an unclear word

liquid lust

My frozen empty violent mind caressed the hidden hair
That shines with liquid lust I left behind
Your body stained with ruined eyes
I cut the skin
Concealed the crimes
With liquid hate I left inside
And loneliness is buried here
In rotting holes beneath your fear
Your agony
Your twisted struggle
Two bodies sink in meat-blood strangled
The smell of death
Your tortured gash
Enfold me in your mother's arms
Now hold me in your mother's arms


Swans
My Buried Child
THE GREAT ANNIHILATOR, 1995

fire walk with me

In principle a work of art has always been reproducible

An analysis of art in the age of mechanical reproduction must do justice to these relationships, for they lead us to an all-important insight: for the first time in world history, mechanical reproduction emancipates the work of art from its parasitical dependence on ritual. To an ever greater degree the work of art reproduced becomes the work of art designed for reproducibility. From a photographic negative, for example, one can make any number of prints; to ask for the 'authentic' print makes no sense. But the instant the criterion of authenticity ceases to be applicable to artistic production, the total function of art is reversed. Instead of being based on ritual, it begins to be based on another practice -- politics. (The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, by Walter Benjamin, 1935)

stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

nothing false and possible is love

nothing false and possible is love
(who's imagined,therefore is limitless)
love's to giving as to keeping's give;
as yes is to if,love is to yes

(...)


nothing false and possible is love
e.e. cummings

where your memory ends

that pale sustenance

I CANNOT live with you,
It would be life,
And life is over there
Behind the shelf

(...)

So we must keep apart,
You there, I here,
With just the door ajar
That oceans are,
And prayer,
And that pale sustenance,
Despair!


Emily Dickinson
XII. In Vain.
Poems, Series 1

a fragment

that clear wine the angels drank

The Universe: His wine cellar;
The atom’s heart: His measuring cup.
Intellect is drunk, earth drunk, sky drunk
heaven perplexed with Him, restlessly seeking,
Love in its heart, hoping at least
for a single whiff of the fragrance
of that wine, that clear wine the angels drank
from that immaterial pot, a sip of the dregs,
the rest poured out upon the dust:
one sip, and the Elements whirl in drunken dance
falling now into water, now in blazing fire.
And from the smell of that spilled cup
man rises from the dust and soars to heaven.

Mahmud Shabestari (d.ca.1320)
Rosegarden of the Mystery

One second burns for a billion years

Blood Promise

When silence falls
And light remains
And time is born
Beneath the sun
I'll hide your name.
Inside a word
And paint your eyes
With false perception
And I feel your mind
In everything
And every breath
Destroys a sound.
And I will follow
A false sensation.
And I'll always believe.
Your blood promise
And every breath.
I stole from you
And I never will see
Your perfect body
And you never have spoken
An unclear word
And I'll never betray
Your blood promise

Swans, Blood Promise
The Great Annihilator, 1995

I'll drink the moonlight from your hands

Will we survive?

I'll drink the moonlight from your hands
I'll swim an ocean filled with sorrow
No lover please don't go
We can crucify tomorrow
Let the sunlight feed the air
Let it fill our lungs with lies
We'll be memorized by shadows
But our loneliness will survive

(...)

Swans, Will We survive
White Light From the Mouth of Infinity, 1991

bleed

I used to make the children happy

Cause people grin when I come round
and kids they call me the bleedin clown
I used to make the children happy
Now little girls cry when they look at me

I'm goin down... down... down...
I'm goin down.

You lef baby you left baby
you left and i'm lonely
You left baby you left baby
you left and i'm lonely

(...)

Manu Chao, The Bleedin Clown
La Radiolina, 2007

lost, lonely, and vicious

Why are we alive?

Now I'm not a man and I don't feel love
And I don't see anything coming down from above
But this world spins slowly and I see a light
Rising up from behind the horizon up into the clear black sky
But I don't see you in my line of sight
In fact I can't remember why we are alive



Swans, Why are we alive?
White Light From the Mouth of Infinity, 1991

can't pronounce your name...

This one goes out to the one I love

This one goes out to the one I love
This one goes out to the one I've left behind
A simple prop to occupy my time
This one goes out to the one I love

Fire

Fire


(...)



The One I Love
by R.E.M.
(1987)

The River That Runs With Love Won't Run Dry

White Trash Beautiful

White Trash Beautiful, Trailor Park Queen
She slings hash at the diner from 11 to 5
She married a boy from school, thought he was oh so cool
But all he can do for money is drive
Out late haulin' freight on Interstate 5, prayin' he'll see home before his baby arrive


White Trash Beautiful, There's something you should know
My heart belongs to you
And you coulda found a better guy
I'll love you till the day I die
I swear to God it's true
I'm comin' home to you
I'm comin' home to you girl


(...)



White Trash Beautiful, Everlast

a detail

It has no future but itself

Pain has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect
When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not.

It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.


Pain has an element of blank;
by Emily Dickinson
(1830-1886)

lounge fly

away

Come with me
Into the trees
We'll lay on the grass
And let the hours pass


Take my hand
Come back to the land
Let's get away
Just for one day


(...)



Stripped,
Martin Lee Gore - Depeche Mode

blood in our veins

Hamlet

Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.



W. Shakespeare
Hamlet, 2. 2

will you come to me as a fire burning?

we are still alive

(...)

will you come to me as an angel
as a man, as someone I've waited for?
will you come to me as a monster in a child's room
as a shadow at the window?
will you come to me as a fire burning
as the end of the world, as a revelation?
will you come to me?

(...)

sometimes I feel it's been a long ride
sometimes I think what does it matter
sometimes I'm glad we are still alive
the longer we've made it
the longer we've made it

(...)


Wings, Nicole Blackman
[Dead Inside, Golden Palominos,Restless Records, 1996]

Our Love Lies

I'll Walk With You

I'll Walk With You
Through Space And Time
And When Sleep Is Near
I Will Fold You In
I'll Disappear With You
In Clear Blue Flames
And When Our Time Arrives
We Will Slide Through Space


Swans, Her

No strings attached

dylan

(...)

Mama, put my guns in the ground
I can't shoot them anymore.
That long black cloud is comin' down
I feel like I'm knockin' on heaven's door.


(...)



Bob Dylan, knockin' on heaven's door

double fragment

Identity

Now I'm Breathing The Breath Of God
And The Cold Wind Cleans My Mind
And I'm Standing In A Ring Of Fire
And My Heart Is Made Of Light
And I Fly Across The Red Mountains
And My Hands Contain The Sky
And The Earth Rolls Away In Darkness
And I Ride A Piece Of Lightning
Killing Time
Killing Time

Now They Punish Our Imagination
And Corrupt Our Blood With Fear
And Infinity's Beneath The Ocean
But Oblivion Sits Right Beside Me Here
So We Are Blind And We're Polluted
And Each Breath Is Drunk With Tears
We'll Drift Away Across Tomorrow
And We'll Ride The Breath Of Nothing
Through The Years
Killing Time
Killing Time


Swans, Identity
Love Of Life, 1992

Never found our way

For whom it is reserved

Please could you stay awhile to share my grief,
For it's such a lovely day,
To have to always feel this way,
And the time that I will suffer less,
Is when I never have to wake.

Wandering stars,
For whom it is reserved,
The blackness of darkness, forever,
Wandering stars,
For whom it is reserved,
The blackness of darkness, forever.


(...)


Portishead, Wandering star

until the day was gone

a room full of emptiness

On a cobweb afternoon
In a room full of emptiness
By a freeway I confess
I was lost in the pages
Of a book full of death
Reading how we'll die alone
And if we're good we'll lay to rest
Anywhere we want to go

(chorus)

In your house I long to be
Room by room patiently
I'll wait for you there
Like a stone
I'll wait for you there
Alone

(...)


Audioslave, Like A Stone
"Audioslave" (2002)

girl (republished)

lies

He who says he is happy lies, and in invoking happiness, sins against it. He alone keeps faith who says: I was happy. The only relation of consciousness to happiness is gratitude: in which lies its incomparable dignity.

Theodor W. Adorno

girl

a tiny baby girl

One day I’ll give birth to a tiny baby girl
and when she’s born she’ll scream
and I’ll tell her to never stop

I will kiss her before I lay her down at night
and will tell her a story so she knows
how it is and how it must be for her to survive

I’ll tell her to set things on fire
and keep them burning
I’ll teach her that fire will not consume her
that she must use it

I’ll tell her that people must earn the right
to use her nickname
that forced intimacy is an ugly thing

I’ll help her to see that she will not find God
or salvation in a dark brick building
built by dead men

(...)


Daughter, Nicole Blackman
(read the full poem here: http://your-other-left.blogspot.com/2007/09/daughter-nicole-blackman-publicerad-i.html)

we break easy

Shall we Torch the Earth?

And if I wake from Dreams
Shall I fall in Pastures
Will I Wake the Darkness
Shall we Torch the Earth?
And if I wake from Dreams
Shall we find the Emptiness
And break the Silence
That will stop our Hearts?
And if I wake from Dreams
Shall we cry Together
For the Howling echoes
And restart the Night?

(...)


Death In June, Fall Apart

a fragment

the lie becomes the truth

(...)

People always told me be careful of what you do
And don't go around breaking young girls' hearts
And mother always told me be careful of who you love
And be careful of what you do 'cause the lie becomes the truth

(...)



Billie Jean
Written & composed by michael jackson

love is a dog from hell

far too much

as the poems go into the thousands you
realize that you've created very
little.
it comes down to the rain, the sunlight,
the traffic, the nights and the days of the
years, the faces.
leaving this will be easier than living
it, typing one more line now as
a man plays a piano through the radio,
the best writers have said very
little
and the worst,
far too much.

As The Poems Go
by Charles Bukowski
from, ON THE BUS - 1992

this city kills its young

All my senses rebel

All my senses rebel
Under the scrutiny of their persistent gaze.
It took a lifetime to get here,
A journey I'll never make again.


(...)



Dead Can Dance, The Trial

dog days

I can only hold you through a piece of plastic

I could die if I touched you
A long, slow, torturous death
Of a thousand cuts
In a thousand ways
I can only hold you through a piece of plastic
With your name on it
With your name on it


(...)



Cassandra Complex, One Millionth Happy Custommer

you're terrified of what you crave

bone and self

I eat only sleep and air
and everyone thinks I'm dumb
but I'm smart because I've figured it out.

I am slimmer than you are
and I am burning my skin off little by little
until I reach bone and self
until I get to where I am essential
until I get to where I am


(...)


Holy, Nicole Blackman
[Dead Inside, Golden Palominos,
Restless Records, 1996]

Lightheaded and Clean

Drown

his scent swims around me
like a perfume too heavy for summer
me lost thing
intoxicated curled within him
drowning over and over

charmed disarmed
he comes when least expected
sits too close lingers too long
stares too deeply
and claims me with something I cannot name

lightheaded and clean
this is a gift
biting tongue until blood
I am sick with him

talk goes no deeper than tonight
words are tickets to spend time
skin is talking to skin
loud


(...)


Drown, Nicole Blackman
[Dead Inside, Golden Palominos
Restless Records, 1996]

He Comes When Least Expected

This Fear of Being What They Are: Dead.

this fear of being what they are:
dead.

at least they are not out on the street, they
are careful to stay indoors, those
pasty mad who sit alone before their tv sets,
their lives full of canned, mutilated laughter.
their ideal neighborhood
of parked cars
of little green lawns
of little homes
the little doors that open and close
as their relatives visit
throughout the holidays
the doors closing
behind the dying who die so slowly
behind the dead who are still alive
in your quiet average neighborhood
of winding streets
of agony
of confusion
of horror
of fear
of ignorance.

a dog standing behind a fence.

a man silent at the window.





hello, how are you?
Charles Bukowski

Fear Of a Blank Planet

Fell On Black Days

Whatsoever I've feared has come to life
Whatsoever I've fought off became my life
Just when everyday seemed to greet me with a smile
Sunspots have faded
And now I'm doing time
Cause I fell on black days


(...)


Soundgarden
Fell On Black Days
Music: Cornell
Lyrics: Cornell

Dwell On ...

It's Good To Be Back

(...)

Did you miss me, Yeah, while I was away,
did you hang my picture on your wall
Did you kiss me, Yeah, every single day,
although you couldn't kiss me at all.
And did you love me, Yeah, like a good little girl,
Did you tell that naughty boy not to call,
did you love me, Yeah, in your own little world,
Although you couldn't see me at all,
although you couldn't see me at all,

Hello, Hello, it's good to be back, it's good to be back,
Hello, Hello, Hello, Hello, I'm back again, I'm back,
I'm on the right track,


(...)


Hello, Hello I'm Back Again!
(Words and Music by Mike Leander & Gary Glitter)
A hit single across the World in 1973

An Ideal For Living

This Blog Is Set On "Pause"

A change of speed, a change of style.
A change of scene, with no regrets,
A chance to watch, admire the distance


(...)



New Dawn Fades, Joy Division
(Unknown Pleasures, 1979)

I got soul, but I'm not a soldier

To Create ...

"To create one must question everything"

Eileen Gray

Antes do Outono

...To Be Back

The Hanging Man

By the roots of my hair some god got hold of me.
I sizzled in his blue volts like a desert prophet.


The nights snapped out of sight like a lizard's eyelid :
A world of bald white days in a shadeless socket.


A vulturous boredom pinned me in this tree.
If he were I, he would do what I did.



Sylvia Plath

Ver

June

June is the sixth month of the year in the Gregorian calendar, with a length of 30 days.

The month is named after the Roman goddess Juno, wife of Jupiter and equivalent to the Greek goddess Hera.

At the start of June, the sun rises in the constellation of Taurus; at the end of June, the sun rises in the constellation of Gemini.

Plain

My Heart Is Black

(...)

I had a vision I could turn you right
a stupid mission and a lethal fight
I should have seen it when my hope was new
my heart is black and my body is blue

(...)


The Cardigans, My Favourite Game

I Can't Remember If I Posted This One Before And I Was Too Lazy Too Check

O Impossível Seduz

A nossa história começa na total escuridão
Onde o mistério ultrapassa a nossa compreensão
A nossa história é o esforço para alcançar a luz
Meu amor, o impossível seduz




Jorge Palma, Eternamente Tu

Smoke

Flowers Melting

(...)


Flowers melting up into the sky
Hear my heart where our love collides
We hear the songs we found in the times we lost our way


(...)




Thievery Corporation, The Time We Lost Our Way

Clean

You Shall Not

You shall not be afraid of the terror by night,
Nor of the arrow that flies by day,
Nor of the pestilence that walks in darkness,
Nor of the destruction that lays waste at noonday.



PSALMS, Chapter 91

Untitled

Lisboa

(...)


Quando chega a noite
Com suas caras fugidias,
Olhos dilatados pelo assombro
Deixamos que a cidade nos invada,
Fantasma a embriagar-nos de luz e côr
Num sonho de mil e uma fantasias,


(...)


LISBOA
por entre as sombras e o lixo
[Adolfo Luxúria Canibal / Carlos Fortes]

Sleep

Being Free

Don't drag me down
Just because you're down
And just cause you're blue
Don't make me too
And though you've found
You need more than me
Don't talk to me
About being free

That's freedom without love
And magic without love
Magic without love


(…)


Better Things, Massive Attack

Untitled

Outra Vez

yes is a pleasant country:
if's wintry
(my lovely)
let's open the year

both is the very weather
(not either)
my treasure,
when violets appear

love is a deeper season
than reason;
my sweet one
(and april's where we're)


1 X 1 [One Times One], 1944
e.e. cummings

What?

Mas...

A solidão aborrece mas não mata.

Lídia

Just a Castaway

Lost

Just a castaway, an island lost at sea, oh
Another lonely day, with no one here but me, oh
More loneliness than any man could bear
Rescue me before I fall into despair, oh

(…)




Message in a bottle, The Police

Turn

Temporal Judgement

Altered states of consciousness are sometimes characterized by a different estimation of time. Some psychoactive substances--such as entheogens--may also dramatically alter a person's temporal judgement. When viewed under the influence of such substances as LSD, psychedelic mushrooms and peyote, a clock may appear to be a strange reference point and a useless tool for measuring the passage of events as it does not correlate with the user's experience.

At higher doses, time may appear to slow down, stop, speed up, and even go backwards when under the influence of these agents.

A typical thought might be "I can't believe it's only 8 o'clock, but then again, what does 8 o'clock mean?" As the boundaries for experiencing time are removed, so is its relevance. Many users claim this unbounded timelessness feels like a glimpse into spiritual infinity. To imagine that one exists somewhere "outside" of time is one of the hallmark experiences of a psychedelic voyage.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Back

Time

There are two distinct views on the meaning of time. One view is that time is part of the fundamental structure of the universe, a dimension in which events occur in sequence, and time itself is something that can be measured. This is the realist's view, to which Sir Isaac Newton subscribed.

A contrasting view is that time is part of the fundamental intellectual structure (together with space and number) within which we sequence events, quantify the duration of events and the intervals between them, and compare the motions of objects. In this view, time does not refer to any kind of entity that "flows", that objects "move through", or that is a "container" for events. This view is in the tradition of Gottfried Leibniz and Immanuel Kant, in which time, rather than being an objective thing to be measured, is part of the mental measuring system.

The question, perhaps overly simplified and allowing for no middle ground, is thus: is time a "real thing" that is "all around us", or is it nothing more than a way of speaking about and measuring events?

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Untitled

O Amor

Vivia na temperatura tépida dos lençóis
Aquele que dava pelo estranho nome
De Amor. Às vezes soltava-se
E percorria pela mão
Dos adolescentes ruas desertas, sombras
Escuras e conspiradoras - soltou-se
O Amor - alguém gritava.


Facas em sangue
[Adolfo Luxúria Canibal / Zé dos Eclipses]
«Coraçoes Felpudos»,1990

Less Is More

More Real Than Real

In the Amazon and other places where visionary plants are understood and used, you are conveyed into worlds that are appallingly different from ordinary reality. Their vividness cannot be stressed enough. They are more real than real, and that's something that you sense intuitively. They establish an ontological priority. They are more real than real, and once you get that under your belt and let it rattle around in your mind, then the compass of your life begins to spin and you realize that you are not looking in on the Other; the Other is looking in on you. This is a tremendous challenge to the intellectual structures that have carried us so far during the last thousand years. We can do tricks with atoms, there's no question about that, but these tricks immolate us. The higher-order structure of molecules, let alone organelles and that kind of thing, is intellectual incognita to us. We have no notion of how these things work or what is going on. Yet it is from those levels that the constituent modalities of reality are being laid down.

Terence Mckenna