Transcription of Organ Music

The flower in the glass peanut bottle formerly in the
kitchen crooked to take a place in the light,
the closet door opened, because I used it before, it
kindly stayed open waiting for me, its owner.

I began to feel my misery in pallet on floor, listening
to music, my misery, that's why I want to sing.
The room closed down on me, I expected the presence
of the Creator, I saw my gray painted walls and
ceiling, they contained my room, they contained
me
as the sky contained my garden,
I opened my door

The rambler vine climbed up the cottage post,
the leaves in the night still where the day had placed
them, the animal heads of the flowers where they had
arisen
to think at the sun

Can I bring back the words? Will thought of
transcription haze my mental open eye?
The kindly search for growth, the gracious de-
sire to exist of the flowers, my near ecstasy at existing
among them
The privilege to witness my existence-you too
must seek the sun...

My books piled up before me for my use
waiting in space where I placed them, they
haven't disappeared, time's left its remnants and qual-
ities for me to use--my words piled up, my texts, my
manuscripts, my loves.
I had a moment of clarity, saw the feeling in
the heart of things, walked out to the garden crying.
Saw the red blossoms in the night light, sun's
gone, they had all grown, in a moment, and were wait-
ing stopped in time for the day sun to come and give
them...
Flowers which as in a dream at sunset I watered
faithfully not knowing how much I loved them.
I am so lonely in my glory--except they too out
there--I looked up--those red bush blossoms beckon-
ing and peering in the window waiting in the blind love,
their leaves too have hope and are upturned top flat
to the sky to receive--all creation open to receive--the
flat earth itself.

The music descends, as does the tall bending
stalk of the heavy blssom, because it has to, to stay
alive, to continue to the last drop of joy.
The world knows the love that's in its breast as
in the flower, the suffering lonely world.
The Father is merciful.

The light socket is crudely attached to the ceil-
ing, after the house was built, to receive a plug which
sticks in it alright, and serves my phonograph now...

The closet door is open for me, where I left it,
since I left it open, it has graciously stayed open.
The kitchen has no door, the hole there will
admit me should I wish to enter the kitchen.
I remember when I first got laid, H.P. gra-
ciously took my cherry, I sat on the docks of Prov-
incetown, age 23, joyful, elevated in hope with the
Father, the door to the womb wasopen to admit me
if I wished to enter.

There are unused electricity plugs all over my
house if I ever needed them.
The kitchen window is open, to admit air...
The telephone--sad to relate--sits on the
floor--I haven't had the money to get it connected--

I want people to bow when they see me and say
he is gifted with poetry, he has seen the presence of
the Creator
And the Creator gave me a shot of his presence
to gratify my wish, so as not to cheat me of my yearning
for him.

- Allen Ginsberg
posted by sister ray 8:59 PM

Heartbeat


posted by sister ray 9:30 PM

The Differences



Sometimes in the amazing ignorance
I hear things and see things
I never knew I saw and heard before
Sometimes in the ignorance
I feel the meaning
Invincible invisible wisdom,
And I commune with intuitive instinct
With the force that made life be
And since it made life be
It is greater than life
And since it let extinction be
It is greater than extinction.
I commune with feelings more than
prayer
For there is nothing else to ask for
That companionship is
And it is superior to any other is.
Sometimes in my amazing ignorance
Others see me only as they care to see
I am to them as they think
According the standard I should not be
And that is the difference between I and them
Because I see them as they are to is
And not the seeming isness of the was.
- Sun Ra
posted by sister ray 9:27 AM

{vendo resenhas}

MAGAZINE
Royal Festival Hall
02/09/2009

Sempre nadando contra a corrente, rumo a decadência por opção, Howard Devoto e seus ‘magazines’ estão de volta, 28 anos depois, no mais inesperado comeback do momento.

Devoto, para quem não sabe, é um dos fundadores dos Buzzcocks que tornou-se símbolo da contravenção ao abandonar o barco no auge do sucesso, em 1977, para navegar numa corrente mais experimental com o Magazine, banda que permaneceu incompreendida e ignorada pela critica durante toda sua existência, até meados de 1981.

Na época, Devoto declarou que jamais tocaria musicas do Magazine novamente. Então eis aqui ele, no palco de um Royal Festival Hall lotado de admiradores de longa data tocando na integra The Correct Use of Soap, álbum devidamente reconhecido como clássico depois de influenciar e continuar influenciando toda uma leva de bandas que vai de Smiths a Klaxxons. Só para contrariar. Para delírio geral.

As guitarras estão desconfortavelmente baixas e é difícil ter que permanecer sentada, principalmente quando chega a vez da minha favorita, Sweetheart Contract, mas o clima não podia ser mais perfeito para o ritual decadente que todos pagamos para ver - o teatro mal iluminado, H.D. um perfeito Doctor Evil com sua careca brilhante, camisa vermelho-sangue e modos tão maníacos quanto suas letras (“você me ama porque está assustada/ e eu estou me apaixonando por você/ porque estou ficando assustado/ como as coisas que você me faz fazer”), e no background projetados os dizeres “The Soap Show: Episode 2009”. Classe.

Depois de um breve intervalo para drinks, o segundo episódio começa com nosso (anti)herói por trás das cortinas recitando um conto sobre um homem na porta do inferno ao som de um tecladinho sinistro de David Formula - tipo segure-se nas cadeeeiras o chão esta abriiindo! – e quando a banda ressurge é como se tivéssemos dormido e acordado para ver um show totalmente diferente. Howard trocou de camisa (cor escolhida - amarelo ovo) e o que se seguiu é difícil descrever.

As guitarras foram devidamente aumentadas e somos premiados com um apanhado geral de clássicos enquanto Devoto, numa metáfora espontânea (?), dá pinceladas no ar como se estivesse pintando um quadro surreal. Quando ele nos lembra que não precisamos ficar sentados (d’oh!), a tela na minha frente começa a pegar fogo – tem inicio uma rebelião da meia-idade. Todos levantamos e saltitamos ao som de Rhythm of Cruelty, Permafrost, Give Me Everything, Parade, Definitive Gaze e no momento ápice, com The Light Pour Out Of Me, esquecemos que o dia é terca-feira e o planeta, Terra.

Se tivesse que definir tudo em duas palavras eu diria “festim diabólico”. E todos comemos frio e felizes o prato principal: a vingança de Howard Devoto.

+

posted by sister ray 5:25 PM

The Waste Land


I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering 5
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, 10
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie, 15
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, 20
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock, 25
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust. 30
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu.
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?
'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; 35
'They called me the hyacinth girl.'
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, 40
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Od' und leer das Meer.

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe, 45
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations. 50
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water. 55
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days.

Unreal City, 60
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. 65
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying 'Stetson!
'You who were with me in the ships at Mylae! 70
'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
'Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,
'Or with his nails he'll dig it up again! 75
'You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!'

II. A GAME OF CHESS

THE Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Glowed on the marble, where the glass
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines
From which a golden Cupidon peeped out 80
(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra
Reflecting light upon the table as
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,
From satin cases poured in rich profusion; 85
In vials of ivory and coloured glass
Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,
Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused
And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air
That freshened from the window, these ascended 90
In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,
Flung their smoke into the laquearia,
Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.
Huge sea-wood fed with copper
Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone, 95
In which sad light a carvèd dolphin swam.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale 100
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
'Jug Jug' to dirty ears.
And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring forms 105
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.
Footsteps shuffled on the stair.
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still. 110

'My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
'Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.
'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
'I never know what you are thinking. Think.'

I think we are in rats' alley 115
Where the dead men lost their bones.

'What is that noise?'
The wind under the door.
'What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?'
Nothing again nothing. 120
'Do
'You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember
'Nothing?'
I remember
Those are pearls that were his eyes. 125
'Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?'
But
O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag—
It's so elegant
So intelligent 130
'What shall I do now? What shall I do?'
'I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
'With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow?
'What shall we ever do?'
The hot water at ten. 135
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

When Lil's husband got demobbed, I said—
I didn't mince my words, I said to her myself, 140
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
Now Albert's coming back, make yourself a bit smart.
He'll want to know what you done with that money he gave you
To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.
You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set, 145
He said, I swear, I can't bear to look at you.
And no more can't I, I said, and think of poor Albert,
He's been in the army four years, he wants a good time,
And if you don't give it him, there's others will, I said.
Oh is there, she said. Something o' that, I said. 150
Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
If you don't like it you can get on with it, I said.
Others can pick and choose if you can't.
But if Albert makes off, it won't be for lack of telling. 155
You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.
(And her only thirty-one.)
I can't help it, she said, pulling a long face,
It's them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.
(She's had five already, and nearly died of young George.) 160
The chemist said it would be alright, but I've never been the same.
You are a proper fool, I said.
Well, if Albert won't leave you alone, there it is, I said,
What you get married for if you don't want children?
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME 165
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot—
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight. 170
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.

III. THE FIRE SERMON

THE river's tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed. 175
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends
Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.
And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors; 180
Departed, have left no addresses.
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept...
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.
But at my back in a cold blast I hear 185
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.

A rat crept softly through the vegetation
Dragging its slimy belly on the bank
While I was fishing in the dull canal
On a winter evening round behind the gashouse 190
Musing upon the king my brother's wreck
And on the king my father's death before him.
White bodies naked on the low damp ground
And bones cast in a little low dry garret,
Rattled by the rat's foot only, year to year. 195
But at my back from time to time I hear
The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring
Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
And on her daughter 200
They wash their feet in soda water
Et, O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la coupole!

Twit twit twit
Jug jug jug jug jug jug
So rudely forc'd. 205
Tereu

Unreal City
Under the brown fog of a winter noon
Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant
Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants 210
C.i.f. London: documents at sight,
Asked me in demotic French
To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel
Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.

At the violet hour, when the eyes and back 215
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives 220
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays, 225
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—
I too awaited the expected guest. 230
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses, 235
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence; 240
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall 245
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows on final patronising kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit...

She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover; 250
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
'Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over.'
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand, 255
And puts a record on the gramophone.

'This music crept by me upon the waters'
And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.
O City city, I can sometimes hear
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, 260
The pleasant whining of a mandoline
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls
Of Magnus Martyr hold
Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold. 265

The river sweats
Oil and tar
The barges drift
With the turning tide
Red sails 270
Wide
To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.
The barges wash
Drifting logs
Down Greenwich reach 275
Past the Isle of Dogs.
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala

Elizabeth and Leicester
Beating oars 280
The stern was formed
A gilded shell
Red and gold
The brisk swell
Rippled both shores 285
Southwest wind
Carried down stream
The peal of bells
White towers
Weialala leia 290
Wallala leialala

'Trams and dusty trees.
Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew
Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees
Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.' 295
'My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart
Under my feet. After the event
He wept. He promised "a new start".
I made no comment. What should I resent?'
'On Margate Sands. 300
I can connect
Nothing with nothing.
The broken fingernails of dirty hands.
My people humble people who expect
Nothing.' 305
la la

To Carthage then I came

Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
O Lord Thou pluckest 310

burning

IV. DEATH BY WATER

PHLEBAS the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep seas swell
And the profit and loss.
A current under sea 315
Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell
He passed the stages of his age and youth
Entering the whirlpool.
Gentile or Jew
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward, 320
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.

V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID

AFTER the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying 325
Prison and place and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience 330

Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink 335
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit 340
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mudcracked houses
If there were water 345
And no rock
If there were rock
And also water
And water
A spring 350
A pool among the rock
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock 355
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there is no water

Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together 360
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
—But who is that on the other side of you? 365

What is that sound high in the air
Murmur of maternal lamentation
Who are those hooded hordes swarming
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth
Ringed by the flat horizon only 370
What is the city over the mountains
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air
Falling towers
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria
Vienna London 375
Unreal

A woman drew her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light
Whistled, and beat their wings 380
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall
And upside down in air were towers
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.

In this decayed hole among the mountains 385
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel
There is the empty chapel, only the wind's home.
It has no windows, and the door swings,
Dry bones can harm no one. 390
Only a cock stood on the rooftree
Co co rico co co rico
In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust
Bringing rain

Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves 395
Waited for rain, while the black clouds
Gathered far distant, over Himavant.
The jungle crouched, humped in silence.
Then spoke the thunder
D A 400
Datta: what have we given?
My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment's surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed 405
Which is not to be found in our obituaries
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms
D A 410
Dayadhvam: I have heard the key
Turn in the door once and turn once only
We think of the key, each in his prison
Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison
Only at nightfall, aetherial rumours 415
Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus
D A
Damyata: The boat responded
Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar
The sea was calm, your heart would have responded 420
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient
To controlling hands

I sat upon the shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
Shall I at least set my lands in order? 425

London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down

Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina
Quando fiam ceu chelidon—O swallow swallow
Le Prince d'Aquitaine à la tour abolie
These fragments I have shored against my ruins 430
Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo's mad againe.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.

Shantih shantih shantih
posted by sister ray 8:06 PM

Jesus-Maria-Jose

To celebrate the fifth anniversary of the Don't Look Back season, in which All Tomorrow's Parties asks artists to perform classic albums in their entirety (which began with The Stooges performing Fun House at the Hammersmith Apollo), and also as part of this year's 10 Years Of ATP events, ATP concerts is very proud to present:

IGGY & THE STOOGES performing RAW POWER in its entirety
supported by SUICIDE performing SUICIDE (first lp)
with more special guests to be confirmed!
posted by sister ray 6:14 AM

Life for Free Jazz for Life


born March 9, 1930 in Fort Worth (TX) (USA)
Sun in 18°24 Pisces, Moon in 8°33 Cancer
posted by sister ray 5:08 AM

Harmolodics Manifesto
(Ornette Coleman)

Communism, socialism, capitalism, and monarchy in the world (have) and are changing for a truer relationship of the democracy of the individual. Every person who has had a democratic experience by birth or by passport knows there are no hatred or enemies in democracy, because everyone is an individual. Learning, doing, being, are the conversationship for perfecting, protecting, and caring of the belief in existence as an individual in relationship to everyone, physically, mentally, spiritually

--- the concept of self.

---I play pure emotion

---In music, the only thaing that matters is whether you feel it or not

---Chords are just the name for sounds, which really need no names at all, as names are sometimes confusing

---Blow what you feel - anything. Play the thought, the idea in yoru mind - Break away from the convention and stagnation - escape!

---[Musicians] have more room to express themselves with me...They should be free to play things as they feel it, the way it's comfortable for them to play it. You can useany note and rhythm pattern that makes good sense for you. You just hear it - like beautiful thoughts - you don't listen to people telling you how to play.

---My music doesn't have any real time, no metric time. It has time, but not in the sense that you can time it. It's more like breathing - a natural, freer time. People have forgotten how beautiful it is to be natural. Even in love.

---When we were on relief during the Depression, they'd give us dried-up old cheese and dried milk and we'd get ourselves all filled up and we'd kept this thing going, singing and dancing. I remember that when I play. You have to stick to your roots. Sometimes I play happy. Sometimes I play sad. But the condition of being alive is what I play all the time.

---Music has no face. Whatever gives oxygen its power, music is cut from the same cloth.

---It was when I realized I could make mistakes that I decided I was really on to something.

---People don't realize it, but there is a real folklore music in jazz. It's neither black nor white. it's the mixture of the races, and folklore has come from it.


---I have found that by eliminating chords or keys or melodies as being the present idea of what you're trying to feel i think you can play more emotion into the music. in other words, you can have the harmony, melody, intonation all blending into one to the point of your emotional thought.

---There is a music that has the quality to preserve life.

---I listen to anybody. The only thing I am interested in is their natural ability. I don't care if they're playing buckets. I'm only interested in what gets through to people, what makes them tap their feet, what moves them.

---I was out at Margaret Mead's school and was teaching some kids how to play instantly. I asked the question, 'How many kids would like to play music and have fun?' And all the little kids raised up their hands. And I asked,'Well, how do you do that?' And one little girl said, 'You just apply your feelings to sound.' She was right - if you apply your feelings to sound, regardless of what instrument you have, you'll probably make good music.

---You really have to have players with you who will allow your insticts to flourish in such a way that they will make the same order as if you sat down and written a piece of music. To me, that is the most glorified goal of the imporvising quality of playing - to be able to do that.
posted by sister ray 5:05 AM

Lou loves Laurie loves Lou

In our sleep as we speak Listen to the drums beat As we speak In our sleep as we speak Listen to the drums beat In our sleep In our sleep as we speak Listen to the drums beat As we speak As we speak in our sleep Listen to the drums beat in our sleep In our sleep as we speak Listen to the drums beat As we speak In our sleep as we speak Listen to the drums beat In our sleep In our sleep where we meet In our sleep where we meet


posted by sister ray 8:17 PM

Awww - The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!” - Jack K
posted by sister ray 8:07 PM

Catherine Bush


I just took a trip on my love for him
posted by sister ray 7:41 PM

The Lantern
(Jagger/Richards)

We, in our present life,
Knew that the stars were right.
That if you are the first to go,
You'll leave a sign to let me know,
Tell me so.
Please, carry the Lantern lights.

You crossed the sea of night,
Free from the spell of fright
Your cloak it is a spirit shroud.
You'll wake me in my sleeping hours,
Like a cloud.
So, please, carry the Lantern high.

Me, in my sorry plight,
You waiting ev'ry night.
My face it turns a deathly pale,
You're talking to me, through your veil,
I hear you wail.
So, please carry the Lantern light.

The servants sleep,
The doors are barred.
You hear the stopping of my heart-we never part.
So, please carry the Lantern high.
posted by sister ray 7:26 PM

Trofeu Fernando Pessoa de Melhores Bigodes

O Fernando Pessoa me fez pensar num Top 5 bigodes. Sem valer barba + bigode, que eh uma coisa totalmente diferente. Ter um bigode eh tipo assumir um compromisso, uma afirmacao.

- Little Richard
- John Waters
- Burt Reynolds
- Lee Hazelwood
- Billy Childish
posted by sister ray 7:24 PM

O Richard Hell estava falando do Fernando Pessoa no blog dele e eu quis imitar...
Eu era obcecada uma epoca mas tinha esquecido quase tudo sobre ele
Ai resolvi me dar uma aula rapida de portugues, em ingles. Ficou assim:

Fernando Pessoa was four poets in one: Alberto Caeiro, Ricardo Reis, Alvaro de Campos and himself; each strongly distinct from the others.
One is soon struck by an external difference between their poems.
Alberto Caeiro are free verse; so (though very different in tone) are nearly all those of Alvaro de Campos. Ricardo Reis metrical but unrhymed. Pessoa's own, except a few of the early ones, metrical and closely rhymed.

ALBERTO CAEIRO

If, After I Die
If, after I die, they should want to write my biography,
There's nothing simpler.
I've just two dates - of my birth, and of my death.
In between the one thing and the other all the days are
mine.

I am easy to describe.
I lived like mad.
I loved things without any sentimentality.
I never had a desire I could not fulfil, because
I never went blind.
Even hearing was to me never more than an
accompaniment of seeing.
I understood that things are real and all different from
each other;
I understood it with the eyes, never with thinking.
To understand it with thinking would be to find them
all equal.

One day I felt sleepy like a child.
I closed my eyes and slept.
And by the way, I was only Nature poet.


ALVARO DE CAMPOS

I Am Tired
I am tired, that is clear,
Because, at certain stage, people have to be tired.
Of what I am tired, I don't know:
It would not serve me at all to know
Since the tiredness stays just the same.
The wound hurts as it hurts
And not in function of the cause that produced it.
Yes, I am tired,
And ever so slightly smiling
At the tiredness being only this -
In the body a wish for sleep,
In the soul a desire for not thinking
And, to crown all, a luminous transparency
Of the retrospective understanding ...
And the one luxury of not now having hopes?
I am intelligent: that's all.
I have seen much and understood much of what I
have seen.
And there is a certain pleasure even in tiredness
this brings us,
That in the end the head does still serve for
something.

RICARDO REIS
Hate You, Christ, I Do Not
Hate you, Christ, I do not, or seek. I believe
In you as in the others gods, your elders.
I count you as neither more nor less
Than they are, merely newer.

I do hate, yes, and calmly abhor people
Who seek you above the other gods, yours equals.
I seek you where you are, not higher
Than them, not lower, yourself merely.

Sag god, needed perhaps because there was
None like you: one more in the Pantheon, nothing
More, not purer: because the whole
Was complete with gods, except you.

Take care, exclusive idolater of Christ: life
Is multiple, all days different from each other,
And only as multiple shall we
Be with reality and alone.

(09.10.1916)

FERNANDO PESSOA

This
They say I pretend or lie
All I write. No such thing.
It simply is that I
Feel by imagining.
I don't use the heart-string.

All that I dream or lose,
That falls short or dies on me,
Is like a terrace which looks
On another thing beyond.
It's that thing leads me on.

And so I write in the middle
Of things not next one's feet,
Free from my own muddle,
Concerned for what is not.
Feel? Let the reader feel!
(1933)
posted by sister ray 3:03 PM

Nicholas Edward Cave


i call him nicolas
we're that close
posted by sister ray 9:03 AM

ano novo 2009 - eu fui dormir 6 da manha e quando acordei era 8 da noite e eu não sabia se era ontem, hoje ou amanha. estourei pipoca e estava passando o finalzinho de “de volta para o futuro” na tv e eu assisti a parte 2 e 3 que vieram na seqüência e pensei comigo mesma que ia ser um ano de outro mundo.
posted by sister ray 7:11 PM

I have known love and love has won
I burned my fingers on the sun
I've been imprisoned on the moon
I have learned what truth denies
I drank the teardrops from her eyes
I surrendered much too soon
I never heard the warning voice
I never knew I had a choice
Though I never wanted to return
But I have sailed upon the boat
That flew when there was room to float
And I drank out of the magic urn
And I have slept inside the shade
encircled by the love we made
And I have kissed the face of dreams
And I have ridden on the glow
that warms the sky with a rainbow
And I have waded in its golden streams
And I have danced between the stars
with music sung by sweet guitars
I've done some things that can't be done
And I have smiled inside the storm
reaching higher to keep warm
I've known love and love has won
I burned my fingers on the sun
posted by sister ray 7:46 AM

I am a star because I have always felt so alienated and I project
this feeling to others

posted by sister ray 4:29 PM

In some far off place
many light years in space
We’ll wait for you
Where human feet have never trod
where human eyes have never seen
We’ll build a world of abstract dreams
and wait for you
posted by sister ray 10:55 AM

Life's so small...
Isn't life so small...
posted by sister ray 5:45 PM

lIl lIl lIl lIl lIl lIl lIl lIl lIl lIl lIl lIl lIl lIl lIl lIl lIl lIl lIl lIl lIl
posted by sister ray 8:31 AM

♥


posted by sister ray 5:06 PM

+++++++++++++++++++livewire+++++++++++++++++++
I know where you got to be going but you don't know why
I see things I ought not to know but I can't help life
You never knew my heart for you was monster size

You're a live wire
You're a live wire

Let me know if you want to check out for the all time high
My man told me long hellos and short good byes
But you are something else I love you please don't die

You're a live wire
You're a live wire
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
posted by sister ray 4:22 AM

{} silver screen {}

Eu acho que os slowdives nao sao pessoas de verdade, de pegar, eles sao criaturas etereas tipo anjos que passaram brevemente pela Terra para nos deixar essa musica linda que carrega a gente ate o ceu. Eh o que eu sempre digo: SHOEGAZE SALVA


posted by sister ray 10:31 AM

>= love ♥ rockets >
posted by sister ray 6:15 PM

It seems like a bell rings time and deja vu
everything is familiar, I been here with you
all you ever had before you've had to understand
now all you have to do is want to have at your command

I have always been here before
allowing my mind's call of no love
incorporate more never stops his flow
I have always been here before

that that is pleasing
that that is real
that that is forever keeps filling never filled
that that snuck up on you in the night
that that you remember him an early child delight
that that was supposed to have frightened you
but somehow you never took to fright

I have always been here before
allowing my mind's call of no love
incorporate more never stops his flow
I have always been here before

from the gargoyles to stone henge
from the sphynx to the pyramids
religious temples praising the devil right
to the devils club as it strikes midnight

I have always been here before
allowing my mind's call of no love
incorporate more never stops his flow
I have always been here before

* tem que amar o Roky ne?
posted by sister ray 7:26 PM

posted by sister ray 7:32 PM

last night
I had a really nice dream
about

paul westerberg
posted by sister ray 7:30 PM

All things must pass


Meaning: Nothing lasts forever.

Origin: From the Bible, Matthew 24:6-8 (King James Version) -

"And ye shall hear of wars and rumours of wars: see that ye be not troubled: for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet.
For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be famines, and pestilences, and earthquakes, in divers places.
All these are the beginning of sorrows."

George Harrison used the phrase for the title of his successful 1970 triple album. The graphics from the subsequent CD release convey the phrase's meaning.
posted by sister ray 8:17 AM

posted by sister ray 3:40 PM

Heavy Metal

Depois de Big Star eu vi varios outros shows (afinal estou viva e em Londres) que não me animaram produzir um misero registro (quem diria que eu ia chegar a esse ponto), até que semana passada cruzei a cidade para ver Spiritualized (de novo) e acabou que foi o MELHOR show da vida definitivamente e eu tipo renasci (ahahahaha). Putz, não, sério, eu realmente queria que o mundo terminasse num show do Spiritualized, mas nem vim aqui falar disso. Vim falar do Mogwai sexta-feira, aqui do lado de casa. Vou até começar um novo parágrafo.
Bom, eu tinha visto Mogwai antes e a segunda vez não é como a primeira. Eu não estava convulsionando de susto toda hora com os rifs ensurdecedores como eu gostaria porque eu estava na verdade esperando por eles mas eu estava la no fundão não enxergando o palco muito bem e simplesmente absorvendo energias ultraguitarsonicas em doses cavalares (deuses eu realmente estava precisando), ora olhando para meus próprios pés, ora para o teto espetacular do Hamersmith Apollo e ora ainda para a multidão de headbangers na minha frente. Sério, a melhor coisa de assistir Mogwai do fundo é ver a onda de cabeças indo para trás e para frente em ritmo sincronizado. E melhor ainda - se dar conta que, sem perceber, a sua própria cabeça também faz parte da onda.
Sem querer ser irritante, o setlist foi tipo mais perfeito impossível. Eu estava com medo deles resolverem tocar umas coisas chatíssimas que eles andaram fazendo mas putz, eles tocaram Christmas Steps e Cody na seqüência. E foi assim até o final, clássico após clássico para delírio indie geral. E você simplesmente tem que perdoar quando eles fazem qualquer bobagem porque eles são escoceses e se alguém tem direito de fazer qualquer coisa nessa vida são os bons escoceses.

PS - o noticiário mostrou sexta-feira o barulho das estrelas capturado pela primeira vez e sabe como era? Metálico.
posted by sister ray 1:11 PM

run run run run run keep running
posted by sister ray 3:01 PM

{I'm your man} "I was born in chains but I was taken out of them. It was windy dried leaves crashed against the walls of the homeopathic hospital. I was alive. I was alive in the horror. The givers huddled over me like a football team. They started to give me things and then to take them away. Things that didn't fit they chucked back into the funnel of the void. The gifts were many and many were the warnings that went with them. We are giving you a great heart but if you drink wine you will begin to hate the world. The moon is your sister but if you take sleeping pills you will find yourself in the company of unhappy women. Every time you grab at love, you will lose a snowflake of your memory" - Leonard Cohen
posted by sister ray 2:50 PM

I heard a sound on the river, but when I leaned out of the window the river had become silent again. Now I heard the sound of oars. Softly, softly coming from the shore. A boat knocked against the barge. There was a sound of chains being tied.
I await the phantom lover – the one who haunts all women, the one I dream of, the one who stands behind every man, with a finger and head shaking – “Not him, he is not the one”. Forbidding me each time to love.
posted by sister ray 9:08 AM

Houseboat - Now we were gliding along. I was running all over the houseboat, celebrating the strangest sensation I had ever known, this traveling along a river with all my possessions around me, my books, my diaries, my furniture, my pictures, my clothes in the closet. I leaned out of each little window to watch the landscape. I lay on the bed. It was a dream. It was a dream this being a marine snail traveling with one’s house all around one’s neck.
(…)
The dream rolled on again. We passed under a second bridge with the tugboat bowing down like a salute, passed all the houses I had lived in. From so many of these windows I had looked with envy and sadness at the flowing river and passing barges. Today I was free, and traveling with my bed and my books. I was dreaming and flowing along with the river, pouring water out with pails, but this was a dream and I was free.
posted by sister ray 8:15 AM

Voyage of despair.
The river was having a nightmare.
posted by sister ray 6:10 AM

posted by sister ray 7:09 PM

tuner >>> {das preferidas do momento
e meu sotaque preferido de sempre}
posted by sister ray 6:16 AM

When everything you own is lost
And every friendship has its cost
Your rolling stone has gathered moss
And all your clouds cover the sun
And all your karma has undone
Remember you're my number one
Hey! You're my guiding star
I do know who you are
You're my guiding star
Don't you think you've heard this song before?
Jesus Christ was knocking at my door
Kinda like the way he wears his hair
Kinda like the way he walks on air
Could his golden halo
Be the sun we all know?
Teenage Fanclub
posted by sister ray 6:08 PM

Estou ouvindo muito Stone Roses e tendo saudade dos dias que via o Ian Brown na saída da escola (serio, um dia estou la esperando a Lizzie e lendo o Holden quando olho e vejo sentado do meu lado o vocalista do Stone Roses. Eu ficava sempre encarando um monte acho, mas obvio que sei da necessidade de manter a compostura enquanto se espera crianças na escola então nunca pedi autografo nem nada.. Mas um dia ele estava reclamando com o diretor porque o filho estava com alguma coisa e ele se move mesmo DAQUELE jeito e era sempre legal quando ele aprecia e tal...
posted by sister ray 7:05 AM

(Song for my) Sugar Spun Sister

Her hair
Soft drifted snow
Death white
I'd like to know
Why she hates
All that she does
But she gives
It all that she's got

Until the sky turns green
The grass is several shades of blue
Every member of parliament trips on glue

Until the sky turns green
And the grass is several shades of blue
Every member of parliament trips on glue

It takes all these things
and all that time
Till my sugar spun sister's happy
With this love of mine
It'll take all these things
and oh much more

I've paid
For fifteen or more
But my guts
Can't take many more

My hands
Are stuck to my jeans
And she knows, she knows
What this must mean

She wakes up with the sun
She asked me what is all the fuss
As she gave me more than she thought she should
She wakes up with the sun
I think what have I done
As I gave her more than I thought I would
Oh

It takes all these things
And all that time
Till my sugar spun sister's happy
With this love of mine

Yeah yeah yeah
The candy floss girl
The sticky fingered boy
Oh that sister of mine
Yeah Yeah
- Stone Roses
posted by sister ray 6:53 AM

posted by sister ray 8:45 PM

Classic Definition



clas•sic (klas′ik)

adjective
1. of the highest class; being a model of its kind; excellent; standard; authoritative; established - a classic example of expressionism
2. classical (senses & )
3. of or having a style that is balanced, formal, objective, restrained, regular, simple, etc.
4. famous or well-known, esp. as being traditional or typical - a classic court case
5. ☆ INFORMAL continuing in fashion because of its simple style: said of an article of apparel

Etymology: L classicus, relating to the (highest) classes of the Roman people, hence, superior < classis, class

noun
1. a writer, artist, etc. or a literary or artistic work, generally recognized as excellent, authoritative, etc.
2.
a. the works produced by the outstanding authors of ancient Greece and Rome: usually with the
b. the field of study dealing with these works and with ancient Greek and Latin - her major is classics
3. ☆ a famous traditional or typical event - the Kentucky Derby is a racing classic
4. ☆ INFORMAL a suit, dress, etc. that is classic in style
5. ☆ INFORMAL an automobile of the period 1925-42

Synonyms: outstanding, excellent, superior, first-rate, standard, authoritative, established, traditional, time-honored, archetypal, prototypical, exemplary, model, ideal, quintessential, definitive, typical, ageless, timeless, enduring, vintage, canonical, immortal, noteworthy, distinguished, paramount, ranking, well-known; see also excellent, famous, perfect/ n.: masterwork, exemplar, standard; masterpiece ☆ BIG STAR ☆
posted by sister ray 4:50 PM

Rock 'n' Rimbaud


{roommates felizes}
posted by sister ray 7:12 AM

LIZZY {Matinée d'ivresse} - Ô mon Bien! Ô mon Beau! Fanfare atroce où je ne trébuche point! Chevalet féerique! Hourra pour l'oeuvre inouïe et pour le corps merveilleux, pour la première fois! Cela commença sous les rires des enfants, cela finira pas eux. Ce poison va rester dans toutes nos veines même quand, la fanfare tournant, nous serons rendu à l'ancienne inharmonie. Ô maintenant, nous si digne de ces tortures ! rassemblons fervemment cette promesse surhumaine faite à notre corps et à notre âme créés: cette promesse, cette démence! L'élégance, la science, la violence! On nous a promis d'enterrer dans l'ombre l'arbre du bien et du mal, de déporter les honnêtetés tyranniques, afin que nous amenions notre très pur amour. Cela commença par quelques dégoûts et cela finit, - ne pouvant nous saisir sur-le-champ de cette éternité, - cela finit par une débandade de parfums.
Rires des enfants, discrétion des esclaves, austérité des vierges, horreur des figures et des objets d'ici, sacrés soyez-vous par le souvenir de cette veille. Cela commençait par toute la rustrerie, voici que cela finit par des anges de flamme et de glace.
Petite veille d'ivresse, sainte ! quand ce ne serait que pour le masque dont tu nous as gratifié. Nous t'affirmons, méthode ! Nous n'oublions pas que tu as glorifié hier chacun de nos âges. nous avons foi au poison. Nous savons donner notre vie tout entière tous les jours.
Voici le temps des Assassins.

PATTI: {Morning of Drunkenness} - O my Good! O my Beautiful! Appalling fanfare where I do not falter! rack of enchantmants! Hurrah for the wonderful work and for the marvelous body, for the first time! It began in the midst of children's laughter, with their laughter will it end. This poison will remain in all our veins even when, the fanfare turning, we shall be given back to the old disharmony. O now may we, so worthy of these tortures! fervently take up the superhuman promise made to our created body and soul: that promise, that madness! Elegance, science, violence! They promised to bury in darkness the tree of good and evil, to deport tyrannic respectability so that we might bring hither our very pure love. It began with a certain disgust and it ends, - unable to grasp this eternity, - it ends in a riot of perfumes.
Laughter of children, discretion of slaves, austerity of virgins, loathing of faces and objects here, holy be all of you in memory of this vigil. It began with every sort of boorishness, behold it ends with angels of flame and ice.
Little drunken vigil, holy! if only because of the mask you have bestowed on us. We pronounce you, method! We shall not forget that yesterday you glorified each one of our ages. We have faith in the poison. We know how to give our whole life every day.
Now is the time of the Assassins.
posted by sister ray 7:02 AM

shoegazer salva


{top 5 MAIORES musicas/ experiencias hipnotizantes}
posted by sister ray 2:37 PM

Avalyn +1

Silence grows
My feelings flow
I'm dreaming now
Of all the things I know
I'm here on my own
posted by sister ray 2:33 PM

**histeria**


♥
♥
♥
♥
♥
♥
♥
♥
♥
♥
posted by sister ray 7:14 PM

<3


posted by sister ray 4:08 AM

S: You don’t need to look after me!
D: Yes I do, it’s my work.
S: You don’t have work!
D: I do have work, I look after you.
S: You look after all the children.
D: Oh. Do I?
S: Yes, all the children in the Universe.
posted by sister ray 10:43 AM

Principe Calvin - O Calvin Johnson tem cabelos brancos mas não muitos e ele é o próprio bebê preso num corpo adulto e ele vende seus discos num balcão em eventos juvenis inusitados (no caso um show acústico – ah o CJ não precisa de microfone claro – no salão de uma igreja ou algo parecido) como um verdadeiro punk tipo sobrevivente saca e ele conta histórias de como anda de ônibus pela cidade pedindo informações e ainda tem as mesmas dancinhas misteriosas e.. eu realmente cai de amores por ele. Tipo eu casaria com ele e tal.
posted by sister ray 5:12 PM

♥ beat happening


posted by sister ray 9:00 AM

tum-tum tum-tum

eu gosto tanto do calvin johnson que quando ele ficou doente eu quis enviar dinheiro para ajudar a pagar as contas do hospital - serio, tinha um "fundo ajude calvin johnson" no site, mas ai ninguem se engajou e nao arrecadei dinheiro nenhum. eu ainda gosto dele tanto assim e vou la ve-lo domingo e espero que ele esteja bem.. *suspiro*


posted by sister ray 2:31 AM

cry for a shadow

i see you crying
see the patterns
they come and go
leave you shattered
you shed for so many untrue
can you cry for a shadow
can you cry for a heart crying out for you
can you cry for a shadow
no one asked you to

they don't deserve yr priceless tears
and the whisper
fill yr ears
a reflection of a love long due
can you cry for a shadow
can you cry for a heart crying out to you?
can you cry for a shadow?
i've cried for a few

can you cry, cry, cry?
dry the tears and try try try?

stop cryin
it doesn't matter
just come closer
so i can gather
every drop of yr precious tears
can your cryin for a shadow
can your cryin for a heart cryin out to you
can your cry for a shadow?
like i cried for you

can you cry? cry cry
dry the tears and try

stop crying
doesn't matter
just come closer
so i can gather
every drop of yr precious tears
when you're crying for a shadow
crying for a shadow
like i cried for you
posted by sister ray 8:43 PM

daniela loves daniel - um dia sonhei que o daniel johnston era meu amigo e a gente ia pegar o trem e a porta do trem fechava com ele do lado de dentro e eu do lado de fora mas estavamos de mãos dadas daí o trem começava a me arrastar mas eu não tinha medo porque sabia que não ia morrer nem nada. ontem eu vi o daniel johnston cantando true love will find you in the end/deviltown e pareceu um sonho. foi mais ou menos exatamente assim:


awwwwwwwwwww...
posted by sister ray 4:55 AM

Well I met someone some time ago
His eyes were clear to see
He showed me things in my own mind
That I wish all the world could see
He stopped me from living so insane
I can be just what I wanna be
Things appear as they really are
I can see just what I want to see

Well come on, and let it happen to you
Well come on, and let it happen to you
You gotta open up your mind and let everything come through

Well it starts like a rollercoaster ride
So real it takes your breath away
It slides you through your point of view
You look back to where you thought you’d stay
When your ride changes you
Exactly like a neon ray
You don’t have to search for words anymore
There’s nothing you need to say

Well come on, and let it happen to you
Well come on, and let it happen to you
You gotta open up your mind and let everything come through

After your trip, life opens up
You start doing what you wanna do
You find out that the world that you once feared
Gets what it has from you
No-one can ever hurt you
Because now you know more than you thought you knew
You’re looking at the world with brand new eyes
And no-one can ever spoil the view

Well come on, and let it happen to you
Hey, hey, hey well come on, you gotta let it happen to you
You gotta open up your mind and let everything come through

Just open up your mind
And let everything come through
posted by sister ray 4:20 PM

I ♥ Peter Spaceman



Então ontem flutuei até o show do Spectrum, aka Sonic Boom, aka Peter Kember e banda, e quase achei que não ia ser capaz porque olhei para minha cama antes de sair mas aí acabou sendo a noite mais fofinha de todas, foi assim - um evento bem corriqueiro: pegar o ônibus, ir até o porão, ficar um tempinho na fila ouvindo as musicas vindo do lado de dentro e elas são coisas tipo Ride e 13th Floor Elevators, ver as bandas chegando de táxi com instrumentos, enfim, nada muito diferente do que faço desde que tenho 15 anos, exceto que/até que, eis que de repente um ex-integrante do Spacemen 3 surge e dirige-se ao doorman dizendo: “somos do Spectrum” - tipo, podemos entrar e tal? (repare que até falo como uma pessoa de 15 agora) - e eu tipo assim, como assim? Ah tá, Londres, Terra, 15 anos depois... duuuur...
Não vou tentar escrever uma resenha nem nada porque nem lembro direito de nada e nem fotos tirei de tanto que eu estava cansada e meus movimentos estavam lentos após o fator cidras, o que segue são apenas alguns flashes estroboscópicos para as memórias pessoais - Sonic Boom arranjando seu teclado obsessivamente e tentando encontrar os cabos certos (eu nunca tinha visto nada parecido em termos de emaranhado de fios numa sacola plástica) e o show nunca começava e eu sentei no amplificador e nunca mais pude levantar porque fui sugada por ondas magnéticas – entenda que o lugar é uma caixinha de fósforos e eu estou praticamente dentro do palco - e eles tocaram Transparent Radiation e alguém gritou Suicide! e o Peter disse “era exatamente no que estava pensando” (risos da platéia) e ele é assim um carinha bem simpático, um tipo de carinha que sai de casa numa 5a friorenta para tocar com a sua banda num porão e ele sabe que é parte da historia do rock espacial e eu arriscaria dizer que ele até mesmo respeita isso mas que não quer reviver isso nem nada - eu simplesmente decidi que ele é um homem do espaço autentico, um romântico que fica feliz porque algumas pessoas ainda se movem para ouvi-lo e no fim não é tudo sobre isso? Reunir grupos e profetizar, uma só mente uma só prece, etc e tal?
Eu me senti alienada e como parte de uma seita e feliz por saber que existe vida sideral real na Terra, ai chega.
posted by sister ray 5:36 PM

Junky - I read about a drug called yage, used by Indians in the headwaters of the Amazon. Yage is supposed to increase telepathic sensitivity. A Colombian scientist isolated from yage a drug he called telepathine./ I know from my own experience that telepathy is a fact. I have no interest in proving telepathy or anything to anybody. I do want usable knowledge of telepathy. What I look for in any relationship is contact on the nonverbal level of intuition and feeling, that is, telepathic contact./ Apparently, I am not the only one interested in yage. The Russians are using this drug in experiments on slave labor. They want to induce states of automatic obedience and literal thought control. The basic con. No build-up, no routine, just move in on someone's psyche and give orders. The deal is certain to backfire because telepathy is not in itself a one-way setup, or a setup of sender and receiver at all./ I decided to go down to Colombia and score for yage. Bill Gains is squared away with Old Ike. My wife and I are separated. I am ready to move on south and look for the uncut kick that opens out instead of narrowing down like junk./ Kick is seeing things from a special angle. Kick is momentary freedom from the claims of the aging, cautious, nagging, frightened flesh. The end {W.S. Burroughs}
posted by sister ray 5:25 PM

Spacemen 3


I have a passion sweet Lord... and it just won't go away
posted by sister ray 7:43 PM

{Diadorim is my haze, Diadorim is my fog} Levantei, por uma precisão de certificar, de saber se era firme exato. Só o que a gente pode pensar em pé — isso é que vale. Aí fui até lá, na beira dum fogo, onde Diadorim estava, com o Drumõo, o Paspe e Jesualdo. Olhei bem para ele, de carne e osso; eu carecia de olhar, até gastar a imagem falsa do outro Diadorim, que eu tinha inventado. — “Hê, Riobaldo, eh, uê, você carece de alguma coisa?” — ele me perguntou, quem-me-vê, com o certo espanto. Eu pedi um tição, acendi um cigarro. Daí, voltei, para o rancho, devagar, passos que dava. “Se é o que é” — eu pensei — “eu estou meio perdido...” Acertei minha idéia: eu não podia, por lei de rei, admitir o extrato daquilo. Ia, por paz de honra e tenência, sacar esquecimento daquilo de mim. Se não, pudesse não, ah, mas então eu devia de quebrar o morro: acabar comigo! — com uma bala no lado de minha cabeça, eu num átimo punha barra em tudo. Ou eu fugia — virava longe no mundo, pisava nos espaços, fazia todas as estradas. Rangi nisso — consolo que me determinou. Ah, então eu estava meio salvo! Aperrei o nagã, precisei de dar um tiro — no mato — um tiraço que ribombou. — “Ao que foi?” — me gritaram pergunta, sempre riam do tiro tolo dado. — “Acho que um macaquinho miúdo, que acho que errei..” — eu expendi. Tanto também, fiz de conta estivesse olhando Diadorim, encarando, para duro, calado comigo, me dizer: “Nego que gosto de você, no mal. Gosto, mas só como amigo!...” Assaz mesmo me disse. De por diante, acostumei a me dizer isso, sempres vezes, quando perto de Diadorim eu estava. E eu mesmo acreditei. Ah, meu senhor! — como se o obedecer do amor não fosse sempre ao contrário... O senhor vê, nos Gerais longe: nuns lugares, encostando o ouvido no chão, se escuta barulho de fortes águas, que vão rolando debaixo da terra. O senhor dorme em sobre um rio?
posted by sister ray 2:35 AM

Bênção, Conde


João Guimarães Rosa
posted by sister ray 2:31 AM

Conde says

The Aldacious Mariner, he did infirmly go off to discover the other places. He went in a ship, and skulduggery, too. He went on his own. The places were far-off, and the sea. The Aldacious Mariner at first missed his mother, his brothers and sisters, his father. He didn’t cry. He did duly have to go. He said: — ‘Will you forget me?’ His ship, the day came for it to leave. The Aldacious Mariner stood waving his white handkerchief, extrinsically, from inside the ship’s going away. The ship went from being near to being far off, but the Aldacious Mariner didn’t turn his back on the people, away from them. The people were actually waving white handkerchieves too. In the end, there was no more ship to be seen, there was only the sea that was left. Then one of them thought and said: — ‘He’s going to discover the places that we’re never going to discover...’ Then, so then, another person said: — ‘He’s going to discover the places, then he’s never going to come back...’ Then yet another one thought and thought, spherically, and said: — ‘So, he must be a bit angry with us, deep down, without knowing it...’ Then they all cried, ever so much, and went home sadly to have their dinner...
posted by sister ray 5:47 PM

The Bell Jar

There ought, I thought, to be a ritual for being born twice--patched, retreaded and approved for the road.


Sylvia Plath
posted by sister ray 5:08 PM

You Made Me Realise

Ainda me sinto eletrocutada e acho que meu ouvido vai apitar para sempre.

Nos primeiros acordes eu imaginava o que poderia acontecer mas entao, depois de segurarem uma nota por 15 minutos num volume so possivel para eles (e a ajuda de uma parede de dezenas de amplificadores gigantes), eles foram capazes de retomar a musica no ponto onde tinham parado - a essa altura o som tinha adquirido massa, peso e densidade de toneladas, numa especie de fenomeno fisico so possivel para eles (plus amplificadores) - e quando deixaram o palco o som ainda estava la! Imagina voce tirar um radio da tomada e ele continuar tocando? Por varios minutos? Todo mundo boquiaberto, olhando para um palco vazio e escutando um som que fazia todo o corpo virar som - serio, se voce girasse a cabeca ou tocasse qualquer parte do corpo ouvia loops diferentes, tipo como se alguem tivesse ligado um liquidificador e entao um aspirador de po a por ai vai. Ate que alguem desplugou tudo. Foi brutal, magico, intenso, aterrorizante, surreal, bonito e todas essas palavras que a gente queria usar mais mas faltam acontecimentos adequados. My Bloody Valentine eh vida.


posted by sister ray 3:05 PM

ahn?
posted by sister ray 4:07 AM

Morri


3 dias!
u-hu!
posted by sister ray 7:05 PM

I guess you might go real far



Yeah, (can you get) what you see
But you can't have what you can't
Hey, what's come down over me
It's the way you stood, it's the way you stood
'Cause things the way they are
I guess you might go real far
So feed me with your kiss
Oh, come lie down close to me
Do what you dare, oh I don't care
I will get what I can see
I'll crawl over there, I'll crawl over there
'Cause things the way they are
I guess you might go real far
So feed me with your kiss
(Spread me like a??appeal to you??)
I do what I do I do what I will do
Crave, your kiss will set you free
I'll do what I should, I'll do what I should
'Cause things the way they are
I guess you might go real far
So feed me with your kiss
posted by sister ray 2:15 AM

Top 5

(hoje)

1- Sunny Sundae Smile
2- Feed Me With Your Kiss
3- Slow
4- You Made Me Realise
5- Never Say Goodbye
posted by sister ray 2:14 AM

Contagem regressiva - 6

Eu sei que nunca mais serei a mesma.
Eu sei que sou extremista, mas so falo o que eu sei.


Close your eyes and lets pretend
Were little children once again
Sticky fingers, dirty minds
When I touch you, girl I come alive

Lets fall in love
Its exciting
Im gonna make your mouth
A sunny sundae smile
Tie a ribbon in your hair
Try not to notice how I stare
Theres desperation in my voice
Have I hurt you, I have no choice

Lets fall in love
Its exciting
Im gonna make your mouth
A sunny sundae smile

It looks lovely
Illustrates me
Seems to wrap your eyes
A sunny sundae smile
posted by sister ray 8:17 AM

I am apprehensive. It is like when
I played the piano. First I learned to
read music and then at one point I
no longer needed to translate the notes:
they went directly to my hands. After a
while I stopped playing and when I
started again I found I could not
play. I could not play by
instinct and I had forgotten how
to read music.
- Francesca Woodman
posted by sister ray 8:45 PM

BELIEF & TECHNIQUE FOR MODERN PROSE - LIST OF ESSENTIALS

1.Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for yr own joy (tick)
2.Submissive to everything, open, listening (okay)
3.Try never get drunk outside yr own house (ahaha)
4.Be in love with yr life (check)
5.Something that you feel will find its own form (yeah)
6.Be crazy dumbsaint of the mind (def check)
7.Blow as deep as you want to blow (boooooooooooooooom)
8.Write what you want bottomless from bottom of mind (my mind floats too much)
9.The unspeakable visions of the individual (a-han)
10.No time for poetry but exactly what is (aww)
11.Visionary tics shivering in the chest (uhhh)
12.In tranced fixation dreaming upon object before you (a-mmmmm)
13.Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition (tick)
14.Like Proust be an old teahead of time (oh dear)
15.Telling the true story of the world in interior monolog (right)
16.The jewel center of interest is the eye within the eye (yes master)
17.Write in recollection and amazement for yourself (that I do)
18.Work from pithy middle eye out, swimming in language sea (that I don’t)
19.Accept loss forever (chuif)
20.Believe in the holy contour of life (I do)
21.Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind (trying)
22.Dont think of words when you stop but to see picture better (okay)
23.Keep track of every day the date emblazoned in yr morning (hmmm)
24.No fear or shame in the dignity of yr experience, language & knowledge (no way)
25.Write for the world to read and see yr exact pictures of it (sis said I should write for the Universe, really works)
26.Bookmovie is the movie in words, the visual American form (that's you! beat god!)
27.In Praise of Character in the Bleak inhuman Loneliness (tell me about it)
28.Composing wild, undisciplined, pure, coming in from under, crazier the better (!)
29.Youre a Genius all the time (AHAHA)
30.Writer-Director of Earthly movies Sponsored & Angeled in Heaven (amen)
As ever,
Jack [Kerouac]
posted by sister ray 3:06 PM

“Diadorim é a minha neblina”

Que vontade era de pôr meus dedos, de leve, o leve, nos meigos olhos dele, ocultando, para não ter de tolerar de ver assim o chamado, até que ponto esses olhos, sempre havendo, aquela beleza verde, me adoecido, tão impossível... Coração – isto é, estes pormenores todos. Foi um esclaro. O amor, já de si, é algum arrependimento. Abracei Diadorim, como as asas de todos os pássaros... Gostava de Diadorim, dum jeito condenado; nem pensava mais que gostava, mas aí sabia que já gostava sempre... Fui recebendo em mim um desejo de que ele não fosse mais embora, mas ficasse, sobre as horas, e assim como estava sendo, sem parolagem miúda, sem brincadeira – só meu companheiro amigo desconhecido... E eu tinha de gostar tramadamente assim, de Diadorim, e calar qualquer palavra.
posted by sister ray 4:21 AM

Pull My Daisy






+

posted by sister ray 6:11 PM

♥


Brian Peter George St. Jean Baptiste de la Salle Eno
posted by sister ray 3:30 PM

{bom dia} Making a new start, starting from fresh in the rain, 'Why should anyone want to hurt my little heart, my feet, my little hands, my skin that I'm wrapt in because God wants me warm and Inside, my toes - why did God make all this so decayable and dieable and harmable and wants to make me realize and scream - why the wild ground and bodies bare and breaks - I quaked when the giver creamed, when my father screamed, my mother dreamed - I started small and ballooned up and now I'm big and a naked child again and only to cry and fear. - Ah - Protect yourself, angel of no harm, you who've never and could never harm and crack another innocent in its shell and thin veiled pain - wrap a robe around you, honeylamb - protect yourself from harm and wait, till Daddy comes again, and Mama throws you warm inside her valley of the moon, loom at the loom of patient time, be happy in the mornings.
posted by sister ray 5:40 AM

Obrigada, Dr Burroughs

I don’t care if people hate my guts; I assume most of them do.
The important question is whether they are in a position to do anything about it.


posted by sister ray 10:20 AM

Speeding motorcycle, won't you change me?
Speeding motorcycle, won't you change me?
In a world of funny changes
Speeding motorcycle, won't you change me?
Speeding motorcycle of my heart
Speeding motorcycle; always changing me
Speeding motorcycle, don't you drive recklessly
Speeding motorcycle of my heart
Pretty girls have taken you for a ride
Hurt you deep inside but you never slowed down
Speeding motorcycle in my heart
Speeding motorcycle, let's speed smart
'Cause we don't want to wreck but
We can do a lot of tricks
We don't have to break our necks
To get our kicks
Speeding motorcycle, the road is ours
Speeding motorcycle, let's speed some more
'Cause we don't need reason and we don't need logic
We've got feeling and we're dang proud of it
Speeding motorcycle, there's nothing you can't do
Speeding motorcycle, I love you
Speeding motorcycle, let's just go
Speeding motorcycle
Let's go let's go let's go
Oo oo
posted by sister ray 11:30 AM

I ♥ D.J.


posted by sister ray 11:20 AM

[in space]

darlin'
heaven's just a heartbeat away
baby
please don't let anyone stand in your way
darlin'
you only get a lifetime to choose
baby
you can do anything that you want to do
and darlin'
you only get a lifetime to try
baby
please don't let chances like this pass you by
and baby
i can't tell you any more than i know
so darlin'
reach out and take it all in as you go
posted by sister ray 6:27 AM

Floating


posted by sister ray 6:18 AM

Searching for my electric mainline

Hoje e dia de lagrimas gordas. Eletrecidade flutuando em todas as cores do arco-iris. Reverberacoes circulares fluindo dele para nos e de nos para ele de volta. E eu vou morrer de amor pelo J Spaceman, igual sempre, e ai vou nascer de novo. Mas isso nao tem nada a ver com nada. Ou tem tudo a ver com tudo...


♥ tum-tum
♥ tum-tum
♥ tum-tum
posted by sister ray 5:58 AM

Catcher in the rye - the end

About all I know is, I sorta miss everybody I told about. Even Stradlater and Ackley, for instance. I think I even miss that goddam Maurice. Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.
- Holden Caulfield
posted by sister ray 1:06 PM

posted by sister ray 8:33 AM

posted by sister ray 8:29 AM

posted by sister ray 8:20 AM

posted by sister ray 6:37 PM

posted by sister ray 6:25 PM

Cool Waves

Baby when you gotta sleep
Lay your head down low
Don't let the world
Lay heavy on your soul
'Cause when you gotta sleep
You gotta sleep

Cool waves run over me
Cool water running free
Lay your sweet hand on me
'Cause I love you
Love you, love you

Baby if you lose your love
Don't take me by surprise
Don't think you're crying
But there's teardrops in your eyes
If you gotta leave
You gotta leave

Cool waves run over me
Cool water running free
Lay your sweet hand on me
'Cause I love you
Love you, love you

Babe you know you gotta be
And let your light shine through
And don't let anybody
Tell you what to do

'Cause babe you gotta be
You gotta be

Cool waves run over me
Cool water running free
Lay your sweet hand on me
'Cause I love you
Love you, love you


posted by sister ray 3:56 AM

It's a God awful small affair
To the girl with the mousey hair,
But her mummy is yelling "No!"
And her daddy has told her to go,
But her friend is no where to be seen
Now she walks through her sunken dream
To the seats with the clearest view
And she's hooked to the silver screen,
But the film is sadd'ning bore
For she's lived it ten times or more.
She could spit in the eyes of fools
As they ask her to focus on

Sailors
Fighting in the dance hall
Oh man!
Look at those cavemen go
It's the freakiest show
Take a look at the lawman
Beating up the wrong guy.
Oh man!
Wonder if he'll ever know
He's in the best selling show
Is there life on Mars?

It's on America's tortured brow
That Mickey Mouse has grown up a cow
Now the workers have struck for fame
'Cause Lennon's on sale again
See the mice in their million hordes
From Ibeza to the Norfolk Broads
Rule Britannia is out of bounds
To my mother, my dog, and clowns
But the film is a sadd'ning bore
'Cause I wrote it ten times or more
It's about to be writ again
As I ask you to focus on

Sailors
Fighting in the dance hall
Oh man!
Look at those cavemen go
It's the freakiest show.
Take a look at the lawman
Beating up the wrong guy.
Oh man!
Wonder if he'll ever know
He's in the best selling show
Is there life on Mars?
posted by sister ray 5:40 AM

Love my way- it's the new road


I'm going to go. I'm not sad about it. I'm not hurt. I mean, you know, I am hurt, a little bit. But I know if I don't do it I'll just feel a lot worse. I'm just going to go in. I'll walk in, walk out, and come home. I just want to let them know that they didn't break me.
posted by sister ray 4:15 PM

Give me a kiss

Baby just one sweet kiss,
Honey from your sweet lips
Baby just one sweet kiss,
Honey from your sweet lips
That's all I want, that's all I need
I'm satisfied

Baby just one of your smiles
You know makes it all worthwhile
Baby just one of your smiles
You know makes it all worthwhile

We could go walking down the lane
Together hand in hand
But if you think
That it's gonna rain
We'll stay at home
And listen to the band

Baby just one sweet kiss
Honey from your sweet lips
Baby just one of your smiles
You know makes it all worthwhile
That's all I want, that's all I need
I'm satisfied.
- Van Morrison
posted by sister ray 6:23 PM

Astral Weeks - Sou apenas eu ou tudo está mais transcendental hoje em dia? E todas as mágicas tornaram-se possíveis? E de todas as mágicas eu gosto mais de quando ele ri. Todos os dentes perfeitamente errados. Os dois lagos flamejantes. A caverna escura. Eu viveria dias mergulhada dentro daquela risada.
posted by sister ray 5:21 PM

I've watched your face for a long time
It's always the same
I've studied the cracks and the wrinkles
You were always so vain
Well, now you live your life like a shadow
In the pouring rain
Oh, it's called love
Yes, it's called love
Oh, it's called love
And it belongs to us
Oh, it dies so quickly
It grows so slowly
But when it dies, it dies for good
It's called love
And it belongs to everyone but us

I've lived my life in the valleys
I've lived my life on the hills
I've lived my life on alcohol
I've lived my life on pills
But it's called love
And it belongs to us
It's called love
And it's the only thing that's worth living for
It's called love
And it belongs to us
It's called love
Yes it's called love

Oh, love is found in the east and west
But when love is at home, it's the best
Love is the cure for every evil
Love is the air that supports the eagle
It's called love
And it's so un-cool
It's called love
And somehow it's become unmentionable
It's called love
And it belongs to every one of us
It's called love
And it cuts your life like a broken knife
posted by sister ray 7:04 PM

Oh well, you know it's up to you
Sugar think what we could do
Can I have a question
I'll make you smile, smile, smile, smile, smile

Sugar sugar you're up to my lips
Licking over everything I miss
And I got no reason
Just a slow, slow, slow, slow, suck

Feeling bad, feeling good
Feeling like I never could
Lick, lick, lick and suck, suck, suck
I want it slow, slow, slow, slow

Sugar sugar you're up to my lips
Place my head upon your hips
And I got no reason
You make me smile, smile, smile, smile

Well what the hell, we're all the same
You got what I need, so don't play no games
Sugar think what we could do
I'll make you smile, smile, smile, smile through

Got the rush I don't feel no shame
On top of me you know while I don't know your name
And we got no reason
Just a slow, slow, slow, slow, suck
posted by sister ray 6:26 PM

Por que a Madonna ta sempre afim...

I've had other guys
I've looked into their eyes
But I never knew love before
'Til you walked through my door
I've had other lips
I've sailed a thousand ships
But no matter where I go
You're the one for me baby this I know, 'cause it's

True love
You're the one I'm dreaming of
Your heart fits me like a glove
And I'm gonna be true blue baby I love you

I've heard all the lines
I've cried oh so many times
Those tear drops they won't fall again
I'm so excited 'cause you're my best friend
So if you should ever doubt
Wonder what love is all about
Just think back and remember dear
Those words whispered in your ear, I said

True love
You're the one I'm dreaming of
Your heart fits me like a glove
And I'm gonna be true blue baby I love you

No more sadness, I kiss it good-bye
The sun is bursting right out of the sky
I searched the whole world for someone like you
Don't you know, don't you know that it's

True love, oh baby, true love, oh baby
True love, oh baby, true love it's

True, so if you should ever doubt
Wonder what love is all about
Just think back and remember dear
Those words whispered in your ear, I said

'Cause it's
True love, oh baby, true love, oh baby
True love, oh baby, true love it's
posted by sister ray 9:25 AM

posted by sister ray 2:51 PM

Projeto trilhas sonoras.
Por que toda historia tem a sua afinal..

Close your eyes and lets pretend
Were little children once again
Sticky fingers, dirty minds
When I touch you, girl I come alive

Lets fall in love
Its exciting
Im gonna make your mouth
A sunny sundae smile
Tie a ribbon in your hair
Try not to notice how I stare
Theres desperation in my voice
Have I hurt you, I have no choice

Lets fall in love
Its exciting
Im gonna make your mouth
A sunny sundae smile

It looks lovely
Illustrates me
Seems to wrap your eyes
A sunny sundae smile
posted by sister ray 11:09 PM

Every drop of blood that falls, I have to share it with you all. Pain's not pleasure it just hurts. I rub the tears into the dirt. Now I shared it with you all, man like me had far to fall, I gave you all.
posted by sister ray 10:48 PM

i believe, i believe, i believe
_________________________
Oh can't you see that I need
Crawl around I'll kiss the ground
Oh come back come back come back

Come back with me
And I'll show you that I really believe
Come over me
Where I bleed I bleed I bleed

Hold my hand up I will be good
Oh you know what I need
Hold me down don't realize
Take me take me take me

Oh can't you see
I believe I believe I believe
Oh bury me bury bury bury me

Come with me and I'll come with you
Oh, I'll do whatever you will do
Play with me and I'll play with you
Ooh, ooh, ooh
posted by sister ray 8:51 AM

Como meu coração ensangüentado vai aguentar?



Eu não tenho realmente o que falar sobre isso, já começa com os ingressos, que acabaram em 3 MINUTOS! Foi assim: eu estava no trem indo para Brick Lane num domingo frio carregando todos os suplementos culturais de uns 3 jornais diferents e folheando sossegadamente, ouvindo The Cure no meu discman pq eu não tenho i-pod nem nada, e sempre olho os shows que precisam ser bookados e estava fazendo isso quando me deparei com ISSO - guardei ate um recorte para checar durante o dia e acreditar que não era só um sonho era tipo um acontecimento da vida real - MY BLOODY VALENTINE EM JUNHO, bla bla bla (nem li o bla bla bla), não sabia o q fazer, eu queria gritar, abraçar alguém mas eu estava no metro o que podia fazer, comecei a ficar agitada, coração realmente acelerado e mandei uma mensagem histerica para a Bia e fiquei LOUCA em Brick Lane o dia todo pensando em chegar em casa e comprar o ingresso tipo primeira coisa pq sabia q ia ter acabado ate segunda, não podia mesmo esperar, mas claro que acabou muito antes que imaginei - 3 minutos deve ser um tipo de recorde, nao? Estou aqui ha 13 meses e ainda não aprendi, quis morrer. Fui ate o gumtree procurar um cambista. Comecei a ver preços tipo 170 POUNDS, tipo, como? Uma semana de salário quase? Minhas dividas! MEU DEUS O QUE VOU FAZER? Quando achei esse por 45 pounds. Bem razoável, eu pagaria ate 100. Mandei e-mail. O encontro poderia ser só na 4ª, uma espera tão sofrida, e ele me liga 4ª às 11h com um sotaque cockney inteligível e fala q me encontra lá na pqp a 13h30. Ok, tenho que passear durante uma hora com a Chloe e estar em Hammersmith às 14h mas vamos lá! Passo voando na casa da cachorrinha, enrolo com ela por meia-hora, ignoro a mãe dela que quer conversar e saio correndo para o metro de Fulham e vou ate Bermonsday ouvindo The Cure porque esta dando sorte e acabo chegando lá adiantada, hahaha. Pego o ingresso, yupi! E agora não sei COMO ESPERO ate lá... O Daniel disse para eu ir ouvindo os discos e acho uma boa idéia apesar de difícil porque não sei se posso ouvir MBV demais nessa fase. Tipo, meu coração pode realmente explodir. Mas eu vou porque senão quando chegar na hora do show pode ser um choque muito grande. Ai, minha nossa, tem ainda o Fall hoje, Spiritualized semana que vem e J&MC no meu aniversario{mas essa e uma outra historia de grandíssima emoção então chega por hoje. Então ta. Xau.
posted by sister ray 7:57 AM

JAMC, London/2007

Nao, nao vou escrever nenhum textinho sobre isso.
Vou guardar para sempre na cavidade mais obscura do meu ser.
Meu, meu, meu e meu!
Se eu estava la e nao voce...
Azar o seu.


Never Understand
Head On
Far Gone and Out
Catchfire
Sidewalking
Snakedriver
Dead End Kids
Happy When It Rains
Some Candy Talking
Between Planets
Blues From a Gun
Cracking Up
All Things Must Pass (new song)
Teenage Lust
Just Like Honey

Encore:
Vegetable Man
You Trip Me Up
Reverence
posted by sister ray 11:22 AM

the bell jar


posted by sister ray 8:56 PM

Todas as minhas reverencias para...

Francesca Woodman.
A Sylvia Plath da fotografia.
Tradutora de todas as almas borradas.
Dos coracoes preto-e-branco.
Idola. Genia.
+ + +

posted by sister ray 9:59 PM

I write differently from the way I speak, I speak differently from the way I think, I think differently from the way I should think - and so it goes on into the darkest depths of infinity
posted by sister ray 1:22 PM

Love is dead



Won't somebody please
Help me with my miseries
Can somebody see, yeah
What this world has done to me
And I know, I know
And I say, oh I say
That no matter where I go, no
I will always see your face
Won't somebody please
Help me with my memory
Can somebody see, yeah
What this world has done to me
Yeah, yeah
And I know, I know
And I say, oh I say
That no matter where you go, no
You will always see my face
And no matter where you go, no
You will always see my face
And no matter where you go, no
You will always see my face
And no matter where I go, no
I will always see your face
Yeah, I'm looking, I can see your face
Yeah, look and you can see my face
Yeah, I'm looking at you looking at me
- Arhtur Lee
posted by sister ray 5:41 PM

posted by sister ray 1:16 PM

Do you believe, believer?

Minha música preferida dos últimos dias, dá para dançar mesmo quando estou parada. Sabe dançar sentada quietinha na sala de espera do médico ou na fila do banco? Dançar por dentro. Eu sei!

Do you believe in magic?
In a young girls heart
How the music can free her
Whenever it starts

And it's magic
If the music is groovy
It makes you feel happy like an old time movie

I'll tell ya about the magic it'll free your soul
But it's like trying to tell a stranger 'bout rock n roll

If you believe in magic, don't bother to choose
If it's jug band music or rhythm and blues
Just go and listen
It'll start with a smile
It won't wipe off your face no matter how hard you try
Your feet start tapping
And you can't seem to find
How you got there
So just blow your mind

If you believe in magic
Come along with me
We'll dance until morning, just you and me
And maybe, if the music is right
I'll meet ya tomorrow
So late at night

We'll go a dancin' baby then you'll see
All the magic's in the music and the music's in me, yeah

Do you belive in magic? Yeah
Believe in the magic in a young girl's soul
Believe in the magic of rock n roll
Believe in the magic that can set you free
Ohhhh, talkin' bout magic

Do you believe in magic?
Do you believe, believer?
posted by sister ray 1:14 PM

Lung Leg vive



Nick Zedd writes in his autobiography, Totem of the Depraved, that Lung Leg moved to Minneapolis, then moved back to New York City after a short romance with German musician Blixa Bargeld of Einstürzende Neubauten and Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. He further claims that she then became a stripper in Queens, New York and became insane, obsessed with an imaginary German villain named "Ninny" who was trying to spread Communism and destroy Christmas. However, in recent alleged e-mail correspondence with Mike Etoll, Lung Leg disputed Nick Zedd's comments concerning the "Ninny" character.
In a 1993 interview, Richard Kern said this of Lung: "Lung Leg lives in San Francisco and people from time to time see her. Every time a New York band goes there like Cop Shoot Cop just told me they saw her. And she always goes to the shows. And I heard she looks like a witchy California looking drug culture icon, long dirty hair and dresses like some Gothic rocker. I haven't seen her in so long. She called and said she's moving back here but she never showed up.!
It is presently rumored that Lung Leg lives in Minneapolis once more, where she dresses like a witch, dabbles in taxidermy, and regularly gets thrown out of clubs for bad behavior.
As of 2005, Lung Leg was still living in Minneapolis and had recently appeared in a Mike Etoll film entitled Sewer Baby. In it she plays a bartender dealing with various monsters, special effects and a primordial dwarf.
posted by sister ray 5:21 PM

Ah!

E o Gang of Four vem em setembro, um dia antes da minha festona de despedida. As vezes eu tenho medo de explodir...
posted by sister ray 4:49 PM

Jason Pierce has been waiting for me

♥ tum-tum tum-tum...

Essa é mais uma daquelas notinhas histéricas que só aquelas notícias sagradas podem produzir por aqui. Bom, hoje oficialmente estou me mudando para Londres. Apesar da viagem ser só daqui a 1 mês e pouco (ufa!). E, assim.... ckfomfo eufl polksso dsizder? Na verdade eu não preciso, ele já explicou tudo muito melhor. "'The work of the devil... with a little guidance from me.' That is the description J Spaceman (aka Jason Pierce) has given to his forthcoming album which he showcases tonight." Ãhn? Vou ali ter ataques múltiplos do coração. Volto. Com amor, Dani.
posted by sister ray 4:45 PM

Syd Barret morreu


posted by sister ray 4:05 PM

Go! Go!
posted by sister ray 7:31 PM

He's on a street called love

This following program is dedicated to the city and people of San Francisco,
who may not know it but they are beautiful and so is their city this is a very
personal song, so if the viewer cannot understand it particularly those of you
who are European residents save up all your bread and fly Trans Love Airways
to San Francisco USA, then maybe you'll understand the song, it'll be worth it,
if not for the sake of this song but for the sake of your own peace of mind...
posted by sister ray 9:41 PM

borracha queimada



as folhas estão sempre mortas
a porta está sempre fechada
o lixo grita aos meus pés
eu quero estar só
a areia foi lavada
o mar deve tê-la comido
o cimento cresce cinza
e eu começo a gostar disso
os pratos estão quebrados
os garfos são de plástico
a comida está em celofane
e eu vomito elástico
- lydia lunch
posted by sister ray 9:34 PM

I wanna be black

Fui apresentada ao Screamin' Jay Hawkins no ano passado por alguém que não se conformava como eu, sendo a super fã do Hasil Adkins que eu dizia ser, não conhecia o "Hasil Adkins preto". Foi um golpe baixo porque isso me fez ouvir tudo o que eu podia dele num único dia e claro que ele não era nenhum Hasil Adkins preto coisa nenhuma. Não que isso seja algum problema, pelo amor de Voodoo Jive, ele não só é uma das melhores descobertas dos últimos tempos como tornou-se meu companheiro inseparável de quando fico louca demais de cafeína e preciso dar uns gritos para me recompor.
Tá, entendo que os dois tenham um dom em comum para escrever letras dementes e soltar berros assustadores e serem as maiores influências do Lux Interior, mas é só. Enquanto o H.A. é o típico guitarrista caipira doido proto-rockabilly, o Screamin' Jay é basicamente um cantor de blues de voz meio degolada que tem um gosto especial em berrar coisas obscuras como "Eu te joguei um feitiço porque você é miiiiiiinha" - o clássico I put a spell on you, regravado e reverenciado por gente como Brian Ferry, Eric Burdon, Van Morrison, Nick Cave e Nina Simone - de forma que elas soem realmente demoníacas.
Porque como o próprio nome diz, Screamin' não canta, grita. Mas não foi sempre assim. Nascido Jalacy Jay Hawkins em 1929, filho de uma mãe drogada que tinha outros 5 filhos de pais diferentes (um deles era até chinês, para se ter uma idéia), foi campeão de boxe, serviu na guerra da Coréia e tentou ser cantor de ópera (seu ídolo era o barítono Paul Robeson), até que conheceu "uma gorda que bebia dois tipos de whisky diferentes ao mesmo tempo" e que um dia o mandou gritar para espantar os demônios.
E ele gritou e pariu a persona Screamin' Jay Hawkins. Mas não espantou demônio nenhum, muito pelo contrário. Até o fim, suas letras sempre falaram de terror, exoterismo, drácula, vodu e lobisomem e em suas apresentações ele costumava sair de dentro de um caixão sob uma chuva de fogos-de-artifício com uma caveira enfiada na bengala, além de também tocar piano e ser sempre acompanhado por um grupo de backing vocals mega cool de meninas.
Falando em cool, nos anos 80 ele participou de dois filmes do Jim Jarmusch - Stranger than Paradise e Mystery Train, e não posso deixar de comentar que, já em 91, bem velhinho, lançou um álbum chamado Black Music for White People, que eu acho um dos melhores nomes de disco de todos.
Screamin' morreu em Paris no ano 2000, não sem antes responder em apenas duas palavras o que o fazia gritar daquele jeito: "Being black".
posted by sister ray 12:04 PM

John & Yoko/ Paul & Linda



There are places I remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I've loved them all

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more

Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more

In my life I love you more
posted by sister ray 12:39 PM

Hello, you're my very special one


posted by sister ray 7:05 PM

Feliz dia interplanetário da fofura!

Cure - All cats are grey
Siouxsie - Hong Kong Garden
New Order - Ceremony
Headcoatees - I want candy
Strokes - What ever happened?
posted by sister ray 4:51 PM

C'est une mauvaise reine
posted by sister ray 4:43 PM

Qui êtes-vous Polly Maggoo?

Une equipe de television realise un portrait du mannequin vedette Polly Maggoo.


William Klein, França, 1965
posted by sister ray 6:25 PM

No Direction Home



Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The handmade blade, the child's balloon
Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too soon
There is no sense in trying.

Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fool's gold mouthpiece
The hollow horn plays wasted words
Proves to warn
That he not busy being born
Is busy dying.

Temptation's page flies out the door
You follow, find yourself at war
Watch waterfalls of pity roar
You feel to moan but unlike before
You discover
That you'd just be
One more person crying.

So don't fear if you hear
A foreign sound to your ear
It's alright, Ma, I'm only sighing.

As some warn victory, some downfall
Private reasons great or small
Can be seen in the eyes of those that call
To make all that should be killed to crawl
While others say don't hate nothing at all
Except hatred.

Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their mark
Made everything from toy guns that spark
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It's easy to see without looking too far
That not much
Is really sacred.

While preachers preach of evil fates
Teachers teach that knowledge waits
Can lead to hundred-dollar plates
Goodness hides behind its gates
But even the president of the United States
Sometimes must have
To stand naked.

An' though the rules of the road have been lodged
It's only people's games that you got to dodge
And it's alright, Ma, I can make it.

Advertising signs that con you
Into thinking you're the one
That can do what's never been done
That can win what's never been won
Meantime life outside goes on
All around you.

You lose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
Alone you stand with nobody near
When a trembling distant voice, unclear
Startles your sleeping ears to hear
That somebody thinks
They really found you.

A question in your nerves is lit
Yet you know there is no answer fit to satisfy
Insure you not to quit
To keep it in your mind and not fergit
That it is not he or she or them or it
That you belong to.

Although the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to.

For them that must obey authority
That they do not respect in any degree
Who despise their jobs, their destinies
Speak jealously of them that are free
Cultivate their flowers to be
Nothing more than something
They invest in.

While some on principles baptized
To strict party platform ties
Social clubs in drag disguise
Outsiders they can freely criticize
Tell nothing except who to idolize
And then say God bless him.

While one who sings with his tongue on fire
Gargles in the rat race choir
Bent out of shape from society's pliers
Cares not to come up any higher
But rather get you down in the hole
That he's in.

But I mean no harm nor put fault
On anyone that lives in a vault
But it's alright, Ma, if I can't please him.

Old lady judges watch people in pairs
Limited in sex, they dare
To push fake morals, insult and stare
While money doesn't talk, it swears
Obscenity, who really cares
Propaganda, all is phony.

While them that defend what they cannot see
With a killer's pride, security
It blows the minds most bitterly
For them that think death's honesty
Won't fall upon them naturally
Life sometimes
Must get lonely.

My eyes collide head-on with stuffed graveyards
False gods, I scuff
At pettiness which plays so rough
Walk upside-down inside handcuffs
Kick my legs to crash it off
Say okay, I have had enough
What else can you show me?

And if my thought-dreams could be seen
They'd probably put my head in a guillotine
But it's alright, Ma, it's life, and life only.
posted by sister ray 1:25 PM

Coffin Joe


À meia-noite levarei sua alma, 63


Esta noite encarnarei no teu cadáver, 65
posted by sister ray 1:55 PM

Slint, Spiderland

+
posted by sister ray 1:10 PM

Haikai-mania

A libélula,
Sem conseguir se agarrar
A uma folha de capim
- Bashô
posted by sister ray 12:32 PM

Filme do Carnaval


Outer and Inner Space
Andy Warhol, 1966
Legendado por moi.
posted by sister ray 9:20 PM

Vai mar...

Que vontade era de pôr meus dedos, de leve, o leve, nos meigos dos olhos dele, ocultando, para não ter de tolerar de ver assim o chamado, até que ponto esses olhos, sempre havendo, aquela beleza verde, me adoecido, tão impossível.
- Conde João Guimarães Rosa
posted by sister ray 6:09 PM

posted by sister ray 10:31 AM

Hit do verão

True love will find you in the end, Daniel Johnston.
posted by sister ray 12:36 AM

All the drunks they were singing...



You don't normally get Christmas songs so utterly hopeless.
- Nick Cave
posted by sister ray 3:23 PM

The year of the iguana

2005 foi o ano que começou com um boato sobre a vinda do Iggy com os Stooges, teve MC5 e Television de aquecimento, e no fim.. não é que o Iggy veio mesmo? Perfeitinho assim. Achei que escreveria um texto cheio de emoção, sutilezas e histeria, que é como foi o último evento, mas eu sei me colocar no meu lugar e entender que momentos tão divinos não foram feitos para ser divididos ou explicados num blórrrgh. Só passei mesmo para dizer que eu amo 2005 com todo o meu coração, para toda a eternidade. Muáááck!
posted by sister ray 5:49 PM

Lagriminhas

He is the king; if it hadn't been for Link Wray and Rumble, I would have never picked up a guitar.
- Pete Townsend

If I could go back in time and see any band, it would be Link Wray and the Raymen.
- Neil Young
posted by sister ray 7:51 PM

Inconsolável

LINK WRAY
May 2, 1929 - November 5, 2005


Chuif
+
posted by sister ray 6:25 PM

She said

Why's don't I tell you what it is?
I wen' out last nigh' and I got messed up
When I woke up this mornin'
Shoulda seen what I had inna bed wi' me
She comes up at me outta the bed
Pull her hair down the eye
Looks to me like a dyin' can of that commodity meat
And says, and says
Woo ee ah ah!
Woo ee ah ah!
Woo ee ah ah!
Woo ee ah ah!
Wooooeeeeahhh!

So this time we got waay over here
(Where?! Where?!)
I don't know, since it was early dawn's light
She jumped up outta the car
She pulled her hair down her eye
She looked to me like a dinosaur 'bout to jump outta that seat
She said
She said
She said
Woo ee ah ah!
Woo ee ah ah!
Woo ee ah ah!
Woo ee ah ah!
Wooooeeeeyahhhh!

So this time we got waaay over here
And then we went waay down here
We got all the way over
'n that lady sound like this:
Oooooo! Oooooo!
She said
She said
Woo ee ah ah!
Woo ee ah ah!
Woo ee ah ah!
Yoo ee ah ah!
Wooooaaahhyahh!

So this time we went waaay over there
Now things was really gettin' goin'
Boilin' up with the blisters
She sound like this:
Ooooo! Ooooo!
She jumped up outta the car
Pulled her hair down her eye
And do you know what she told me?
Do you know what she try to tell me?
She said
Ooooo! It feel so goood!
Woo ee ah ah!
Woo ee ah ah!
Woo ee ah ah!
Woo ee ah ah!
Woo woo eeeeeyahhhh!
Yah yah yah!
Woo ee ah ah!
Woo ee ah ah!
Woo ee ah ah
Wooooeeee!
- Hasil Adkins
posted by sister ray 2:54 PM

No more hot dogs

Por que ninguém me avisou que o Hasil Adkins tinha morrido? Estava toda feliz na segunda pensando nele e aí fui procurar uma entrevista que tinha lido uma vez e aí... O Hasil Adkins morreu em abril e ninguém disse nada e eu nem fiquei de luto e eu estou arrasada. Acho que só há uma coisa a fazer. Um minuto de barulho para o Hasil Adkins. Amém.


R.I.P. 29/04/1937-26/04/2005
posted by sister ray 2:39 PM

Look here read what I wrote on my shirt

You know, you must take a look at the new land
The swimming pool and the teeth of your friend
The dirt in my land
You know, you must take a look at me

Baby, baby
I know that's the way

You know, you must try the new ice-crem flavour
Do me a favour, look at me closer
Join us and go far
And hear the new sound of my bossa nova

Baby, baby
It's been a long time

You know, it's time now to learn portuguese
It's time now to learn what i know
And what i don't know
And what i don't know
And what i don't know

I know, with me everything is fine
It's time now to make up your mind
We live in the biggest city of south america
Of south america
Of south america

Look here read what i wrote on my shirt
Baby, baby
I love you

You do
Baby
posted by sister ray 2:31 PM

Elevation don't go to my head

The last word
is the lost word
Why don't you say so
say so

I sleep light
on these shores tonite
I live light on these shores

Elevation... don't go to my head

Now you give me no trouble
and you give me no help
It is the clown
that works so well

I sleep light on these shores tonite.
I live light on these shores.

Elevation don't go to my head

Our lips are sealed our breath is burning
These cold wild seas have left us turning
But I sleep light on these shores tonite
I live light on these shores.
posted by sister ray 4:52 PM

Dead finks don't talk

Oh cheeky cheeky
Oh naughty sneaky
You're so perceptive
And I wonder how you knew.

But dead finks don't walk too well (oh no)
A bad sense of direction (oh no)
And so they stumble round in threes (oh no)
Such a strange collection.

Oh, you headless chicken
Can those poor teeth take so much kicking?
You're always so charming
As you make your way up here.

And dead finks don't dress too well
No discrimination
To be a zombie all the time
Requires such dedication.

"Oh please sir, will you let it go by,
'Cos I failed both tests with my legs both tied
In my place the stuff is all there
I've been ever so sad for a very long time.

My my, they wanted the works:
Can you this? and that? I never got a letter back
More fool me, bless my soul
More fool me, bless my soul."

Oh perfect masters
They thrive on disasters
They all look so harmless
Till they find their way up here.

But dead finks don't talk too well
They've got a shaky sense of diction
It's not so much a living hell
It's just a dying fiction.
- Brian Eno
posted by sister ray 1:01 PM

Jukebox da Anita



Elvis Presley - Blue Moon: "I love the moon-anything concerning the moon is up my alley. I always watch the full moon-not that I'm a witch, but because it's nature's show. The best show I've ever seen was the solar eclipse. Nobody's ever put on a show like that! So, Blue Moon by Elvis, I really got suckered by that one right away. It was my act of rebellion. My father was a classical piano player and I wasn't allowed to listen to anything other than classical music. Thinking back, it was a very good way of getting to know music, but then I rebelled by listening to Nat King Cole, Oscar Peterson, then jazz, Fats Domino...and Elvis came. He was my first real rock 'n' roller, my first passion."

Rolling Stones - (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction: "This was a revelation for me because it was really how I felt. That whole angst of never getting exactly what you want. It's something I've pursued all my life, and I'm still in the same place, so there you go! It's a great song. It's five notes, very simple, but it's fantastic. I was doing a film in Rome and I remember playing it every day, on the set, off the set, being totally besotted by it, and (smiling) obviously annoying everybody else with it."

Patti Smith - Gloria: "Another classic. Patti has always been one of my idols. Personally, Gloria reminds me of Max's Kansas City and all of those places where I used to hang out. Luckily, I was always where the action was. I mean, my main activity was in the bathroom, doing naughties, but I did see her at loads of shows. Everybody always asks, 'Oh, did you see that show?' And I can only say, I was there, but I think I must've missed that bit. I loved her version, firstly because she's a girl so that's a point of identification, and then I just like the way she presents it-the hiccups and all that stuff."

Ike & Tina Turner - River Deep, Mountain High: "This reminds me of the '60's, listening to the radio all the time. One morning, it was about six o'clock and I was just about to go to sleep, and suddenly I hear this woman on Radio Caroline, hollering, and I literally got cold shivers down my spine. Since then, it's always been my favourite song. It still gives me shivers today. I can't even remember the words, but for me, listening to music is not just about the words; it's about the feelings you get when you listen to it. When I listen to a record, I get a first impression, and that's usually the one I try and keep. If I get goose bumps, that means I like it."

Julie London - Cry Me A River: "While I was in Italy this was played on the radio a lot. I loved her voice, and the whole thing with the river was very romantic and sad. I loved Julie London's look. She was gorgeous. Whenever I DJ, I always put on Cry Me A River. I've DJed a few times, but I've given up now because of the macho attitudes people have got. It's always such a battle to get on. I don't do the scratching, though. Once I did a party for Time Out magazine, and I only played songs by women. I don't think it was very successful, but there you go. I enjoyed myself!"

Frank Sinatra - My Way: "That's the classic, isn't it? Frank, he had the blue eyes, and his charm and everything, but then with that song, he became something else completely. Again, I don't know the words. it's something like, 'Blah-lah-lah, I do it my way'. I did meet Frank. I went to one of his concerts in Paris, and I ended up sitting downstairs talking with his make-up guy. This guy had in his passport a picture of him, and on the other side of the page, a picture of Frank-in his passport! Then he had all the stuff that he had to do to Frank's face, all the lines. It was actually quite a work of art what he was doing to his face. I saw him another time in Las Vegas. We were invited by Eddie Fisher to spend the weekend there, and there was Frank in the pool! He was doing crosswords on this massive, floating mattress, which looked really comfortable. He didn't have his wig on, so that was an odd discovery."

Richard Wagner - Ride of the Valkyrie: "This has always been one of my favourites. It's classical wanking music. It's masturbation full-time, you know? It's got this crescendo...It might be very schmaltzy, but it still get me off, completely. It's from the Nibelungen, but for me it's a song. (Gives throaty beer-hall rendition) Ta-ra-da-dong...I love it. Music is there to love, not to tear apart."

Max Romeo - War Ina Babylon: "I love all that Jamaican music-ska, Bob Marley, Max Romeo. This song comes into my mind all the time. And that other song of his, 'One step forward, two step backward'-I find myself doing that all the time! I love Max Romeo, I think he's gorgeous. I also like The Upsetters. I actually found this track again on a Lee Perry [Max's producer] compilation. I used to have a massive collection. Whenever I go somewhere and see vinyl, I remember, Oh God, I used to have that record. God knows what happened to them. They probably got nicked, or lost, or burnt in a fire..."

Prince - Purple Rain: "He's so funky, and so sexy. I just love the guy, he's so talented. Purple Rain is the first song of his that came into my head. He's done so much stuff, but Purple Rain-I like that title, I like the idea of purple rain. Purple is one of my favourite colours."

The Animals - We've Gotta Get Out of This Place: "That's the song I find myself humming most these days. I don't know if it's because of claustrophobia or what, but if I'm out at a dinner or somewhere, I start to get edy. I'm squeezed in at the table and there's no way to get out. I'm like (singing), 'We've gotta get out of this place'. I just sing it to myself. I don't know if it makes me feel better-usually it makes me feel worse! It makes me really wanna get out of this place. I really love Eric Burdon's voice. He's fantastic. Eric was a mad, mad, mad guy. The Animals were out there."
* Mojo Magazine
posted by sister ray 12:06 PM

Bonjour

Tem também os vídeos de música, que eu prefiro ver de manhã (o que as vezes significa à tarde ou de madrugada) para começar o dia pulando de alegria. São eles os meus preferidos atualmente:


Beach Boys "The Lost Concert", 1964: Vamos falar de boas vibrações, boas vibrações pápá...


New York Dolls Bootleg: Quando já me sentia feliz suficiente por achar que estava adquirindo todos as coisinhas raras gravadas com os Dolls eu ganho de bônus um show dos Heartbreakers no CBGBs, Richard Hell era, Richard Hell lindo mascando chiclete. Dá vontade de morrer e de viver ao mesmo tempo.


New York Dolls Live at the Matrix, San Francisco 1973: Looking for a kiss, Bad girl, Subway train, Babylon, Give her a great big kiss, Private world, Mystery girls, Trash, Frankenstein, I'm into something good (Herman's Hermits cover), Bad detective, Personality crisis, Jetboy e entrevista pós-show com David Johansen. Certos eventos dispensam qualquer comentário.


Blank Generation, Amos Poe, 1976: Documentário sem falas, só imagens de shows cobertas com músicas dos artistas que se apresentavam no auge do CBGBs. Clássico das madrugadas insones, quando é silencioso demais para grandes arroubos de felicidade. Serve também como aula de despretensão.


Blondie "Behind The Music": Ver a Debbie sempre deixa tudo mais bonito. Debbie boneca, Debbie velhinha, Debbie se arrumando, Debbie se desarrumando. Eu sou louca pela Debbie.


Patti Smith, Rockpalast, 1979: Tem alguma coisa na Patti Smith que me inspira a redenção da alma, eu adoro e eu não ligo se algumas pessoas acham que ela é brega e chata (blééé). Esse show está aí para provar que se o Iggy Pop é o "poderoso chefão" do punk, a Patti só pode ser a chefona.


Iggy & The Stooges Live in Detroit, 2004 (plus "Legendary NY In-store Gig"): Esses são os vídeos que têm me ajudado a controlar a tensão da contagem regressiva para o dia em que eu verei o Iggy Pop de pertinho.Sabe quando você assiste um show pela TV e praticamente se transporta para cima do palco? Então..


Slowdive "Floppy Hair Era Concert", 1991: Bom dia melancolia!


Thee Headcoats Live at The Picket, Liverpool, 1993: Vejo dia sim dia não, geralmente depois de duas musicas já estou dançando em frente a TV. Ótimo para dias de chuva ou de sol. Para dias de preguiça ou de euforia. Billy Childish, meu herói!
posted by sister ray 11:54 PM

TV Eye


posted by sister ray 6:27 PM

Pull My Daisy

Uma delícia de ler, mais delicia ainda ouvir o jazzinho em mp3. Mmmmm!

Pull my daisy
tip my cup
all my doors are open
Cut my thoughts
for coconuts
all my eggs are broken
Jack my Arden
gate my shades
woe my road is spoken
Silk my garden
rose my days
now my prayers awaken
Bone my shadow
dove my dream
start my halo bleeding
Milk my mind &
make me cream
drink me when you're ready
Hop my heart on
harp my height
seraphs hold me steady
Hip my angel
hype my light
lay it on the needy

Heal the raindrop
sow the eye
bust my dust again
Woe the worm
work the wise
dig my spade the same
Stop the hoax
whats the hex
where's the wake
how's the hicks
take my golden beam

Rob my locker
lick my rocks
leap my cock in school
Rack my lacks
lark my looks
jump right up my hole
Whore my door
beat my door
eat my snake of fool
Craze my hair
bare my poor
asshole shorn of wool

say my oops
ope my shell

Bite my naked nut
Roll my bones
ring my bell
call my worm to sup
Pope my parts
pop my pot
raise my daisy up
Poke my pap
pit my plum
let my gap be shut
- Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg & Neal Cassady
posted by sister ray 6:27 PM

Ah!


If you see that guy..
Wink your eye.
posted by sister ray 2:01 PM

Just trying to tell a vision



Eu tenho alguma experiência com milagres. Já vi acontecendo uma porção de vezes, já aconteceu comigo mesma até. Mas um milagre múltiplo foi a primeira vez. Três shows do Television no Brasil é o milagre da ressurreição e da multiplicação em um só. No último dia o Tom Verlaine até sorria e acho que isso também entra em uma categoria de milagre. Já fechou os olhos num show e sentiu as notas musicais percorrendo todo o seu corpo com tanta intensidade até as pernas ficarem moles e aí, abrindo os olhos, viu o Tom Verlaine a dois passos de distância tocando como se a guitarra fosse a sua própria alma e, sem conseguir piscar os olhos dessa cena, pôs a mão no coração e sentiu que as batidas acompanhavam o ritmo? Sério, foi cósmico. Aí, de repente o mundo tomou uma forma de contagem regressiva. Daqui a um mês, só um mesinho... e nossa, é mesmo o melhor ano de toda a minha vida. Mas isso não é nenhum milagre. Just the facts.
posted by sister ray 1:37 PM

J'adore


Elvis Costello
posted by sister ray 11:47 PM

Puta que pariu o Tom Verlaine!

Puta showzinho perfeito. A pessoa que colocou a mão no meu coração na hora de Little Johnny Jewel ficou tipo assustada, e eu estou passada e engomada e nunca esperei tanto por uma terça-feira. Pergunta se não me molhei toda na hora do Bob Dylan? Mas eu achei muito curto, lógico. Eu quero ouvir Elevation! Double Exposure! Fire Engine! Guhhh, preciso ir ao banheiro, tchau!


I spoke to a man down at the tracks.
I asked him how he don't go mad.
He said "Look here junior, don't you be so happy.
And for EVIL's sake, don't you be so sad."
posted by sister ray 11:32 PM

Filminhos

E a Sessão da Tarde nunca mais será a mesma..



The Girl on a Motocycle, Jack Cardiff, 1968: Miss Faithfull tem um dia de fúria e larga seu marido patético em casa para 'sequestrar' o amante bonitão com sua lambreta. Road movie em francês com uma das meninas mais bonitas do mundo pilotando uma moto e muitas cenas de sexo, ninguém precisa de mais nada...


Performance, Donald Cammell & Nicolas Roeg, 1970: Ops, claro que precisa! De um filmão de gângster com Daddy Jagger e Mommy Pallenberg semi-nus em 80% das cenas. Um pouco louco demais, tá, ainda não entendi uns diálogos, tá, mas é uma das coisas mais bonitas que já vi. E eu dava tudo para morar naqueles cenários. E.. e... mmmmm.. meus sais!


My Hustler, Andy Warhol, 1966: Já tinha visto no cinema, mas nada como ouvir aqueles diálogos hilários diretamente do meu sofá preferido. Vou copiar o que escrevi sobre na época -
(ctrl c ctrl v) -
My Hustler é nonsense até não poder mais, recheado com muitos diálogos hilários e aquele humor gay nova-iorquino. Um must para os fãs. Filmado em Long Island, durante uma viagem de fim de semana (Warhol, Gerard, Chuck Wein, Billy Name, Stephen Shore e elenco), é como uma grande piada interna, tipo quando vamos a praia, ficamos muito chapados de maconha, delirando e conversando coisas desconexas. Muito sol na cabeça... Andy realmente sabia como deixar as pessoas a vontade.
O elenco não interpreta, são apenas pessoas sendo elas mesmas, com seus próprios nomes. Ed Hood é a bicha velha e rica que contrata garotos pelo Disk Michê; Genevieve Charbin é a garota rica e mimada que se diverte tentando roubá-los de Ed; Sugar Plum Fairy é o michê velho e vigarista, que quer o moço para ser sua fonte de renda; e Paul America é o tão cobiçado michê. E o mais fantástico é justamente o fato dessas criaturas bizarras existirem de verdade, de tudo ser tão real. Só para ilustrar:
* Paul América, o my hustler/meu michê, foi descoberto por Lester Persky (amigo de Warhol, que o apresentou a Edie) na discoteca Ondine (nada a ver com Ondine, o superstar) e de fato era uma espécie de hustler drogadito. Ondine, o cara, disse no livro A: A Novel: "Paul America was another strange cup of tea. He was everybody's lover...he was marvelously satisfying to everyone... People would go to sleep in his arms... Richie Berlin, me, just everyone! He was the personification of total sexual satisfaction. Without a brain in his head. Just beautifully vapid. Hewas a wonderful creature. Anybody who wanted anything from Paul could get it. He was there to satisfy. And he did."
* E Sugar Plum, bem, é só olhar a letra de Walk on the Wild Side: "Sugar Plum Fairy came and hit the streets/ Lookin' for soul food and a place to eat/ Went to the Apollo/ You should have seen him go go go/ They said, hey Sugar, take a walk on the wild side/ I said, hey honey, take a walk on the wild side"
Voltemos ao filme. Dividido em duas partes, começa com um visível ajuste de foco e uma tomada fechada numa varanda praiana (Ed e o mordomo Colin), que abre para a praia (território exclusivo de Paul, às vezes invadido por intrusos). E durante toda a primeira parte esses são os únicos cenários.
A varanda é como um mirante/platéia de onde se pode observar a paisagem humana, o que pode ser tomado como uma representação do voyeurismo de Warhol. Ela é ocupada inicialmente apenas por Hood, o único observer. Um dos mais engraçados do filme, ele solta o tempo inteiro pérolas como "eles começam machões, depois pintam o cabelo e logo estão usando vestidos".
Mas sua posição privilegiada não dura muito tempo - rapidamente a vizinha/rival, Genevieve, se junta a ele. Mal resolvida sexualmente e mimada, ela adora roubar os garotos que Ed leva à praia pelo puro prazer da auto-afirmação.
Como se não bastasse, Sugar Plum Fairy (Fada do Açúcar/risinhos na platéia), que é o primeiro a invadir o território de Paul, se junta ao grupo na varanda.
Ele é a melhor personagem do filme, certamente, e, depois de muitos diálogos engraçados e uns pegas num baseado, os três apostam sobre quem se dará melhor na tentativa de sedução. Genevieve é a primeira a tentar, indo até o garoto, passando bronzeador nas suas costas e entrando no mar com ele. Temos também um casal se pegando na areia, sem nenhuma explicação. Parecem também interessados na beldade loira.
Num corte brusco, tem início a segunda parte do filme, toda filmada com uma câmera estática num claustrofóbico banheiro.
Sugar Plum e Paul estão saindo de um banho e fazem a barba enquanto o primeiro tenta convencer o jovem a ficar com ele que, sendo um michê experiente, pode lhe passar vários contatos. A melhor cena de todas.
Depois de Plum é a vez de Genev e Ed tentarem, propondo variações no quesito dinheiro e status. No final, uma segunda garota, jamais vista até então, também se oferece e o filme termina assim, do nada.
Não sabemos o que acontece. Para os fãs, não faz a menor diferença.
GOSSIP:
Além dos ovos mexidos com LSD que foram servidos por Sugar Plum a 'equipe', outra curiosidade é que My Hustler deveria ser terminado numa próxima visita a Fire Island. Mas eles deixaram a casa num estado tão lamentável que o dono nunca permitiu que eles voltassem.
Mais uma. Paul América era amante de Edie Sedgwick nessa época. Ele participa da primeira fase de Ciao Manhattan, onde num dos trechos ela confessa "Paul is such a strange, zombielike guru. I hate him, but I have this strange fascination, this kind of love and sexual addiction for him. I remember on the way to the Cloisters... poking up speed in the car. I saw him like some vision of a Martian... somebody from outerspace. Maybe it was because he took so much acid that he had this strange alienation from the human race. I'm not sure what attracted me to him unless it was a kind of admiration brought about by the drugs which I was so heavily innundated by. But that morning at the Cloisters was truly beautiful. It was great."


I, a Man, Andy Warhol, 1967: Um filme prateado que se passa basicamente na escadaria do prédio da Factory, com a Nico "Heroin", Ingrid "Amphetamine" Superstar, Ivy "Speedy" Nicholson e Valerie (o que dizer da louca) Solanas. É mais ou menos como todos os flmes do Warhol, mudam as pessoas e os cenários. A receita: dê um monte de drogas para seus amigos bonitos, coloque um intruso no meio deles e comece a filmar. E como em todos os filmes do Warhol, melhor ainda são as lendas. Então vamos a elas: o ator principal, único personagem masculino, era para ser o Jim Morrison, mas como seu agente proibiu o cantor passou o papel para seu melhor amigo. A Nico disse que sem o Morrison não faria, mas fez e está triste e linda em todas as cenas.


Lonesome Cowboys, Andy Warhol, 1969: Esse é um pouco diferente dos outros - colorido e mais técnico - mas ainda gay, drogado e hilário. Uma versão faroeste de Romeu e Julieta, com a Viva como a única garota (pelo menos de verdade) sem blusa ou de vestidão colonial e um monte de meninos lindos sendo gays gays gays. A lenda do filme é muito grande e estou com preguiça, mas posso dizer que a Warhol era tão má as vezes.


Flaming Creatures, Jack Smith, 1963: Antes da Warhol pensar em fazer filmes gays, para a alegria gay de NYC tinha a sua amiga Jack Smith, que ia ainda mais fundo nessa coisa gay arte. Flaming Creatures é o filme bizarro mais lindo que já vi, obra prima, clássico absoluto do cinema underground, imperdível, todas as exclamações do mundo e histerias que não têm fim. Ah, alguém avisa a Mario Montez!


Nico Icon, Susanne Ofteringer, 1995: Documentário super bem feito, fundamental para qualquer fã. O John Cale amava mesmo a Nico.. chuif. É ele quem dá o depoimento mais bonito e no final ainda faz uma homenagem de arrepiar. Claro que os corações sensíveis vão chorar até.


Pull My Daisy, Robert Frank mon amour, 1959: Escrito e protagonizado por Jack Kerouac e fotografado pelo Robert fuKING Frank. Com Allen Ginsberg, Gregory Corso e etc. Afe, afe, afe... Morri!
+
posted by sister ray 6:16 PM

We will fall

Tonight
I'll hold myself tight
I won't fight, I won't fight
Then I whisper to me
Then I whisper to me
Then I'll lay right down
And I'll lay right down
On my back
On my bed
In my hotel
And I'll be in love

Well, all night, all night
And in the mornin' I'll be ready
To see you, to see you
Don't forget to come
Room 121
Don't forget to come
I'll be shakin' I'll be tremblin'
I'll be happy, I'll be weak
And l'll love you, and l'll love you
And we'll fall to sleep
We'll fall to sleep
Six o'clock, dong, dong
Real far, real far
Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye
- Iggy & the Stooges
posted by sister ray 12:50 PM

Doctor Benway! Dr. Feelgood! Dktr Faustus!

Inspire. Respire. Escute The Story of Them repetidamente. Tente manter o pulso, a calma, a respiração e os batimentos cardíacos. Enfermeira!
posted by sister ray 1:01 PM

Stones in the park

Hyde Park, Londres, 5 de julho de 1969, "A Concert To Brian Jones". Um dos 5 shows que eu morreria para ter estado. Chorei na primeira vez que vi. Na segunda. E na terceira, agorinha mesmo.


I weep for Adonais -he is dead!
O, weep for Adonais! though our tears
Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!
And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years
To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers,
And teach them thine own sorrow, say: "With me
Died Adonais; till the Future dares
Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be
An echo and a light unto eternity!"

Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay,
When thy Son lay, pierced by the shaft which flies
In darkness? where was lorn Urania
When Adonais died? With veiled eyes,
Mid listening Echoes, in her Paradise
She sate, while one, with soft enamoured breath,
Rekindled all the fading melodies
With which, like flowers that mock the corse beneath,
He had adorned and hid the coming bulk of death.

O, weep for Adonais -he is dead!
Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep!
Yet wherefore? Quench within their burning bed
Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep
Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep;
For he is gone, where all things wise and fair
Descend; -oh, dream not that the amorous Deep
Will yet restore him to the vital air;
Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair.

Most musical of mourners, weep again!
Lament anew, Urania! -He died,
Who was the Sire of an immortal strain,
Blind, old, and lonely, when his country's pride,
The priest, the slave, and the liberticide
Trampled and mocked with many a loathed rite
Of lust and blood; he went, unterrified,
Into the gulf of death; but his clear Sprite
Yet reigns o'er earth; the third among the sons of light.

Most musical of mourners, weep anew!
Not all to that bright station dared to climb;
And happier they their happiness who knew,
Whose tapers yet burn through that night of time
In which suns perished; others more sublime,
Struck by the envious wrath of man or god,
Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime;
And some yet live, treading the thorny road
Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame's serene abode.

But now, thy youngest, dearest one, has perished -
The nursling of thy widowhood, who grew,
Like a pale flower by some sad maiden cherished,
And fed with true-love tears, instead of dew;
Most musical of mourners, weep anew!
Thy extreme hope, the loveliest and the last,
The bloom, whose petals nipped before they blew
Died on the promise of the fruit, is waste;
The broken lily lies -the storm is overpast.

To that high Capital, where kingly Death
Keeps his pale court in beauty and decay,
He came; and bought, with price of purest breath,
A grave among the eternal. -Come away!
Haste, while the vault of blue Italian day
Is yet his fitting charnel-roof! while still
He lies, as if in dewy sleep he lay;
Awake him not! surely he takes his fill
Of deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill.

He will awake no more, oh, never more! -
Within the twilight chamber spreads apace
The shadow of white Death, and at the door
Invisible Corruption waits to trace
His extreme way to her dim dwelling-place;
The eternal Hunger sits, but pity and awe
Soothe her pale rage, nor dares she to deface
So fair a prey, till darkness, and the law
Of change, shall o'er his sleep the mortal curtain draw.

O, weep for Adonais! -The quick Dreams,
The passion-winged Ministers of thought,
Who were his flocks, whom near the living streams
Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught
The love which was its music, wander not, -
Wander no more, from kindling brain to brain,
But droop there, whence they sprung; and mourn their lot
Round the cold heart, where, after their sweet pain,
They ne'er will gather strength, or find a home again.

And one with trembling hands clasps his cold head,
And fans him with her moonlight wings, and cries,
"Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead;
See, on the silken fringe of his faint eyes,
Like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies
A tear some Dream has loosened from his brain."
Lost Angel of a ruined Paradise!
She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain
She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain.

One from a lucid urn of starry dew
Washed his light limbs as if embalming them;
Another clipped her profuse locks, and threw
The wreath upon him, like an anadem,
Which frozen tears instead of pearls begem;
Another in her wilful grief would break
Her bow and winged reeds, as if to stem
A greater loss with one which was more weak;
And dull the barbed fire against his frozen cheek.

Another Splendour on his mouth alit,
That mouth, whence it was wont to draw the breath
Which gave it strength to pierce the guarded wit,
And pass into the panting heart beneath
With lightning and with music: the damp death
Quenched its caress upon his icy lips;
And, as a dying meteor stains a wreath
Of moonlight vapour, which the cold night clips,
It flushed through his pale limbs, and passed to its eclipse.

And others came... Desires and Adorations,
Winged Persuasions and veiled Destinies,
Splendours, and Glooms, and glimmering Incarnations
Of hopes and fears, and twilight Phantasies;
And Sorrow, with her family of Sighs,
And Pleasure, blind with tears, led by the gleam
Of her own dying smile instead of eyes,
Came in slow pomp; -the moving pomp might seem
Like pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream.

All he had loved, and moulded into thought,
From shape, and hue, and odour, and sweet sound,
Lamented Adonais. Morning sought
Her eastern watch-tower, and her hair unbound,
Wet with the tears which should adorn the ground,
Dimmed the aereal eyes that kindle day;
Afar the melancholy thunder moaned,
Pale Ocean in unquiet slumber lay,
And the wild Winds flew round, sobbing in their dismay.

Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains,
And feeds her grief with his remembered lay,
And will no more reply to winds or fountains,
Or amorous birds perched on the young green spray,
Or herdsman's horn, or bell at closing day;
Since she can mimic not his lips, more dear
Than those for whose disdain she pined away
Into a shadow of all sounds: -a drear
Murmur, between their songs, is all the woodmen hear.

Grief made the young Spring wild, and she threw down
Her kindling buds, as if she Autumn were,
Or they dead leaves; since her delight is flown,
For whom should she have waked the sullen year?
To Phoebus was not Hyacinth so dear
Nor to himself Narcissus, as to both
Thou, Adonais: wan they stand and sere
Amid the faint companions of their youth,
With dew all turned to tears; odour, to sighing ruth.

Thy spirit's sister, the lorn nightingale
Mourns not her mate with such melodious pain;
Not so the eagle, who like thee could scale
Heaven, and could nourish in the sun's domain
Her mighty youth with morning, doth complain,
Soaring and screaming round her empty nest,
As Albion wails for thee: the curse of Cain
Light on his head who pierced thy innocent breast,
And scared the angel soul that was its earthly guest!

Ah, woe is me! Winter is come and gone,
But grief returns with the revolving year;
The airs and streams renew their joyous tone;
The ants, the bees, the swallows reappear;
Fresh leaves and flowers deck the dead Season's bier;
The amorous birds now pair in every brake,
And build their mossy homes in field and brere;
And the green lizard, and the golden snake,
Like unimprisoned flames, out of their trance awake.

Through wood and stream and field and hill and Ocean
A quickening life from the Earth's heart has burst
As it has ever done, with change and motion,
From the great morning of the world when first
God dawned on Chaos; in its stream immersed,
The lamps of Heaven flash with a softer light;
All baser things pant with life's sacred thirst;
Diffuse themselves; and spend in love's delight
The beauty and the joy of their renewed might.

The leprous corpse, touched by this spirit tender,
Exhales itself in flowers of gentle breath;
Like incarnations of the stars, when splendour
Is changed to fragrance, they illumine death
And mock the merry worm that wakes beneath;
Nought we know, dies. Shall that alone which knows
Be as a sword consumed before the sheath
By sightless lightning? -the intense atom glows
A moment, then is quenched in a most cold repose.

Alas! that all we loved of him should be,
But for our grief, as if it had not been,
And grief itself be mortal! Woe is me!
Whence are we, and why are we? of what scene
The actors or spectators? Great and mean
Meet massed in death, who lends what life must borrow.
As long as skies are blue, and fields are green,
Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow,
Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow.

He will awake no more, oh, never more!
"Wake thou," cried Misery, "childless Mother, rise
Out of thy sleep, and slake, in thy heart's core,
A wound more fierce than his with tears and sighs."
And all the Dreams that watched Urania's eyes,
And all the Echoes whom their sister's song
Had held in holy silence, cried: "Arise!"
Swift as a Thought by the snake Memory stung,
From her ambrosial rest the fading Splendour sprung.

She rose like an autumnal Night, that springs
Our of the East, and follows wild and drear
The golden Day, which, on eternal wings,
Even as a ghost abandoning a bier,
Had left the Earth a corpse. Sorrow and fear
So struck, so roused, so rapt Urania;
So saddened round her like an atmosphere
Of stormy mist; so swept her on her way
Even to the mournful place where Adonais lay.

Our of her secret Paradise she sped,
Through camps and cities rough with stone, and steel,
And human hearts, which to her aery tread
Yielding not, wounded the invisible
Palms of her tender feet where'er they fell:
And barbed tongues, and thoughts more sharp than they,
Rent the soft Form they never could repel,
Whose sacred blood, like the young tears of May,
Paved with eternal flowers that undeserving way.

In the death-chamber for a moment Death,
Shamed by the presence of that living Might,
Blushed to annihilation, and the breath
Revisited those lips, and Life's pale light
Flashed through those limbs, so late her dear delight.
"Leave me not wild and drear and comfortless,
As silent lightning leaves the starless night!
Leave me not!" cried Urania: her distress
Roused Death: Death rose and smiled, and met her vain caress.

"'Stay yet awhile! speak to me once again;
Kiss me, so long but as a kiss may live;
And in my heartless breast and burning brain
That word, that kiss, shall all thoughts else survive,
With food of saddest memory kept alive,
Now thou art dead, as if it were a part
Of thee, my Adonais! I would give
All that I am to be as thou now art!
But I am chained to Time, and cannot thence depart!

"O gentle child, beautiful as thou wert,
Why didst thou leave the trodden paths of men
Too soon, and with weak hands though mighty heart
Dare the unpastured dragon in his den?
Defenceless as thou wert, oh, where was then
Wisdom the mirrored shield, or scorn the spear?
Or hadst thou waited the full cycle, when
Thy spirit should have filled its crescent sphere,
The monsters of life's waste had fled from thee like deer.

"The herded wolves, bold only to pursue;
The obscene ravens, clamorous o'er the dead;
The vultures to the conqueror's banner true
Who feed where Desolation first has fed,
And whose wings rain contagion; -how they fled,
When, like Apollo, from his golden bow
The Pythian of the age one arrow sped
And smiled! -The spoilers tempt no second blow,
They fawn on the proud feet that spurn them lying low.

"The sun comes forth, and many reptiles spawn;
He sets, and each ephemeral insect then
Is gathered into death without a dawn,
And the immortal stars awake again;
So is it in the world of living men:
A godlike mind soars forth, in its delight
Making earth bare and veiling heaven, and when
It sinks, the swarms that dimmed or shared its light
Leave to its kindred lamps the spirit's awful night."

Thus ceased she: and the mountain shepherds came,
Their garlands sere, their magic mantles rent;
The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame
Over his living head like Heaven is bent,
An early but enduring monument,
Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song
In sorrow; from her wilds Irene sent
The sweetest lyrist of her saddest wrong,
And Love taught Grief to fall like music from his tongue.

Midst others of less note, came one frail Form,
A phantom among men; companionless
As the last cloud of an expiring storm
Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess,
Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness,
Actaeon-like, and now he fled astray
With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness,
And his own thoughts, along that rugged way,
Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their prey.

A pardlike Spirit beautiful and swift -
A Love in desolation masked; -a Power
Girt round with weakness; -it can scarce uplift
The weight of the superincumbent hour;
It is a dying lamp, a falling shower,
A breaking billow; -even whilst we speak
Is it not broken? On the withering flower
The killing sun smiles brightly: on a cheek
The life can burn in blood, even while the heart may break.

His head was bound with pansies overblown,
And faded violets, white, and pied, and blue;
And a light spear topped with a cypress cone,
Round whose rude shaft dark ivy-tresses grew
Yet dripping with the forest's noonday dew,
Vibrated, as the ever-beating heart
Shook the weak hand that grasped it; of that crew
He came the last, neglected and apart;
A herd-abandoned deer struck by the hunter's dart.

All stood aloof, and at his partial moan
Smiled through their tears; well knew that gentle band
Who in another's fate now wept his own,
As in the accents of an unknown land
He sung new sorrow; sad Urania scanned
The Stranger's mien, and murmured: "Who art thou?"
He answered not, but with a sudden hand
Made bare his branded and ensanguined brow,
Which was like Cain's or Christ's -oh! that it should be so!

What softer voice is hushed over the dead?
Athwart what brow is that dark mantle thrown?
What form leans sadly o'er the white death-bed,
In mockery of monumental stone,
The heavy heart heaving without a moan?
If it be He, who, gentlest of the wise,
Taught, soothed, loved, honoured the departed one,
Let me not vex, with inharmonious sighs,
The silence of that heart's accepted sacrifice.

Our Adonais has drunk poison -oh!
What deaf and viperous murderer could crown
Life's early cup with such a draught of woe?
The nameless worm would now itself disown:
It felt, yet could escape, the magic tone
Whose prelude held all envy, hate, and wrong,
But what was howling in one breast alone,
Silent with expectation of the song,
Whose master's hand is cold, whose silver lyre unstrung.

Live thou, whose infamy is not thy fame!
Live! fear no heavier chastisement from me,
Thou noteless blot on a remembered name!
But be thyself, and know thyself to be!
And ever at thy season be thou free
To spill the venom when thy fangs o'erflow:
Remorse and Self-contempt shall cling to thee;
Hot Shame shall burn upon thy secret brow,
And like a beaten hound tremble thou shalt -as now.

Nor let us weep that our delight is fled
Far from these carrion kites that scream below;
He wakes or sleeps with the enduring dead;
Thou canst not soar where he is sitting now -
Dust to the dust! but the pure spirit shall flow
Back to the burning fountain whence it came,
A portion of the Eternal, which must glow
Through time and change, unquenchably the same,
Whilst thy cold embers choke the sordid hearth of shame.

Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep -
He hath awakened from the dream of life -
'Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep
With phantoms an unprofitable strife,
And in mad trance, strike with our spirit's knife
Invulnerable nothings. -We decay
Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief
Convulse us and consume us day by day,
And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.

He has outsoared the shadow of our night;
Envy and calumny and hate and pain,
And that unrest which men miscall delight,
Can touch him not and torture not again;
From the contagion of the world's slow stain
He is secure, and now can never mourn
A heart grown cold, a head grown grey in vain;
Nor, when the spirit's self has ceased to burn,
With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn.

He lives, he wakes -'tis Death is dead, not he;
Mourn not for Adonais. -Thou young Dawn,
Turn all thy dew to splendour, for from thee
The spirit thou lamentest is not gone;
Ye caverns and ye forests, cease to moan!
Cease, ye faint flowers and fountains, and thou Air
Which like a mourning veil thy scarf hadst thrown
O'er the abandoned Earth, now leave it bare
Even to the joyous stars which smile on its despair!

He is made one with Nature: there is heard
His voice in all her music, from the moan
Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird;
He is a presence to be felt and known
In darkness and in light, from herb and stone,
Spreading itself where'er that Power may move
Which has withdrawn his being to its own;
Which wields the world with never-wearied love,
Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.

He is a portion of the loveliness
Which once he made more lovely: he doth bear
His part, while the one Spirit's plastic stress
Sweeps through the dull dense world, compelling there
All new successions to the forms they wear;
Torturing th' unwilling dross that checks its flight
To its own likeness, as each mass may bear;
And bursting in its beauty and its might
From trees and beasts and men into the Heavens' light.

The splendours of the firmament of time
May be eclipsed, but are extinguished not;
Like stars to their appointed height they climb,
And death is a low mist which cannot blot
The brightness it may veil. When lofty thought
Lifts a young heart above its mortal lair,
And love and life contend in it, for what
Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there
And move like winds of light on dark and stormy air.

The inheritors of unfulfilled renown
Rose from their thrones, built beyond mortal thought,
Far in the Unapparent. Chatterton
Rose pale, -his solemn agony had not
Yet faded from him; Sidney, as he fought
And as he fell and as he lived and loved
Sublimely mild, a Spirit without spot,
Arose; and Lucan, by his death approved:
Oblivion as they rose shrank like a thing reproved.

And many more, whose names on Earth are dark,
But whose transmitted effluence cannot die
So long as fire outlives the parent spark,
Rose, robed in dazzling immortality.
"Thou art become as one of us," they cry,
"It was for thee yon kingless sphere has long
Swung blind in unascended majesty,
Silent alone amid an Heaven of Song.
Assume thy winged throne, thou Vesper of our throng!"

Who mourns for Adonais? Oh, come forth,
Fond wretch! and know thyself and him aright.
Clasp with thy panting soul the pendulous Earth;
As from a centre, dart thy spirit's light
Beyond all worlds, until its spacious might
Satiate the void circumference: then shrink
Even to a point within our day and night;
And keep thy heart light lest it make thee sink
When hope has kindled hope, and lured thee to the brink.

Or go to Rome, which is the sepulchre,
Oh, not of him, but of our joy: 'tis nought
That ages, empires, and religions there
Lie buried in the ravage they have wrought;
For such as he can lend, -they borrow not
Glory from those who made the world their prey;
And he is gathered to the kings of thought
Who waged contention with their time's decay,
And of the past are all that cannot pass away
(...)
posted by sister ray 12:28 AM

(...)
Go thou to Rome, -at once the Paradise,
The grave, the city, and the wilderness;
And where its wrecks like shattered mountains rise,
And flowering weeds, and fragrant copses dress
The bones of Desolation's nakedness
Pass, till the spirit of the spot shall lead
Thy footsteps to a slope of green access
Where, like an infant's smile, over the dead
A light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread;

And grey walls moulder round, on which dull Time
Feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand;
And one keen pyramid with wedge sublime,
Pavilioning the dust of him who planned
This refuge for his memory, doth stand
Like flame transformed to marble; and beneath,
A field is spread, on which a newer band
Have pitched in Heaven's smile their camp of death,
Welcoming him we lose with scarce extinguished breath.

Here pause: these graves are all too young as yet
To have outgrown the sorrow which consigned
Its charge to each; and if the seal is set,
Here, on one fountain of a mourning mind,
Break it not thou! too surely shalt thou find
Thine own well full, if thou returnest home,
Of tears and gall. From the world's bitter wind
Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb.
What Adonais is, why fear we to become?

The One remains, the many change and pass;
Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's shadows fly;
Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,
Stains the white radiance of Eternity,
Until Death tramples it to fragments. -Die,
If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek!
Follow where all is fled! -Rome's azure sky,
Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak
The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak.

Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart?
Thy hopes are gone before: from all things here
They have departed; thou shouldst now depart!
A light is passed from the revolving year,
And man, and woman; and what still is dear
Attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither.
The soft sky smiles, -the low wind whispers near:
'Tis Adonais calls! oh, hasten thither,
No more let Life divide what Death can join together.

That Light whose smile kindles the Universe,
That Beauty in which all things work and move,
That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse
Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love
Which through the web of being blindly wove
By man and beast and earth and air and sea,
Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of
The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me,
Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.

The breath whose might I have invoked in song
Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven
Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng
Whose sails were never to the tempest given;
The massy earth and sphered skies are riven!
I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar;
Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of Heaven,
The soul of Adonais, like a star,
Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.
- Percy Bysshe Shelley, Adonais
posted by sister ray 12:12 AM