1. |
hack mystic - blue clay
02:26
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2. |
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3. |
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he said:
'green helps,
immerse yourself,
drink in spring,
be soothed.'
still carrying
my mind in its cradle,
through that veil
i saw leaves all sway the same way
in the wind.
she said:
'green hurts,
unwelcome words
made summer end
too soon.'
still carrying
my mind in its cradle,
through that veil
i couldn't find the words to say.
the leaves fell off
and away.
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5. |
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6. |
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7. |
bird sacrifice altar
04:21
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8. |
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from the bog into
the light of the moon
i emerge
i drip, i steam, i dream
who did my blood appease?
born of the bog i suffered threefold death
these thoughts brought from the mind like a baby screaming
we hear the fading bells
no more honourable than fading leaves
the work of the eyes is done
/////
nothing is ever gone, or can be
i was always already this
as the rope grew tighter
my true name written in the peat beneath
fen dank dripping from my feet
i trudge
centuries of waiting to become dust
lord of the bog revealed as mist
no world, no mind, and at the centre
a bleeding hole
/////
feel the future written in skin
the warp and weft of what has been
and what will be, woven
will fold and peel
from the sludge of this body
into the desert of the Real
/////
torn from the bog i stumble to transcendence
these thoughts thorns in the side of a great horse bleeding
the Thing overwhelms, peering through a crack and seeing
the Other and i are one
/////
there are holes across the land
tunnels of light arcing across the skies
and spikes driven into the night
of my ribs a poem written
and hexes carved into my chest
bodies cast among the sand
we never get to truly rest
in the desert of the Real
a damp cigarette against parched lips
and one cold can of the real thing
oases of sensate bliss
it’s time
/////
my sunken eyes unseeing
this sunken land revealing
fen dank dripping from my feet
i trudge
fingers reach
and waiting to become dust
/////
we have arrived
ranks of figures arrayed
glints of colours out of space and
light falls like shade
a curtain drawn across the face of day
these bodies blank as puppet
flanked by bleating trumpets
sobbing threnodies
we have arrived at this new Palodes
proclaiming this
the Great God Pan is dead
the borders closing
cracks between the planes held open only by memory
of shrivelled emissaries such as me
////
light leaking from my trepanned head
drink of this
a broken altar represents
a stoppered well
echoes of incense, tremors and fading bells
symbols sandblasted by the desert of the Real
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Buried in Space London, UK
cassette tapes for the dispossessed//
ambient, drone, doom, lounge, devotional//
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