstarttotellthestory
willyouputmeinmyplace?
'Causeit'llallbecrashandburn
whenIreturn…inanycase
anothertime'sanotherplace.
Justwhendidthisgetbroken?
Idon'tknowwheretobegin—
IgotaUbahnticketandaFlohmarkttoken…
I'mintroubleintherubbleofBerlin
Thelightisgettingdimmer,
thewallsofhistoryclosein.
InBabelsbergthey'rehunting
foradifferentStimmung
thatpredatesthewar.
Thatwasbefore,
thatwasbefore,
thatwasadifferentBerlin,
thatwasanotherBerlin,
thatwasbeforeinBerlin.
OntheBeach
Ifwehadallthetimeintheworld
wemighttalkabouthowitusedtobe.
Wecouldhavethrowninourcards
whenthegoinggothard
butevidentlywewentoninterminably.
RightnowIwanttowalktowardsthesea,
hopingyou'restillinstepwithme.
Alljokingapartlet'splayitfromtheheart
becauseatlasteventheSilverSurferagrees:
thewaveyoubrave
ridesonadeepercomplexity.
Ah,comeon:surf'sup!
EventheSilverSurferagrees.
Singularity
OurEyesGiveitShape
I'mgettingtheidea,Ihaven'tgotaclue.
Asmyfabulouscareerendsupdeadinthegutter
thestarsareshiningdownrightoncue.
It'snotmuchofashock,itcomesasnosurprise
thatchangingallthelockswhenthehorseshavebolted
isauselessexercise.
AndplayithowIwillandsayitasImay
Iwon'tpickthatpoisonpillasaeffortlessexit
fromtheMysteryPlay.
I'msogladI'mstillheretoseethis,
thebreakofdayattheendofthelongdarknight…
All'snotasitappears,thistalehasmanytwists—
butifIwasn'theredocumentingthestory
wouldthatmeanthattheplotdidnotexist?
Oh,woulditnotbeabsurdiftherewasnoobjectivestate?
Whatiftheunobservedalwayswaits,insubstantial,
tilloureyesgiveitshape?
I'msogladthatI'mstillheretoseethis,
thewholestoryisunfoldingbeforemyeyes;
I'msohappyIcanbarelybelieveit…
thissimplepleasureisthemysteryspiceoflife.
AndIamhappyjusttobreatheinthequalityofthelight.
I'mgettingtheidea,I'mseeingthingsanew,
it'sallbecomingclearatthisdelicatejuncture
therecanbenofalsenortrue.
Iwanttohaveitall,Iwanttoseethewholethingthrough…
It'safiftyfiftycall:maybeSchrödinger'scat
couldbetheCheshireonetoo?
I'msogladthatwe'rebothheretoseethis:
thechinkoflightinthetunneloflove'sembrace.
I'msohappyIcanbarelybelieveit
Asimplepleasureinthesimplethingsmakeslifegreat.
EventHorizon
Flatonmyback,Icanfeelmyselffalling
intoasingularstateofmind;
asifthroughafog,Icanhearsomeonecalling.
IknowI'mcuttingitfine,
thinkingthatmaybeit'stimetocrosstheline.
ThelastthingIneed'sanyoutsideassistance;
whateverIdowillbewhathasbeendone
andifforceisapplied,letitbefromadistance.
RightnowI'mbidingmytime;
holdon,I'mbitingmytongue,
hopingI'mtimingmyrunacrosstheline.
It'sallgonesoquietandscary,
Icanfeelthebloodrushinmyears.
IfonlyIcouldkeepmyhead,
ifonlyIcouldkeepmyheadfromspinning,
ifonlyIcouldkeepmyhead
I'dcrosstheline.
Isthatthefinishinsightoramistthat'sdescending?
Thegeometry'sblurredattheedgeofthescene.
Atthevanishingpointthere'llbenoperfectending,
nofinaldottingof«i»s,nochanceofcrossingthe«t»s—
atlast,unpickedattheseams,I'llcrosstheline.
FamousLastWords
«IfIclosemyeyesIcanpretend
thebestisstillbeforeme,theworstisatanend.
Timeforgoodbyestotheaudiencesthatadoredme;
theyneverrealised
justhowmuchIcametodespisealltheireagerness.»
Famouslastwords,
madeinjest,overheard,
isthatyourbesttestament?
Orareyoucoiningaphrase
justtoseehowitplays
whenyou'reatyourwits'end.
Famouslastwords,
tothelastyou'llself-serve,
whatawasteofyourbreath.
Whenyoucloseyoureyeswillyoupretend
thatnothingbadhashappened,thatwearestillclosefriends?
Somanylies,afteralltheillusionsareshattered
stillatallcostsyoumusthide
theemptinesswhereyourtruefeelingsusedtoreside.
Famouslastwords,
they'resoover-rehearsed—
theyjustsoundlikepretence.
You'llgooutinstyle,
tothelastindenial
ofwhatanything'smeant.
Famouslastwords,
tothelastyou'llself-serve,
whatawasteofallthatbreath.
(It'salittletoolateforsorry…
inaraceagainsttheclock
nowyouhitthatmentalblock
timetotakethatpoisoncup
nowyourtimeisallusedup.)
NakedtotheFlame
Shewaswaxeduptofacethecameralikebutterwouldn'tmelt
inthebackroomAgencieshammeredoutadeal:pointsonthepelt.
Intheairlesslyfrenziedatmosphereshewasthemistressofmisrule,
seemingcarelessofeverythingexceptherlook,coolerthancool.
Andshe'ssingingforhersupperandshe'sdancinginthedark
andshe'srunningforherlifeifshebutknewit.
Andthoughherheartishardasstone
that'sstilltheflintfromwhichshe'llspark…
Likeamothtotheflame
shewassoeagertomakeit
herambitionbecamenaked.
Howiconicallyarchedtheeyebrowpluck,howvaselinedthelens.
Nowironicallyevenhighbrowcriticsrushtoherdefence…
Andshe'sspinninginthespotlight,butincreasinglyconfused
aboutthecontextthatshefindsherselfwrappedupin.
Isitinthisskinshe'slivingorinthelastonesheabused?
Nothingquitelikeadame,wasshethebrokenorthebreaking?
Thegirl,thewomanbecame
naked.
Ipreferredherinanonymity,butnowthatcover'sblown
and,absurdly,shestars,eponymouslycast:it'sSalome'sshow.
Oh,becarefulwhatyouwishforasyourownheadmightgetturned
youmightfindthebiterbitbeforeyouknowit;
thoughevereagerforthespotlightshewasneverquitereadytobeburned.
Attheendofthegamethesignaturedishwillgetplated.
She'llgooutasshecame,writteninlightasherfateis.
Themothdiscoverstheflame's
naked.
MeanwhilemyMother
Meanwhile,mymother,
waitingforwhat?
Idon'tknow…
Therecallofafavouritememory,
orperhapsforapainfulonetogo?
Shedoesn'tletthatmuchshow.
Meanwhile,aboveherhead
allmymonologuesflows.
«What'sthatyou'resaying,dear?»
Wadingthroughtimelikeit'streacle,
hereyeslookingintominealthough
shewon'tevennoticemego.
InthemeantimeIpackherthingsup
andgetthemreadytostore;
inbetweentimesItakeagoodlookaround,
forwe'llnotbevisitingheremuchmore.
Meanwhile,mymother,
distanceencampedinhereyes,
notquiteobliviousbut
closetoastateofinertia
inwhichshewon'tevenrealise
howeverything'spassingherby.
Meanwhile,mymother,
lostinaworldofherown,
turnstolookoutofthewindow
downtotheverdantearthbelow.
Somejourneyswemakealone
somehowwe'llleaveallwe'veknown.
Meanwhile,mymother,
waitingforwhat?
Timetogo.
VaingloriousBoy
Isaidsteadyup,settledown,makewayfortheIdiotBoy.
He'sheretosellyousomekindofastory;
likeastuck-upsorethumbhe'llbecomingonbashfulandcoy,
allofthewhilepumpinguphisvainglory.
Isaidgiveitup,slapitdown,idolisetheIdiotBoy;
love'swhathewants,oratleastsomeattention
andhebelievesallthehype…
likeanarchetypalGeijin-cum-goy
heplaysuptheAlienGeniusPretension.
He'dfakehisownconfessiontogetyouonhisside.
Oh,Isaylightenup,calmitdown,timeoutforHisIdiocynow.
What'sgoingtohappenwhentheaudiencedwindles?
Thetide'sout,theride'sup,theworld'sgotnocomfortsomehow
truthtotell,it'llbehimselfthathe'sswindled
inabroken-downprofessionofover-weaningpride.
Nowheretohide…
Heavensentcomplimentsthatweremeantsincerelyfallflat
andthebitterestpillistheonehecan'tswallow.
Theidioticthingiswhatwehavealwaysknown:
howevergreatsuccessis,howeverfaryou'veflown
you'llcometofacethisaudience:
yourself,yourselfalone.
You'llcometofaceyourselfalone,
youidiot,idiotboy!
FridayAfternoon
Whywaitforlifetohappen,
whenrightbeforeoureyes
blindfateunwrapsitspatterns?
Ijustsaid«Seeyousoon».
Mypianowasintune
whenyouwalkedoutoftheroom.
ItfeltlikeanynormalFriday.
Atconcertpitch,440
thepressure'smanytons;
theweightoflifebefallsme.
IwishIcouldpretend
mypiano'sonthemend.
Youtreateditlikeafriend,leftittosettledownovertheweekend.
You'vegotaticketontheterracesforthegameonSaturday
andafterwardsyoumightgoforabeer.
OnSundayafternoonyou'lltakethefamilytothepark
andlater,whenit'sgettingdark
you'llsay«We'vestillgotthatoldspark»,
you'llsay«Oh,aren'twejustsoluckytobehere…»
Sostupidandsosenseless…
Sometimeswe'repulledupshort,quiteshockinglydefenceless.
Idon'tknowwhattodo:mypiano'soutoftune…
it'snotasifIcanassumethatit'severgoingtogetanybetternow.
Aliquidlunchappointmentwhentheworkingweekisdone,
there'stimeforonemorejustbeforehegoes.
Aquickglanceatthewatchandnowit'stimetoheadforhome.
Andsoit'sgoodbyetotheladies,
grabsthekeystohisMercedes,
thinking«MaybeIshouldgetacab…».
Butno.
Blinddrunk,hemetyouheadon.
OnanormalFridayafternoon.
WhiteDot
Nothingislikeanythingelse,
everything'sthesame,
ourprogresspunctuated
byaseriesofcoincidence
toformalogicalchain.
Nothingislikeeverythingelse,
likeanythingyouname.
Pomposityunpunctured,
we'reapproachingavelocity
ofescapefromourmortalframes.
Sonothingislikeanythingelse,
soeverything'sdesigned.
We'reutterlydependenton
ourself-deludingsenseofwhatwe'vedone
andwhatwe'lldoifwehavetime
withnothingelseinmind.
Atimetothinkisnowatapremium.
Youshowbareinklingofavitalsign.
Thoughinthepink
ineveryoutwardappearance
insideit'swhitedottime.
Oh,nothingcomestomind.
Sonothingcomestomind.
Doesnothingcometomind
whenyou'refinallymindfulofnothing?
Trisector(VdGG,2008)
InterferencePatterns
Allthatweseeillusory
everyassumptionbasedonblindfaithalone…
Onwiththemotley,bringithome!
Everything'sformedfromparticles,
allthatyouseeisaconstructionofwaves.
Holdontoboththoughts,
undergeneralrelativity
thecradleconnectedtothegrave.
LuminousAetherdissipates,
Michelson-Morleywithapointtodisprove,
Millikanoildrops
andthecargo-cultscienceevaporates,
improbablephysicsonthemove.
Nearerandnearer,
it'sclearthatininterference
whathappenswhenmattershatters
iswantonlyquantumandnature'sgot
somesurprisesinstorerightnow.
Allthatweareillusory,
everyobservancebasedonphysicallaw.
Onlyafoolwouldthinkus
readytofacewithcertainty
allthatourfuture'sheadingfor.
Nearerandnearer,
it'sclearer,we'reonlyhereforaneye-blink,
apsychicmind-trick.
Theproofsthatweuse
areatbestprojections
butlet'shopethey'llseeusthrough.
Theinterferencepatternshelpustoknow
thegapbetweenasimple«yes»anda«no»,
theheart-feltbeatthatgetsusreadytogo
and,asabove,we'llfindoutwhatisbelow
theinterferencepatterns.
TheFinalReel
JackandGillian,facingtheirdecline,
taketothedancefloorforonefinaltime.
Who'ddenythemthislastshot?
Takingatwirl,aretheyinthefinalreel—ornot?
JackandGillian,walkinghandinhand,
disappearingalongtheshiningstrand.
Who'ddenythemthisstateofgrace?
Sowefindthemwithnotasinglehairoutofplace,
picture-perfect,matchingpaceforpace,
herheadonhisshoulder,hisarmaroundherwaist.
Butifyouputthemonthespot
whatwouldtheysay?
Aretheyinthefinalreelorwhat?
Sayonara,tschuss,adieu,farewell.
Willwemeetagain?No-onecantell,
notthemanner,notthetime.
No-onecanhide,no-oneleavesthefinalreelbehind.
JackturnstoGillian,misty-eyed,
andpressesthepillsinherhand.
Allthey'vegotleftisthedownhillslide
sothey'dbetteractwhiletheycan.
Thismuchtheyknow,they'renotinthefinalreelalone.
Thismuchtheyknow,they'llnotleavethefinalreelalone.
Theytakethedive,no-oneleavesthefinalreelalive.
Lifetime
Icanrememberitsowell,
thebedofroseswherewelay,
thecrownofthornsIwassokeentogiveaway.
Allthewarningsignsignored,
thepassion'splayed.
Icouldforeseewhatwastocome,
Ihadasenseofwhatmighthappen.
Theriverrunsandveryrapidly
becomesatorrent,sweepingus
towardsourricochet.
Ittakesalifetimetounravelallthethreads
thathavetiedusinourwebsoftourniquet.
Istakenoclaimonmemory.
Istandonceremonialquicksand.
Ilookforsomethingwithsolidity
tohold:
somethinglasting,somethingpristine,withnosenseofdecay.
Canyourememberhowthatwas?
Canyouremember?
Ittakesalifetime'sunderstandingoftheflow
tosurrender,letthecurrentsweepyouaway.
WhatifI'dtoldyouIwouldneverletyougo,
Iwouldholdyoueverystepalongtheway.
Ittakesalifetimetounlearnallthatyouknow
toreturnthethingsyouborrowedforaday.
DropDead
Acharmedcircleonthedancefloor,
aspell-bindingdisplay…
it'srathermorethanhebargainedfor,
SnowWhiteorMorganleFay.
«Dropdead»,shesaid.
Hey,bigman,lettestosteroneflow,
flexthemuscleslikeamonkey.
Themaleplumageisallpuffedupinshow
butthegirlsknowhowtodebunkit.
«Dropdead»,shesaid.
Inasense
somemenarealwayscaughtinadolescence,
tryingtocrackthemysterygirlcocoon.
Itdoesn'ttakeawickedwitch
topointoutobsolescenceisastate
theymightwakeuptoprettysoon.
Isitanywonderwhentheyhonethatperfectput-down
todeflatethemachotoughguymalebuffoon?
«Dropdead»,shesaid.
OnlyinaWhisper
DiveintotheMotionoftheAvatar,
signuptotheArmyofthePhantom.
No-one'sreallywhotheysaytheyare,
they'reallimpostersonthestandinwitness.
WelcometothePowerofSelf-deception,
headhighinthegripofHolyDeadlock.
Don'tcountonthewayyourdaysarenumbered,
listentothewindwhichwhipsyoureverywordaway.
Word-drunk,hastheInquisitionfoundyou?
Weightfallsonyourshoulders,underpressure.
Blackdoginthedesertheatwillhoundyou—
hangon,onlyFaithisholdingustogether.
Dustcloudsbuildinguponthehorizon,
makewayfortheonslaughtoftheVisigoths.
Joinedup,alltheAutomaticWriting—
somethoughtsshouldbespokenonlyinawhisper.
TakeaimontheSummitofExperience,
don'tsaywe'rejustmakingupthenumbers,
laywastetotheideaofanAfterlife.
Somethoughtsshouldbespokenonlyinawhisper.
Listentothewindwhich'llwhipyourwordsaway,
listentothewindthatwhipsyoureverywordaway,
scatteredasyouratomsallwillbeoneday…
Somethoughtsshouldbeutteredonlyinawhisper.
AllThatBefore
Idon'tknowifI'mcrackinguporjustgettingcareless…
isthisroomquiteairless?
Justaminute—listen,
didyouhearthatknockonthedoor?
I'mgoingtohavetowritethingsdownbeforeIforgetthem.
Ican'tfindmyglasses,Idon'tknowwhereIleftthem
soIcan'texpecttogetmuchonthevisionaryscore,
ordidIsayallthatbefore?
Oh,stopmeifyou'veheardthisonebeforeIgetstarted.
Ican'tfindmymobileandIdidn'tchargeit,
it'saphantomtarget,
ifIcallmyselfI'llonlygetmyVoicemailoncemore.
IwishthatIcouldpinthingsdownbeforetheyescapedme.
Ican'tfindmycarkeysanditseemsthatlately
Ihavetroubleevenfittingthemintothefrontdoor…
ordidIsayallthatbefore?
Oh,stopmeifI'mbangingontryingtograbyourattention.
IforgettomentionIcan'tfindmyglasses
butIthinkIbentthemwhenIdroppedthem
asIscrabbledformyphoneonthefloor.
ItseemsIcan't,Ican'tremember,
Ican'trememberwhatI'mdoing.
AlthoughIflashthatfoolishgrin
thatseemedsowinningwhenIcamein
I'mbeginningtoseeeveryhtingwe'vebeen
isgoingtobeforgotten.
It'snotajoke,
ordidIsaythatallbeforeIspoke?
It'snotajoke,
ordidIsayallthatbeforeIspoke?
Ican'tfindmyself,whatI'mlookingfor,
andI'velostthethread
ofwhatIsaidbefore.
OvertheHill
Let'srecountourhistory,
ourtaleofboomandbust.
Wecouldtalkagoodfightonourday
butwhenwegotahandtoplaywebitthedust.
Nowinourthreadbaresuitswedoourduty,
stillsoldonthepursuitofacommoncause.
Nowletuscalltomemorysuchwitnessaswedare.
Webuiltourbridges,burnedthemdownaswell,
maybeallwehavetotellisoffthesquare.
Wetriedourinstantremedies—theydidn'tcleartheair.
Whocouldforeseehowitwasboundtoend,
inabreakorinabend?
Weintendedwellenough…
Oh,buttheclockwasalwayscounting,
theenvelopewassealed
andasthepressure'smounting
stillpreciouslittleisrevealed.
Still,letusspeakofcomradeship,ofhowwestoodasone,
shouldertoshoulderthroughthethickandthin
whiletheroofwascavingin;
althougheverythingbeginsingoodfaith,
foralloursinswe'llallendupbeingskinned
andnowthere'snowherelefttorunto,there'snowherelefttohide,
we'restrappedinandwe'regunningfortheroller-coasterride.
Ifwe'relivingourlivesasthoughGod'satourshoulders,
ifwe'regivingofourbest,byaneffortofwill,
thenwe'llbeupforthetest,
we'llneverknowwhenwe'reoverthehill.
Herecomesthenbitwherewedecidenopassengerscomeonthisride—
civilians,thebroken-hearted,neednotapply.
Icounttoathousandandten,Ikeepmyeyestightshutandthen
unsteadilycountthenumbersbackdownagain.
Headonintothewind,onaheavenlymission,
trytoplaywiththespinwhileweburninourhearts;
althoughweknowwe'llneverwinwe'restilllearningourlessonsinthedark.
There'snochoiceheretomake,there'snoeasierdecision
thantostandup,standstraightandtogiveitatry
andthere'snotimeforhesitationasthestationsofourlivesarepassingby.
Headsupandfacefrontasbrothertobrother,
timetocometothecallifwe'retruetohowwewere
becauseatlastandafterallwe'vegiveneachotherourwords.
IfweliveoutourlivesasthoughGod'ssatatourshoulders,
ifwegiveofourbestandthengivesomemorestill,
presson,withnopauseforbreath,
thenwe'llseeeachotheroverthehill.
Nowifwespeakofdistanceswe'reonlycoveringoldground:
what'sdoneisdoneandifwehavebecomeofworthatall
we'llhopetoseethingsintheround.
Let'sclosethebookonhistoryandkeepitsafeandsound.
Whilewe'vebeenmovingforwardtoourgoals
wehavedoneaswehavetold,
sothestory'sclosedbehindus
andthecountdowncomesinbackwards,
thatmuchwasalwaysclear,
sowhenitreacheszeroourheroesdisappear.
(Weare)NotHere
Idreamedyouherebesideme,
radiant,impulsivelystrong.
Lightstreamingthroughusblindly,
wearenothereforlong.
Idreamedusfromtheether,
burstingthroughtheneuralstem,
vibrationwithoutmeter…
wearenothereagain.
Wearenothereagain.
(Nowaytoknowthatwhen)
Wearenothereagain.
(thereisnonowinthen)
Wearenothereagain.
(Wearenotthereandthenweare.
Henceforthwearenothereagain.)
AGroundinginNumbers(VdGG,2011)
YourTimeStartsNow
Yourtimestartsnow
withoutaquestion,
withoutaclue
yourresponsewillattest
tosuggestion’spower,sostrong
andgrowingstronger.
Withself-belief
you’vepulledthroughbutyoubelongherenolonger.
Flybynight,it’sover;daybydayit’sdone.
Wasitsimplyoversightthat’sleftyouovercome?
Whileyou’vebeendistracted—
playfully,nodoubt—
yourtime’sbeenrunningout.
Yourtimestartsnow
andthere’stheposer.
You’regoingtoneed
allthehelpyoucanget
fortheride’snearlyover.
Allthatinformation,
allthatwarpandweft…
forallyourpatientfortitudeyou’repatentlybereft
ofclue,ofhint,ofnotion,
ofanswers,evenvague.
You’reploughingforwardnonetheless
asthoughbysimpledoggedness
thefarside’llseeyousaved.
Yourtimestartsnow
andyes,you’dbestbeginit,
howeverlong
you’veheldback,
you’vedemurred,
getontrack,pacebypace,
justgoon,
justgofurther…
Mathematics
Herebenumberstranscendental,
onanimaginaryaxisspun,
decimalplaceswithoutlimit
andzeroandone.
Mathematics,simplypurebeyondbelief.
etothepowerofitimespiplus1is0.
etothepowerofitimespiis-1.
Asinglefunction,exponential,
justoneadditionmustbedone…
multiplicationincompletion
ofzero,ofone.
Mathematics,justso«wow»itbrooksbelief.
(You’dbetterbelieve,you’dbetterbelieveit.)
HighlyStrung
Thebeat,thebeatatmytemples;mypulse,mypulseinarush.
I’mfeelingincreasinglymental,legsshaking,myfaceflushed.
Thelightssobrightinadazzle,thepumpingthatthumpsatmychest.
I’mfeelingincreasinglyfrazzled,needsomecomfort,needsomebedrest
orsomekindofintervention,coldsweatbeadinguponmybrow,
thehairsonmyneckatattention,Idon’tknowwhybutsomehow
I’mhighlystrung,I’mstressedashell,
Ibitemytongue,Iholdmybreathaswell.
Theironlung,thedivingbell…
timetodepressurise,mynervesareshottohell.
Thebeat,theheatisastounding,thepressure,thetensionfull-blown,
thestaticiscracklingaroundme,Ican’tholdon,Ican’tletgo…
I’mhighlystrung,panicattack,
can’tdothisone,can’tgoonwiththeact.
I’mfrozenonthetopmostrung,
Ican’tgoon,I’mjusttoohighlystrung.
Holdhersteadyasshegoes,
justbeready,onyourtoes,
holdhersteady…theresheblows!
Thecaseisshut,thesongissung,
thewire’sbeencutandtheacrobat’swellhung.
Bunsho
I’djustdonethebestworktofallintomyhandsforquitesometime;
ofnightoilI’dburnedmuch,madesurebothstyleandcontentweresublime.
SoIputitforward
tothepublicforum
inanticipation
ofmydueacclaim.
Andmeanwhile,bycontrast,I’dpennedaeulogy,pureworkaday,
justhackwork,justdashedoff,packedfullofprolixpuffandsadcliche…
No-onecanreallytellwhentheirhand’sbeenplayedoutwell
andIdon’tevenknow
howmyownstorygoes
orifit’sworthajot.
Ican’tseemystream.
WhatIthoughtwasperfect,
whatIthoughtwaspolished,
no-onethoughtitworthmuch
andtheymadethatclear.
WhatIthoughtwasworthless,
merelyrepetition
somehowtuggedtheheartstrings,
broughtthemalltotears.
Ican’tseemystream.
No-onecaneverknow
whatoftheirown’stheirverybest.
SnakeOil
Bestofintentions,fresh-faceddevoteesdisplay,
satatthefeetofthemaster,
hopingthatthisistheonetrueway.
Eagerawareness,pickingthewoodfromthetrees,
onlybeliefisimportant,onlyobediencecansetthemfree.
Herecometheparaphernalia,
herecomethecatch-allrefrains,
repeatadinfinitum.
Slavishdevotion,that’showitusuallypresents,
inanimpossiblypompous
addictiontodoctrinesthatmakenosense.
Analretentiontoanastoundingdegree,
self-absorptionistotal,makingobeisancecompulsory
iftheywanttoreachtheinnermystery.
Welcometothebatsinthebelfry,
thebuzz-wordsechoaround,
repeatedadinfinitum.
Brainwashedandboundtobelieveintheorthodoxtext,
slogansont-shirts,thepunterscan’twaittobetoldwhattothinkofnext…
oh,what’scomingnext?
Well,nothingiscomingandnobodyheregoes
insearchofthequestionsposteritymightpose.
There’sonlyoneanswerthebelieverscanallow…
Yes,teacherknowsbest,teacherknowsbest.
Let’sputtheteachertothetest,let’sputtheteachertothetest.
There’sonlyoneanswerthediscipleswillallowout.
Cultishconventionrepeatedagainandagain
untilthewordshavenomeaning,untilthemeanshavebecometheend.
Whatstartswithself-obsessionendsupinself-denial,
theyjustsowanttobelieve…
slavestothesnakeoilinthisparticularworld,
elitistandself-referential,thecomfort’sinsharingthesecretword
withthepictureblurred…thecompanionshipoftheherd.
EmbarrassingKid
Embarrassingkidlooksintothemirror
andgrinslikeanidiotathisownface.
Foraslongasheliveshewillnotbedelivered
fromthestuffthathedid,fromhisteenagemistakes.
Icanbarelybelieveit,
howIwentandlettheoldschooldown.
Yeah,whatevercanIhavebeenthinkingof?
Embarrassingkid,Isquirmatthememory,
trytobangdownthelidonthecanofworms.
Itremainsprettystrangeanduncomfortableterritory
wheremysecretsarehidden,howeverabsurd.
Icanhardlyconcealit,
howmyashenfacegotdrainedofblood.
Yeah,everybodycanhaveadamngoodlaugh.
Embarrassingkid,youdon’tknowthehalfofit
butI’dstakeafewquidyou’vegotgaffesofyourown.
Takealookatyourselfandyoumighthavetolaughabit…
buttheteeththatyougrit,wellatleastthey’reyourown.
Andyesattheendoftheday
wegetwhatwe’vegivenaway,
youbet:oureternalembarrassment.
Medusa
Welcometothecoils,
they'reheretosetyoufree
fromanguishanddulltoil
Andshesays
«Whatyouseeiswhatyougetfromme.»
You'rewelcomeinherworld,
it'sclearyou'llneverleave,
she'satransparentkindofgirl.
Andshesays
«Whatyouseeiswhatyougetfromme.»
Mr.Sands
Soonasyoulike,ladiesandgentlemen,pleasetakeyourseats.
Inamomentthere’llbeatestofyourendurance.
Stayinyourchairs:intheeventofadramaticpause
pleasebeawarenothinggetscoveredbyinsurance.
Onefinalthing:
pleasetakethetroubletoreadthroughyournotes,
it’simportantthatyouknowwhereyou’vegottogoto.
Waitamoment,maybeanusherette’llshowyou.
Suchexcitement,thesearethehoopsyou’vegottogothrough…
Thenoisesoffthatturnyouonstagewhisperedfromthewings,
astifledcough,ajokethatbombs,asmoulderingfusewirestring.
WhenMr.Sandsisinthehousethealarmbellsstarttoring.
Everything’sincode
inaworldwebarelyknow
andthetruthisonlyslowlyrevealed…
WithbestintentionsIhavestrayedfaroffthebeatentrack
andofattentionIdisplayedaquitespectacularlack.
NowMr.Sandsisinthehouseandthepanicbutton’ssmacked.
Well,MrSandsisinthehouse:commotioninthestalls
andfromthegods,unrulyshoutsthatechoroundthehall
Yes,someone’sletthesecretout…thesafetycurtainfalls.
AndasIlookacrossthestagethethoughtthatfirstoccurs
islessthatwehavecomeofageandmorethatwe’represerved
topassourtimeindifferentshadesofignorantreserve.
Everything’sincode
tillthemomentitexplodes
wesuspendbelief,getreadytogo
fortheplayoutoftheshow—
hereitisforallweknow
MrSandsisalwaysreadytoroll.
Smoke
Bestbecareful,maintainatightgrip.
Yes,becarefulandkeepthemouthzipped.
Bestbecareful,there’snosmokewithoutfire.
Clearlyyoudon’tknowwhereyou’regoing
butthebeatentrackbehindyourunsformiles.
You’veblunderedthroughthejunglelikeahyperactivechild.
Justbecarefulandthinkthethingthrough,
youmustbecarefulofwhatyou’relinkedto—
justbecareful,there’snosmokewithoutfire.
Youheldyourinattention
andyourstanding’snowassuspectascanbe,
thechargestelegraphedandtrackedconspiratorially.
Justbecarefulofwhereyourmouseclicks,
youmustbecarefulbecausethemudsticks—
justbecareful,there’snosmokewithoutfire.
5533
Youcanmakeamatrixpatternoutofalmostanything,
tracingcausalimperfectionsintheinformationflow,
countingoutthefootfallofprocessionalidentity.
Andthenumberis…
5533223
Astheprimacyofdigitstickstheboxes
sothecodesthattheyunlockbegintorun
andthesynapsesaresnappedintoattention—
theobserver,theobservedbecomeasone,
reelingoutthenumbersthataremappedinshort-termmemory,
soyoukeythemin…
5533223
AllOverthePlace
So,driventodistraction
bywitlessrepartee
andwitteringconversation
ofdeepbanality,
eventually
heseeksoutinteraction,
fresheccentricity.
Oncloserobservation
nothing’sallthatitseemstobe,
nothing’smorethanitseemstobe.
Hescatteredhimselfallovertheplace
whilehidingbehindcloseddoors
anddaybydulldayfellmoreoffthepace—
alifesuspendedinlivepause.
Hegaveofhimselfinfractionalclues,
obliquesynchronicities
butnobodyknowshowalienhegrew,
how,drainedawaybehindhisopenface,
he’dlosthisidentity.
Nownothingelseisleftbehind,
justthefallensideofthesky;
athousandmilesawayfromhome
Ifeelthecoldghostbreathflyby
outofthedream.
Nowtheimageblurs
ofhowweseemed
ofwhatwewere.
Miscellaneous
Firebrand(bsideof«PeopleyouwereGoingto»single)
This is a fairly straight-forward account of a phenomenon of
dire omen which occurs in Icelandic mythology, the 'Witch-ride'.
Here,themanifestationisinthesagaofNjal,andtheeventwhichit
foreshadows is the burning of Njal's house by his arch-enemy, with
theownerandhisfamilyasleepinside.Onthisdastardlydeedhangs
thecycleofretributionandrevengewhichconstitutesthesaga.
The screaming monologue of the Witch-rider is, amazingly
enough,anexacttranslation,«poisoninthecentre»andall!
Sundaynight,twelveweeksbeforewinter,
theworldisinasmokyhaze.
SuddenlythereappearsariderintheEast,
brandishingflame.
CHORUS:
«Irideandicystallion,fireateachend
andpoisonatthecentre;
youwon'thearmywords
asIscreamintothedarkness:
hisplansarelikeafirebrand,
hisplansarelikeafirebrand.»
Hissteedstrainsashereachesoutoverthereins
andhurlshisflameattheWest.
Themountainsdissolveinfire
andheracesthroughthem,screaming:
CHORUS.
Heridesonintothefurtherdarkness
brandishinghisflamelikeaspear
andbelowhimthereraceshisghoststeed
drapingthenightinfear
CHORUS.
Njal,bewareandheedthewords
whichemanatefromHildiglum.
(Derby,1967)
W.(bsideof«ThemeOne»single)
«w» is intuitive universal, and it is therefore appropriate that,
over the years, it should have been treated with sounds from
bagpipestothebleepingofspacebeacons.
Wave-theoryis,tome,fascinatingbutimpenetrable,andInow
prefera«photon»viewoflife.However,suchopinion,whenrelated
tosuchlyricsas'Darkness',merelyprovesmyownconfusionandthe
potentialtruthofboth.
Lifeisanendlesssuccessionofwaves,
you'rehappyandyou'resad
andyoudon'tappreciatethegoodtimes
untilyou'reinthebad…
Youwakeuponemorning—w—
andyou'retwiceasunhappy
asyou'veeverbeenbeforeinyourlife.
Youwakeup,gotothewindow
andseesmokebillowingacrossthelawn.
Youpickyourfeetup,dragyourselfdownstairs
andyou'regone.
Youwakeuponemorning—w—
andyou'retwiceasunhappy
asyou'veeverbeenbeforeinyourlife.
Youwakeup,looktoyourleft
butyouseenoreassuringhead.
Youstayinbedallday.
Atsixo'clockyourealizeyou'redead.
(London,1967)
TheBoatofMillionsofYears(bsideof«Refugees»single)
Horus,thesonofIsis,layinthemarshesofButo,
poisonedbySet.
ShecalledouttotheHighGodRa
tokillthisevil,thatherchildmayliveyet.
Castingasideherpresentfears
shecalledoutontheBoatofMillionsofYears…
Racameandsaw
andstoppedthesununtilhehadcured
thelifeoftheinnocent.
HorustheGoodlivedintheNorth,
inlandsoffertilityandbeauty
butSetstayedintheharddesert,
tohimbelongedalldroughtandperversity.
Whileheshedshistears
beneaththeBoatofMillionsofYears
hefightstokillthehawk,
bearingwithhimevilanddarkness.
ButHorusliveswiththesun.
Foreverthebattlerages,
eviltriestokilltheinnocentbaby
andonlyOsiris,theLordoftheDead,
caneventuallysaveit.
Sowemustcastasideourfuturefears
andcalloutontheBoatofMillionsofYears.
TheGodofLoveisonourside
andwithhimweshallnotdie…
there'slifeintheSun!
There'slifeintheSun!
Onlyinviolenceisthecauselost:
inpeace,greySetcan'tkillourbabyoflove.
(Derby,1967)
Shrine
Lightsarebeaminginthecity
asthetrainI'monarrives;
myeyesaregleaming,mymouthisgritty,
I'mbeggingtofeelalive
and,asIstepoutofthestationintothepouringrain,
IknowthatI'mapilgrimonceagain.
Getataxitomydestination—
shedoesn'tknowyetthatit'scominghere.
I'mrelaxingincontemplation
ofthegreattimesthatwehadlastyear;
and,asIstepoutontothepavement,andringthebellof29,
IknowthatI'mapilgrim,arrivingathisshrine.
Ayearagoweweretogetherallthetime;
youwereagoddess,andGod!yes,youweremine…
Landlordletsmein,Iclimbonupthestairs,
andI'mknockinguponyourdoor…
whatamIseeing,asyoustandthere,
halfyourclothesoff,lyingonthefloor?
And,asIlookpastyourshockedexpression,
Isee,inyourbed,anewman
andI'mapilgriminastrangeland—
andtheshrinethatwasherehascrumbledintosand.
(London,1968)
Rain,3am
Recorded at Worth, Hugh Banton engineering. The song dates
from'67.DavidJacksonplayedthefluteinthebathroom.Thetuneof
the chorus got cannibalised later. This was originally intended for
«TheSilentCorner…»Ithink.
Spittingdropsofrainprobedown
andtouchmycheek,
interminglingwithmytears
asIsilentlyweep,
thenthefatalityoflife
pressescloseandpokesinmyeyes
andI'mcoldandhungrytonight.
Thesegreatblackwallsofbrickworkbowlow
andoppressmymind
likethewordsofpeople
IthoughtI'dleftfarbehind,
butpresenceofthewordsandwalls
istoocloseandit'stooclear
astherainkeepswashingthroughmytears,
astherainjustwashesthroughmytears.
Afrumplookeddownatme
andhequicklyturnsaway.
He'shidingdeepinsidehimself,
allaritualofthesestrangeplains.
There'snooneelseuponthestreet,
justthisdyingofdrunkenme,
ohyes,andacatthat'shidinginthetrees,
andacatthat'shidinginthetrees.
Mymemorystretchesback
—asIcontinuetocry—
toplaceswhereIwentwrong,
althoughIstilldon'tknowquitewhy.
Theplashingneonsignperclaims:
allisspoiledwherethehumanlives
andinthedarknessno-oneforgives,
andinthedarknessno-oneforgives.
NowAndForever
On«IIsolenellapoggia»byAlice;wordsandmusicbypH1989
Atfirstsight,helplesslyfalling,
allatonce,lighterthanair.
Feelsjustlike,I'veknownyoualways
andnowitstarts,
NowandForever'sbegun.
YouaretheoneI'vebeenwaitingforsolong.
Now,suddenly,everything'sshining,
now,suddenly,everything'sclear.
Hereyouare,soclosebesideme
andnowyou'recome,
NowandForever'sbegun.
YouaretheoneI'vebeenwaitingforsolong.
Atfirstsight,helplesslyfalling,
allatonce,lighterthanair.
Suddenly,synchronuousheartbeats
andnowitstarts,
NowandForever,NowandForever,
nowourForever'sbegun,
nowourForever'sbegun.
There'sNoTimeLikeThePresent(UnlessPerhapsIt'sYesterday)
On «Democrazy» by Chris Judge Smith; words and music by
P.H.andC.J.S.1973
There'sgottobesomechangemade,
There'sgottobesomeplans.
Ifyouwon'tbuildmeamachine,
I'lldoitwithmyhands.
I'vesaidmypiece,Ican'twastetime.
I'veotherworktodo,
Butdon'tthinkI'menjoyingthis,
I'mdoingitforyou.
Getupandpackyoursuitcase,girl
Andmeetmeatthestation.
Withthingssobad,I'veorganized
Ourownevacuation.
Ican'ttalknow,Ihavetosplit,
There'snotimeonthemeter.
Ihopeshecomes,butastheysay
Ifyoucan'tjoinher,beather.
CHORUS:
There'snotimelikethepresent,
Unlessperhapsit'syesterday.
Thefuturelooksunpleasant,
Solet'sgetintomorrow'sway.
Please,pleasedon'tmisstheride.
TheMinisterofCulture
Hasreallygotusinhissights.
Hesentarobotvulture
Thatcirclesroundthehouseatnight.
It'samplifiersquivering,
PlayingrepeatsoftheJ.Y.Prog.,
PipingEaglethroughthecentralheating
AndDonnyupthebog.
REPEATCHORUS.
Webettershiftourselves,
Itmightnotbetoolate.
We'veasnowflake'schanceinhell
Ifwehesitate.
Thenetisgrowingtighter.
GonnamovetoHindustan.
Theywon'tshootme,I'mawriter,
Joinmewhenyoucan.
REPEATCHORUS.
Disengage
On «Exposure» by Robert Fripp; vocals: P.H.; words: Joanna
Walton;music:Fripp/Hammill
MrsMarionisstrictwithherservant
Behindlockeddoorsovercoffeetheyspeak
Theyspeaktomysistermyparents
AndI'mtryinghardnottoshriek
Disengage
Disengage
Disengage
Shedecodesmysecretsmyfragments
I'dcreateanybetrayalfortheirsake
Sheasksmetowaitinthehallway
WhereI'mdoingmybestnottoshake
Disengage
Disengage
Disengage
Mutteringwordstoherforconvenience
Istarttoheadforthedoor
MrsMarionscreamsovermyshoulder
Walkingout'sjustanothermetaphor
Chicago
On «Exposure» by Robert Fripp; vocals: P.H.; words: Joanna
Walton;music:Fripp/Hall
IsmilelikeChicago
Shelaughslikethebreeze
Itrysohardtocharmher
Withminormysteries
Icollidewithhersoftness
Withwhispersandpleas
Echoesofthemovements
Delicateobscenties
It'saonequarterraindance
Halfofit'sprayer
It'sasimplestromance
Rattleshighintheair
She'sthegentlestpretender
I'maclownonaspree
Stillit'ssweettoremember
Thewayitmightbe
IsmilelikeChicago
IMayNotHaveEnoughOfMeButI'veHadEnoughOfYou
On«Exposure»byRobertFripp;vocals:P.H.andTerreRoche;
words:JoannaWalton;music:Fripp
Thatisthewayitisbecauseitisthatway
Itisthatwayinthatitisthewayitis
Inthewaythatitisthatwaythatisthewayitis
Inthewaythatthatisthewaythatisthewayitisthatisitisthe
way
Or,thatitisthatwayisthewayitis
Thewayitisthatisthewayitis
Inthatitisthewayitisisbecauseitisthatway
Orthatitisthewaythatitisisthewaythatitisthat
Thatisthewaythatitisthewaythatitisisthewaythatitisthat
way
ImaynothaveenoughofmebutI'vehadenoughofyou
TheLiquidator
On«TimeVaults»
Ireadthenews,inapaper
Noflowersplease,donationstocharity
LiketheN.S.P.C.V.d.G.G.
JustsendthemoneytoGuyandHughandDavidandme.
It'sajoke,thereisnohopeleft,whoevermightdisagree
Tellmethatyou'reseentheworst,dishmethedirt
Goonandripthebackrightoffmyshirt!
TellmehowIhateHughBanton
Tellusthatthebankaccountiszeroantthatanyway
There'sno-onelefttoplayto,ohwell,thereyougo.
Areweevergoingtogetthisacttogetherontime?
It'sbeentotallyscrewedupandIreallyjustdon'tknow
Isthereanywayofkeepingacleanfeedline?
Itsoutofthequestion,whenthetripledistortionbooster'sblown
Jackson,please!What'smatterman?
You'refreakingmeoutyouknow
Onlyplayinghappyfamilies,maybeplayingdifferenttunes
Alwaysplayingtoohard,toofast,toosoon!
Waitingforourfatetotakeus
Waitingforliquidator
Caughtincolourbythepaperinthemiddleofashow
Waitingforourfatetotakeus
Waitingforliquidator
Theonlynewsisbadnews
Whentheonlystoryismakinguporcarryingon.