god

…some dreams are destined to become the ephemeral, transient, fleeting, angels of the imagination, or fragile, brittle, creatures of clay…

Not all seraphs effloresce into beautiful flying colour; some may fly but fall earthbound from heaven – the filthy offspring of rotting flesh cast to the wind…

this song is in progress.

DREAM BIG or DONT DREAM AT ALL

2005

after spending time at the docks and at the historic pub in the valley:

” I asked Davey to come and cut my lawn, but he never blaady did it. It was 6 feet high – he said a chinaman used his lawnomower to hang himself between the boats…”

All the bars are drunk right dry
like Napoleon came here to die
with a sacred codex that ever ry body else..er seems. to… know
pour yaself another bourbon and wait until-a timeball comes down
old ghosts’ll dance the rattlebones in prsion cells across the town
beneath the chapels that falling down
we all fall down

But that was back in `69, when the Queen of Bath went down the sink
Mack says “yowa goddamned liar” and then storms outside to think
but back in the bar with a cluster of stars  he had stolen from the trinket sky
“Never turn your back on a drink” says Mack, but we all know that hes’s a lie

IN walks the local providore, who’s brought his cross to bear,
And drags behind a broken anchor; a sextant and a rusty square,
where rusty hulls of dying fleets are drowning in the Irish bar,
the guitar maker plays the barb wire whilst speaking to his guitar.

silent russian sailors are drinking poison in the seafront hotel
the flaking paint dolls head lampshades glimmer for a different clientele
gramaphonic histories from
broken trombones groan their mysteries
to the people that know me well

I didn’t see the time fall, didn’t hear the midshipman’s bell.

2006

Let not your heart
be so sad baby
jesus gonna meet me in the air

meet me in the air, air
you know my time is soon
meet me in the air
we’ll meet behind the moon

i been trying to reach you baby
in the mountains and the sky
in the distant echo of my memory
it’s no shame for you to cry

meet me in the air
you know my time int long
meet me in the air, maybe
soon I will be gone

upon the clouds, upon a white horse shining
steadfast, faithful and true
eyes aflame and with a head of many crowns
and with a name that no-one knew

met me in the air
you know my time is gone
meet me in the air air baby
you know my time is gone

In `06, out on the plains a second hand bookseller with a good collection of religious pamphlets, guides, and other ephemera  immediately struck upon a small azure blue pamphlet, nothing heavy like the apocrypha – a New Testament piece. When the cover opened, apposite to the frontispiece, etched in the dark blue ink of a fountain pen a handwritten note became the inspiration for this song.

The Decade from Hell is drawing to a close…

…this one has been an indictment of humanity, and one that cast a curse across the death of the American dream and the end of the American century before it. One in which they dug up the fathers of freedom and the ideals of liberty and justice, made of them straw martyrs; soaked in the oil and blood of heroes, innocents, war and greed; lay them out to burn for all of us to witness. God bless the American corpse. The Devil take the warmongers, the banks, the silent few…

Some people believe the Ouija board, the talking board, is a simple toy, and some consider them to be highly dangerous objects, capable of opening holes in the fabric of space and time, communicating with Daemons and Elementals. I`ve been working on the Prince of Cats;

those Eyes that never left the ground, no-one made a single sound;
around the sullen faces, maudlin like the poems of inarticulate men staring;
the skeleton people with tight yellow skin. sleepin` all day, on heroin, the neighbours only found him
aft’ the buzzards fill’d the sky.

ONE day the ground is gonna swallow you up - cause in the tear blown eyes of god
you aint nothing but dust,

so sing a sad sad song, if you aint got long,
so sing a sad sad song,if you aint got long

I watched you break the furniture, watched you cut the pillows, the french flags in tatters,
the guns from your battles warm & beating lazily beside you, your head in the stream…

sing a sad, sad song, so sing a sad sad song, if you aint got long,
so sing a sad sad song, if you aint got long

frosted glass and crystal pendants hang about her, and guilty men leave the graves of their fathers
on mentholatum painkillers are stringing up the children…
and pouring kerosene in your singing eyes because one day the ground’s gonna swallow you up

so sing a sad sad song, if you aint got long,
so sing a sad sad song, if you aint got long

Desolation angels everywhere….I’m on the road, thank god for freedom; after the sting of disappointment and the hard earthquake work of a tectonic shift is gone comes the mellifluous colour-tones and taste of time, motion; mountain, river and ocean, vision and celebration, dedication and devotion.

Be the water – you cant stay in one place too long but unlike the million raindrops falling on the glass around you  – avoid the path of least resistance. Take the difficult road and be prepared to die for what you believe in…risk everything to complete your vision…just to write and breathe; songs, messages, art that eat worlds…

_{[I will not reduce my music to soundbites; will not compromise; will continue to self doubt; will continue with fits of madness; will do what I want and when; will believe, trust and exist within the great spirit; will learn to accept the daemon; will re-purpose the music altruistically; will not rest; will be patient; will make mistakes; will enjoy the journey; will fight fire with fire & I will burn in hell for it all sooner or later....]}

I’m off the road temporarily;  and, beautiful as it is, the city seems wholly a vestibule of atypical middle class anglo-XXXXXXXX  aspiration and all the dysfunctional bullshit that people THINK goes with it. All the bullshit that will kill your soul, tie you down and really limit your consciousness.

Religious people have told me that this is a music of god and called me to play in their church. They are right but Amerindian pantheism, paganism and the church of biosphere is more important to me than allegiance to some mere singular “god” – or vain organised form of deceit – Maybe its all imagined in the solipsistic mind of god – we`re just a part of the universe, emboldened enough to consider self, although more than mere particles held together electrically, an experience – I don`t want to be their damnéd messenger.

Another weekend of recording & mixing is fast approaching – we`re looking to retrack and track as much as possible – songs we tracked a few months back with a plank of a guitar prior to our involvement with Mojo Sound in Wellington.

Well, its a dirty old world we live in and music is dirty business that`s for sure.  Is it possible to separate your art and your integrity, your ego and your conscience from the business of your product?

Sure. There`s no product without a business model or a channel behind it. Similarly there`s no revolution without subscribers to it`s system of belief or even it`s system of belief marketing. [click to continue...]

another 2005 song but conjured up from the south island wilderness, out there somewhere in the gold country…again, was recorded into a cheap camera, off the cuff one afternoon – I was living on a friends floor for a while.

There`s no focus upon quality, production value or even delivery here, just making a recording from emotional and metaphysical experiences out in the wilderness, travelling light, living in a van, on the road.

the river became central to my experience…at the end of my time, the mother of pearl crucifix I wore around my neck for a decade had cracked and broken – on my last journey through the gorge cast my crucifix into the waters …When I came back into the countryside the following year,  the river welcomed me in high flood, submerging islands, wreaking havoc. I was inspired by true tales – real lives. sometimes anger and the devil will blind and trick you; choose the way of the gun and a vengeful Miltonic god or cast yourself asunder, through the tides.

n’

_{Last time I was in London I attended a party replete with goldfish bowls in the stairwells, famous chef, name dj and a stunning view of Tower Bridge, the Gherkin and the Eye. It was pretty good and the champagne was flowing. I also attended a business meeting in the West End. I arrived at around 12 and left at four. We made our way to the Tube/Underground afterwards to say farewell. As I stood within a maelstrom of bodies pouring in and out the entrance to the Underground I realised with complete acuity that if I had expired and fallen to the floor no-one would have paid the blindest bit of notice at all.}Version:1.0 StartHTML:0000000186 EndHTML:0000043111 StartFragment:0000002570 EndFragment:0000043075

The architecture of destiny 2005

The conversation thus ignored flies on up towards the yellow ceiling

Cant decipher being bored, cant decode this desperate feeling

Whilst the truth fights the trash on the garage floor

Between the rotten old chairs and the broke down doors

And the rusty old cars, that rot out on the lawn

And I just don’t care

Really I don’t anymore

You say we`re all equal but some more equal than others

Who does the judging and as your god discovers

Your history is all lies and all your truths are whores

Call all your prophets, call your disciples call them to your cause

Your suffering fathers and all your surrogate mothers

To wash all your dishes and sort out the cupboards

The kids start to fight and the rain beats the shutters

Theres a howling in the wind for Jacqueline, but she only mutters,

Strange cries in the kitchen the antenna just stutters

Smoke ourselves to death outside whilst the rain fills the gutters…

And of course you`re just so, over it all, and you say I don’t give nothing

back at all

Oh mercy me, bad luck designed

Oh mercy me, bad luck design, my destiny

Three sisters in the distance their resistance fills my eyes

They fight the amber rain, whilst silently we drive

Im waiting at the station for the future to arrive

In this desperate situation the conversation… slowly dries

There`s Jesus at the crossroads hanging out to dry

Abandoned by his god baptized in thorns and lies

And even that kids got something to say

When the arguments don’t go your way

Its okay I`ll leave all my faults here at the door

You can stamp them all out as they creep across the floor

Guess it`s just a change youre going through, guess its got something

to do with the moon

Oh mercy me bad luck designed         

Oh mercy me bad luck design

I think the house is talking to me, asking me to leave

You fucking friends who hang around are just old buildings falling down…

Falling down.

In november `08 three years later I went down to the studio to cut a guide track and see if I could make it through the song:

Architecture of Destiny guide track

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… I could write a million acerbic verses…..