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ARTEMIS
by Gerard Nerval
La Treizieme revient...C'est encor la premiere:
Et c'est toujours la seule, - ou c'est le seul moment;
Car es-tu reine, o toi! La premiere ou derniere?
Es-tu roi, toi le seul ou le dernier amant?...
Aimez qui vous aima du berceau dans la biere;
Celle que j'aimai seul m'aime encor tendrement:
C'est la mort - ou la morte...O delice! o tourment!
Las rose qu'elle tient, c'est Rose tremiere.
Sainte napolitaine aux mains pleines de feux,
Rose au coeur voilet, fleur de sainte Gudule:
As-tu trouve ta croix dans le desert des cieux?
Roses blanches, tombez! vous insultez nos dieux,
Tombez, fantomes blancs, de votre ciel qui brule:
- Las sainte de l'abime est plus sainte a mes yeux!
music
by Diamanda Galas
BIRDS
OF DEATH
Comes the night
comes the cold
comes the face
of the one I love
I see the birds
upon the rock
the crows that knew your name
and came on time
LIGHTS OUT
LIGHTS OUT
LIGHTS OUT
LIGHTS OUT
I see your eyes
we held your hands
What did you think about
until the angels came
Birds that love you know
what you know now
Could I have stopped them
from holding you down
LIGHTS OUT
LIGHTS OUT
LIGHTS OUT
LIGHTS OUT
Friends and lovers
the night draws near
your eyes don't fool her
who knows your fear
Birds of death
I've seen you all before
Birds of love cry
"This is yours no more!"
LIGHTS OUT
LIGHTS OUT
LIGHTS OUT
LIGHTS OUT
What is the answer
to the waste of 10,000 days?
Your soul is now my destination
until the blackbirds come.
Words and music by
Diamanda Galas (1988)
DOUBLE
BARREL-PRAYER
The dogs have come today
The dogs have come to stay
It's time to get your gun out
And drive the dogs away
They can smell your blood inside
It's too late to go and hide
The dogs are on their way
Prepare yourself today
Glory to God in the highest
and on earth peace to men of good will
We praise thee; we glorify thee
We give thanks to thee for thy great glory
O Lord God, Heavenly King,
God the Father Almighty,
O Lord, the only begotten son, Jesus Christ,
O Lord, Lamb of God, son of the Father
The dogs know when you're sleeping
They know when you're awake
How fast your heart is beating
So be ready, or too late
They'll drag you by the collar
And they'll take you through the town
Your friends can help no longer
Once your ass is on the ground
Thou who takest away the sins of the world,
have mercy upon and receive our prayer
Thou who sittest at the right hand of the Father,
have mercy upon us
For thou art holy,
thou only art the Lord, thou only, Jesus Christ, art most high,
with the holy ghost in the glory of God the Father.
The dogs have come today
The dogs have come to stay
The dogs want you to pay
And this is what I say:
The trick to saying prayers
When the Devil's in the way
Is to help God pull the trigger
On the dogs this Judgment Day
AMEN.
Words and music by Diamanda Galas (1988)
and excerpts from the Gloria Mass
EPISTLE
TO THE TRANSIENTS
by Cesar Vallejo
translated by Clayton Eshleman, Jose Rubia Burcia
I
resume my day of a rabbit,
my night of an elephant in repose.
And, to myself, I say:
this is my immensity in the raw, in jugfuls,
this is my graceful weight, that sought me below to become a bird;
this is my arm
that on its own refused to be a wing,
there are my scriptures,
there my alarmed cullions.
A lugubrious island will illuminate me continental,
while the capitol leans on my intimate collapse
and the lance-filled assembly adjourns my parade.
But when I die
from life and not from time,
when my two suitcases become two,
this will be my stomach in which my lamp fit in pieces,
this that head that atoned for the torments of the circle in my steps,
these those worms that my heart counted one by one,
this will be my solidary body
over which the individual soul is watching; this will be
my navell in which I killed my innate lice,
this my thing thing, my dreadfull thing
Meanwhile, convulsively, harshly,
my bit convalesces,
suffering like I suffer the direct language of the lion:
and, because I have existed between two brick potentates,
I too convalesce, smiling at my lips.
IF
I DIE ON THE BOAT
Zembekiko. Anonymous
Ah, if I die, what will they say? Some fellow died,
A fellow who loved life and enjoyed himself. Aman! Aman!
Ah, if I die on the boat, throw me into the sea,
So that the black fish and the salt water can eat me. Aman! Aman!
JUDGMENT
DAY
To
the saints of New York City, both the living, and the dead
Dead souls rising
Hear our crying
To the Jailers of the Dying:
You shall Hang on Judgment Day.
On that Day
The Dead shall wake thee
Wandering flesh shall all surround thee
To seal your fate on Judgment Day.
Let us call the guilty forward
Hang the sinner, Brand the coward
Let them burn on Judgment Day.
Run, you liars
Fate awaits thee
When your Faces shall expose thee
None can hide on Judgment Day
Join the Paradise of Torture
While we pluck your tongues of murder
Here our laughter Judgment Day
Blood of sinners
Hear our shrieking
Blood of sinners all beseeching:
We shall drink you Judgement Day.
AMAN AMAN
AMAN AMAN
AMAN AMAN
AMAN AMAN
Join the Carnival of Feasting
While the worms your Flesh are waiting
Yes! We shall eat you Judgment Day.
Death defying
Let us gather
Praise the Warrior and Master
HAIL OUR SAINTS ON JUDGMENT DAY.
Words
and music by Diamanda Galas (1992)
LET
MY PEOPLE GO
The Devil has designed my death
and he's waiting to be sure
that plenty of his black sheep die
before he finds a cure.
O Lord Jesus, do you think I've served my time?
The eight legs of the Devil now are crawling up my
spine.
The firm hand of the Devil now
is rocking me to sleep
I force my blind eyes open, Lord
but I'm sinking in the deep.
O Lord Jesus, do you think I've served my time?
The eight legs of the Devil now are crawling up my
spine.
I go to sleep each evening now
dreaming of the grave
and see the friends I used to know
callind out my name.
O Lord Jesus, do you think I've served my time?
The eight legs of the Devil now are crawling up my
spine.
O Lord Jesus, do you think I've served my time?
The eight legs of the Devil now are crawling up my
spine.
O Lord Jesus, here's the news from those below:
The eight legs of the Devil will not let my people go.
Words
and music by Diamanda Galas (1988) and tradicional
LET'S
NOT CHAT ABOUT DESPAIR
You who speak of crowd control, of karma,
or the punishment of god:
Let's not chat about despair.
Do you fear the cages they are building in
Kentucky, Tenessee and Texas
while they're giving ten to forty years to find a cure?
Let's not chat about despair.
Do you pray each evening out of horror or of fear
to the savage God whose bloody hand
commands you now to die alone?
Let's not chat about despair.
Do you taste the presence of the living death
while the skeleton beneath your open window
waits with arms outstretched?
Let's not chat about despair.
Do you spend each night in waiting
for the devil's little angels' cries
to burn you in your sleep?
Let's not chat about despair.
Do you wait for miracles in smoll hotels
with Seconal and Compazine
or for a ticket to the house of death in Amsterdam?
Let's not chat about despair.
Do you wait in prison for the dreadful day
the office of the butcher comes to carry you away?
Let's not chat about despair.
Do you wait for saviours or the paradise to come
in laundry rooms, in toilets, or in cadillacs?
Let's not chat about despair.
Are you crucified beneath the life machines
with a shank inside your neck
and a head which blossoms like a basketball?
Let's not chat about despair.
Do you tremble at the timid steps
of crying, smiling faces who, in mourning,
now have come to pay their last respects?
Let's not chat about despair.
In Kentucky Harry buys a round of beer
to celebrate the death of Billy Smith, the queer,
whose mother still must hide her face in fear.
Let's not chat about despair.
You who mix the words of torture, suicide, and death
with scotch and soda at the bar,
we're all all real decent people, aren't we,
but there's no time left for talk.
Let's not chat about despair.
PLEASE DON'T TALK ABOUT DESPAIR.
MALEDICTION
The arms that you cut off that Sunday night
of the youngman who ran screaming through
the street,
streaming blood in trails of terror,
are the arms that point me to my door,
which forsaken by the blood of Jesus,
invites the Devil, who now waits for me outside.
The arms that you cut off that Sunday night
are the arms that point me to the red eyes
of the pentecostal killers and the black eyes
of the roman catholic killers and the blue eyes
of the pinhead skinhead killers,
and the dirty angel does his target practice night
and day,
making ready now to steal my soul away.
The arms that you cut off that Sunday night
are the arms that wait between my T.V. and my gun,
while the winks and smiles of singing debutantes
and eunuchs whisper,
"We don't want you, Unclean, lying there in vomit,
filth, and perspiration,
coming back with Elvis or with Jesus from the dead."
The arms that you cut off the body
of the screaming youngman
dance before my eyes the endless murder of my soul
which, taunted every hour by open windows,
has kept itself alive with prayer,
but not for miracles,
and not for heaven.
Just for silence
and for mercy
until the end.
words and music by Diamanda Galas (1988)
OPEN
UP, OPEN UP (ANOIXE)
Zembekiko. Papaioanou.
The window shut, bolted, dark.
Why don't you open it, you stubborn girl, so that I can see you?
Open up, open up, I can't bear it any more.
You've tortured me enough.
The hoar-frost has settled - I've been singing to you for hours.
My heart is blazing, but you don't come out and let me look at you.
Poetry
For Power
by Henry Michaux
translation by David Ball
I
AM ROWING
I have cursed your forehead your belly your life
I have cursed the streets your steps plod through
The things your hands pick up
I have cursed the inside of your dreams
I have set a puddle in your eye that can't see any more
An insect in your ear that can't hear any more
A sponge in your brain that can't understand any more
I have frozen you in the soul of your body
Iced you in the depths of your life
The air you breathe suffocates you
The air you breathe has the air of a cellar
Is an air that has already been exhaled
been puffed out by hyenas
The dung of this air is something no one can breathe
Your skin is damp all over
Your skin sweats out waters of great fear
Your armpits reek far and wide of the crypt
Animals stop dead as you pass
Dogs howl at night, their heads raises toward your house
You can't run away
You can't muster the strength of an ant to the tip of your feet
Your fatigue makes a lead stump in your body
Your fatigue stretches out to the country of Nan
Your fatigue is inexpressible
Your mouth bites you
Your nails scratch you
No longer yours, your wife
No longer yours, your brother
The sole of his foot bitten by an angry snake
Someone has slobbered on your descendants
Someone has slobbered on the laugh of your little girl
Someone has walked slobbering by the face of your domain
The world moves away from you
I am rowing
I am rowing
I am rowing against your life
I am rowing
I split into countless rowers
To row more strongly against you
You fall into blurriness
You are out of breath
You get tired befor the slightest effort
I row
I row
I row
You go off drunk, tied to the tail of a mule
Drunkenness like a huge umbrella that darkens the sky
And assembles the flies
Dizzy drunkenness of the semicircular canals
Unnoticed beginnings of hemiplegia
Drunkenness no longer leaves you
Lays you out to the left
Lays you out to the right
Lays you out on the stony ground of the path
I row
I row
I am rowing against your days
You enter the house of suffering
I
row
I row
On a black blindfold your actions are recorded
On the great white eye of a one-eyed horse your
future is rolling
I AM ROWING
Sevda
Zinciri
I put a chain of love on my neck
I set an undistinguishable fire to my bosom
Knowingly, I took the burden on my shoulders
(chorus)
Oh, beloved, you took the word of a stranger
Sleep doesn't come to my eyes
I am a poor man abroad
No one looks at me
Come beloved
I am astonished with you
Come reluctant beloved
I have sacrificed myself to you
You smashed, you crashed the crown of my throne
You, again open my fortune
I became unable to make my sorrow heard by you
SONO
L'ANTICHRISTO
Sono
la prova, I am the token
Sono la salva, I am the salvation
Sono la carne maccllata, I am the butcher’s meat
Sono la sanzione, I am the sanction
Sono il sacrificio, I am the sacrifice
Sono il Rango Nero, I am the Black Spider
Sono il scherno, I am the scourge
Sono la Santa Sede, I am the Holy Fool
Sono l? feci dal Signore, I am the shit of God
Sono lo segno, I am the sign
Sono la pestilenza, I am the plague
Sono l’Antichristo. I am the Antichrist.
THE
DANCE
by
Siamanto (1878-1915) (Atom Yarjanian)
Translated from the Armenian by Shant Norashkharian.
First published in Boston, 1910, by Hairenik Publishers and reprinted in 1979 by
Caravan Books.
And as her tears drowned in her blue eyes,
On a field of ash where Armenian life was still dying,
This is what the witness of our horror, the German woman narrated:
"This story which I tell you and which cannot be told,
I saw with my cruel human eyes,
From the window of my safe house which looked on hell,
Crushing my teeth from my terrible rage...
With my cruelly human eyes I saw .
It was in Garden city, which was turned to a pile of ashes.
The corpses were piled high to the top of the trees,
And from the waters, from the fountains, from the streams, from the roads,
The rebellious murmur of your blood...
Still speaks now its vengeance into my ears...
O, don't be shocked when I tell you this story which cannot be told...
Let men understand the crime of man against man,
Under the sun of two days, on the road to the cemetery
The evil of man against man,
Let all the hearts of the world know...
That morning in death's shadow was a Sunday,
The first and helpless Sunday which rose over the corpses,
When inside my room, from evening to dawn,
Bending over the agony of a girl slashed with a sword,
I was wetting her death with my tears...
Suddenly from afar a black, beastly mob
Brutally whipping the twenty brides who were with them,
Stood in a vineyard singing songs of debauchery.
Leaving the poor dying girl on her mattress,
I approached the balcony of my window which looked on hell...
In the vineyard the black mob became a forest.
A savage roared to the brides: "You must dance,
You must dance when our drum sounds."
And the whips started wildly cracking on the bodies
Of the Armenian women who were missing death...
Twenty brides, hand in hand, started their round dance...
The tears flowed from their eyes like wounds,
Ah, how much I envied my wounded neighbor,
Because I heard, that with a peaceful moan,
Cursing the universe, the poor beautiful Armenian girl,
To her young dove spirit gave wings toward the stars...
In vain I moved my fists against the mob.
"You must dance", roared the furious crowd,
"You must dance until your death, lustfully and lasciviously,
Our eyes are thirsty for your movements and your death..."
The twenty beautiful brides fell to the ground exhausted...
"Stand up", they shrieked, waving their naked swords like snakes...
Then someone brought to the mob a barrel of oil...
O, human justice, let me spit at your forehead...!
They anointed the twenty brides hastily with that liquid...
"You must dance", they roared, "here is a perfume for you which
even Arabia does not have..."
Then they ignited the naked bodies of the brides with a torch,
And the charcoaled corpses rolled from dance to death...
In my terror I closed the shutters of my window like a storm,
And approaching my lonely dead girl I asked:
"How can I dig my eyes out, how can I dig them out, tell me...?"
THE
DESERT verses 1-20
the
diary of Beirut under siege, 1982 by Adonis (Ali Ahmad Said)
english translation by Abdullah al-Udhari
My
era tells me bluntly:
You do not belong.
I answer bluntly:
I do not belong,
I try to understand you.
Now I am a shadow
Lost in the forest
Of a skull
I'm on my feet, the wall is a fence -
The distance shrinks, a window recedes.
Daylight is a thread
Snipped by my lungs to stitch the evening.
All I said about my life and death
Recurs in the silence
Of the stone under my head...
Am I full of contradictions? That is correct.
Now I am a plant. Yesterday, when I was between fire and water
I was a harvest.
Now I am a rose and live coal,
Now I am the sun and the shadow
I am not a god.
Am I full of contradictions? That is correct...
The moon always wears
A stone helmet
To fight its own shadows.
The door of my house is closed.
Darkness is a blanket:
A pale moon comes with
A handful of light
My words fail
To convey my gratitude.
The killing has changed the city's shape - This rock is bone
This smoke people breathing.
We no longer meet,
Rejection and exile keep us apart.
The promises are dead, space is dead,
Death alone has become our meeting point.
He shuts the door
Not to trap his joy
...But to free his grief.
A newscast
About a woman in love
Being killed,
About a boy being kidnapped
And a policeman growing into a wall.
Whatever comes it will be old
So take with you anything other then this madness - get ready
To stay a stranger...
They found people in sacks:
One without a head
One without a tongue or hands
One squashed
The rest without names.
Have you gone mad? Please,
Do not write about these things.
You will see
Say his name
Say I painted his face
Stretch your hand to him
Or walk like any man
Or smile
Or say I was once sad
You will see
There is no homeland...
There may come a time when you'll be
Accepted to live deaf and dumb, and perhaps
They'll let you mumble: death,
Life, resurrection -
And peace be upon you.
He wears Jihad uniform, struts in a mantle of ideas.
A merchant - he does not sell clothes, he sell people.
They took him to a ditch and burnt him.
He was not a murderer, he was a boy.
He was not...
He was a voice
Vibrating, scaling the steps of space.
And now he's fluting in the air.
Darkness.
The earth's trees have become tears on heaven's cheeks.
An eclipse in this place.
Death snapped the city's branch and the friends departed.
You do not die because you are created or because you have a body
You die because you are the face of the future.
The flower that tempted the wind to carry its perfume
Died yesterday.
The sun no longer rises
It covers its feet with straw
And slips away...
THERE
ARE NO MORE TICKETS TO THE FUNERAL (WERE YOU A WITNESS)
Were
you a witness
Were you a witness
And
on that holy day
And on that bloody day
Were
you a witness
Were you a witness
And
on that holy day
And on that bloody day
And on his dying bed he asked me;
"Tell all my friends I was fighting, too."
But to all cowards and voyeurs:
There are no more tickets to the funeral
There are no more tickets to the funeral
Were
you a witness
Were you a witness
And
on that holy day
And on that bloody day
There are no more tickets to the funeral
There are no more tickets to the funeral
The funeral is crowded.
Were
you a witness
Were you a witness
Were
you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they nailed him to the cross?
Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble
Were you there when they crucifed my Lord?
Were
you a witness?
Were
you there when they dragged him to the grave?
Were you there when they dragged him to the grave?
Sometimes it causes me to wonder, wonder
Were you there when they dragged him to the grave?
Were
you a witness?
Were
you there when they laid him in the tomb?
Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?
Sometimes it causes me to wonder, wonder
Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?
And
on that holy day
And on that bloody day
Were you a witness?
SWING SWING SWING
I
looked over Jordan and what did I see
coming for to carry me home
A band of angels coming after me
Coming for to carry me home
Swing
Swing
A
band of Devils! calling ou tmy name
coming for to drag me to the grave
Swing
But
I will not go
And I shall not go
I shall wake up and I shall walk from this room
into the sun
where the dirty angel doesn't run
where the dirty angel cannot go
and brothers in this time of pestilence do know
Each time that we meet we hear another sick man sigh
Each time that we meet we hear another man has dies
And I see Angels Angels: Devils!
Angels Angels: Devils!
Angels Angels: Devils!
Coming for to carry me home.
Swing
Swing
Mr.
Sandman makes filthy bed for me
But I shall not rest
And I will not rest
As a man who has been blinded by the storm
And
waits for angels by the road
while the devil waits for me at night
with knives and smiles
and straps me down
and sings the swing low sweet chariot
of death knells
one by one like a sentence of the damned,
and one by oe they come to warn me
of the perils of resistance,
and one by one of my brothers
die unsung unloves unwanted: Die!
and faster please
we've got no money for extended visits
says the sandman
But
we who have gone before
Do not rest in peace
We who have dies
Shall never rest in peace
Remeber
me?
Unburied I am screaming in the bloody furnaces of hell
And only ask for you
to raise your weary eyes into the sun
until the sun has set
for we who have gone before do not rest in peace
We who have dies
shall never rest in peace
There is no rest
until the fighting's done.
And
I see Angels Angels: Devils!
Angels Angels: Devils!
Angels Angels: Devils!
coming for to drag me to the grave.
Wild
Women with Steaknives
I
commend myself to a death of no importance,
to the amputation of all seeking hands,
pulling, grasping, with the might of nations,
of sirens, in a never ending bloody bliss
to the death of mere savagery
and the birth of pearly, white terror.
Wild women with veins slashed and wombs spread,
singing songs of the death instinct
in voices yet unheard,
praising nothing but the promise of Death on earth,
laughing seas of grinning red, red eyes,
all washed ashore and devoured
by hard and unseeing spiders.
I commend myself to a death beyond all hope of
redemption,
beyond the desire for forgetfulness,
beyond the desire to feel all things at every moment,
But to never forget,
to kill for the sake of killing,
and with a pure and most happy heart,
extoll and redeem Disease.
CRIS
D´AVEUGLE
Cris D’Aveugle par Tristan Corbire
L’ceil
tu? n’est-pas mort
Un coin le fend encor
Enclou?, je suis sans cerceuil
On m’a plant? le clou dans l’ceil
Lceil clou? n’est pas mort
Et le coin entre encor
Deus misericors
Deus misericors
Le marteau bat ma t?te en bois
Le marteau qui fera la croix
Deus misericors
Deus misericors
Les oiseaux croque-morts
Ont donc peur a mon corps
Mon Golgatha n’es pas fini
Lamma lamma sabacthani
Colombes de la Mort
Soiffe apr? mon corps
Rouge, comme un sabord
La plaie est sur le bord
Comme la gencive bavant
D’une vielle qui rit sans dent
La plaie esr sur le bord
Rouge, comme un sabord
Je vois des cercles d’or
Le soleil blanc me mord
J’ai deux trous perc?s par un fer
Rougi dans la forge d’enfer
Je vois un cercle d’or
Le feu d’en haut me mort
Dans la moelle se tord
Une larme qui sort
Je vois dedans le paradis
Miserere de profondis
Dans mon cr?ne se tord
Du souffre en pleur qui sort
Bienheureux le bon mort,
Le mort sauv? qui dort
Heureux les matyrs les ?lus
Avec la Vierge et son J?sus
O bienheureux le mort
Le mort jug? qui dort
Un chevalier dehors
Repose sans remords
Dans le cimeti?re b?nit
Dans sa sieste de granit
L’homme en pri?re dehors
A deux yeux sans sans remords
Ho,je vous sens encor
Landes jaunes d’Armor
Je sens mon rosaire a mes doigts
Et le Christ en os sur le bois
A toi je baye encor,
O ciel defunt d’Armor
Pardon de prier fort
Seigneur, si c’est le sort
Mes yeux deux b?nitiers ardents
Le diable a mis ses doigts dedans
Pardon de crier fort
Seigneur, contre le sort
J’entends le vent du nord
Qui bugle comme un cor
C’est l’hallali des tr?pass?s
J’aboie apr?s mmon tour assex
J’entends le vent du nord
J’entends le glas du cor
text
by Diamanda Galas
Dios, porque me has condendado?
Mavpes apakvuthes!
Lamma sabacthani!
Esta es mi Sangre
Este es mi cuerpo
Estas son mis venas
Estoy siego
Dios, no puedo ver!
Mavpes Apakvuthes!
Lamma sabacthani!
Aves de la muerte
Quiten me la vida!
Lamma lamma
Sabacthani!
CONFESSIONAL
In that house there is no time for Compassion
There is only time for confession
And on his dying bed they asked him
Do you confess?
Do you confess?
And on his dying bed the dirty angels flying over him like buzzards asked him
Do you confess?
Do you confess?
Yes, I con…
Yes, I con…
Do you confess?
Yes, I
Do you?
Do you confess?
Yes, I confess
Yes, I confess
Yes, I confess
When they laugh at the trial of the innocent
Yes I confess
Yes I confess
LET THEM LAUGH AT THE TRIAL OF THE INNOCENT
Swing Swing Swing
Yes, I confess
Yes, I confess
Yes, I confess
GIVE ME SODOMY OR GIVE ME DEATH
DO YOU TAKE THIS MAN?
I'm very disappointed in you
and I don't handle disappointment well
I'd like to say I could forgive you
But I can never forgive; just forget
Now
it would take me ten long years to forget,
That's 12 months of the year
four weeks of the month
and seven days a week
Well that's a very tall order, I got to say--
I don't have that much time to FORGET
That's a whole lot of hard and lonely time
When we could be together
Husband
with this knife
I do you adore
I take you out of ths world baby
with a lot of feeling
and with this feeling I do bestow upon you
all my wordly gifts
Honey
wasn't it beautiful
the lovely time we spent together
It was SERENE
I will never forget you
Long as I live
"Do
you take this man"
Husband,
with this blade
I do you hold
I'll take what's mine
and let the future
keep the rest
Baby,
I take you from this world
to my place
to a place of feeling
where I can love you
and we can be together
God
I'm so grateful to be real with you baby
Lies are for a longer life
and I have got so much to say
Shut up!!!
Shut up!!!
Don't
cry baby
I'm feeling better all the time--I don't
want to be angry, ok? I'm trying not
to do that, ok?
God
I'm so disappointed in you!
Remember that drive
we talked about the wild thing
for 24 hours-7
while the dogs and the coyotes laughed
and the sun went up and down
and your rod went in and out
and the buzzards and the vultures howled:
"Do you take this man?"
It
was summer
It was hot
and you loved me so much
you said "Mama may I take your hand
May I please, mama?"
BITCH! KEEP THOSE BUTTOCKS UP MOMITO!
Come on.
I'm all you need. Be sweet--seriously you know
I need to get in touch with you--
I need to get in touch with the real you
I'm
very disappointed in you
I told you not to run off from me baby
There's nowhere for you to go
There's no one else you need
you knew that
Now
I have to get up off my knees
because I have some shopping to do
I have to think of my reputation
and chump is not my name
this hurts me more than you
so just think of the good times we had together
Im your best friend baby
I really am, and I always will be, too.
I
Wake Up And I See the Face of The Devil…
I wake up and I see the face of the Devil
And I ask him…
What time is it?
What time is it?
What time is it?
And he asks me
How do you feel today?
How do you feel today?
What time is it?
What time is it?
What time is it?
How do you feel today?
What time is it?
How do you feel
How do you feel today?
What time is it?
Well, I think I’m feeling better.
Yes, I think I’m feeling better.
Do you?
Yes, I think I’m feeling better.
What time is it?
How much time do you want?
How much time do you want?
What time is it?
What time is it?
Are you sure you are facing things?
What time is it?
WHITE LIGHTS!
WHITE LIGHTS!
WHITE LIGHTS!
WHITE LIGHTS!
BLACK!
BLACK!
BLACK!
BLACK!
Sister, if I could do it all over again,
I would, but you know there’s something
Unnatural about this thing…
There’s something unnatural about this thing…
How are you?
How are you?
How are you?
How are you?
How are you?
I’m just fine
I’m just fine
I’M JUST FINE, MISS THING
I JUST FEEL LIKE SINGING THE
BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIIC!
HOW ARE YOU, ANYWAY?
GET OUT OF HERE
GET OUT OF HERE
GET OUT OF HERE
GET OUT
GET OUT
Please don’t go
Please don’t go
You are the love of my life
I have never loved anyone like this before
And I never will again
Please don’t go…
HOW
SHALL OUR JUDGEMENT BE CARRIED OUT UPON THE WICKED
Psalms 50:3, 97:3 and text by Diamanda
Galas
How
shall our judgement be carried out upon the wicked?
"By any means necessary"
We shall not keep silent
A fire shall devour before us
A fire shall devour before us
And burn up our enemies round about
Thou shalt not labour in vein
For thou art the true priests of the Lord…
Thou shalt eat the fattest of the devils,
The fattest of the hypocrite,
The fattest of the beast,
And in this glory shall ye boast yourselves,
Welcome to the Holy Day
Welcome to the Holy Day
Revelations
19:11-44 and text by Diamanda Galas
And I saw heaven open
And behold a white horse
And he that be sat upon him
Was called faithful and true
And in Righteousness he doth judge
And make war.
His eyes were as a flame of fire
And on his head were many crowns, and
3,000 of his armies swept down
upon the hypocrite with fearful carnage,
and they were clothed in a venture dipped in Blood.
Welcome to the Holy
Day
Excerpts
from Revelations 16:12-16 and text by Diamanda Galas
And I saw the unclean spirits like frogs,
Come out of the mouth of the dragon
And out of the mouth of the beast
And out of the mouth of the false prophets
And they were the spirits of Devils,
Working false miracles which went forth
Unto the kings of the earth and unto the
Whole world, and the Lord of Armies
Gathered them into battle of that
Great day of God Almighty,
And he gathered his armies into the battle
Of that great day into a place called
Armagedon, and they were clothed in a vesture
Dipped in Blood.
Welcome to the Holy Day
And on that holy day
And on that bloody day
Were you a witness
Were you a witness
Welcome to the Holy Day
LET US PRAISE THE MASTERS OF SLOW DEATH
What Sympathy in Death discloses
We who fester here
Are very much alive
And watch unmanned compassion flee,
To safer zones…
Let us praise the masters of Slow Death…
Hello to the positive think positive connection
Brothers of blood and sisters of compassion
Don’t give up the fight against
The order of the homophobe
The order of the willful blind
The order of the murderer
The order of the impotent
The order of the nazi punk in 1990
Who are you?
Who are you?
Who are you?
Who are you?
Who ever saw their brothers
Disemboweled by a dentist drill
I condemn you
I condemn you
I condemn you
I condemn you
I condemn tonight any guest who came to service
Any guest who comes to service and tells the people
That the master plan has put compassion
In the vestige of the present
You talk about a freak show?
I talk about your no show!
You talk about the unclean?
You talk about your unseen!
I talk about your unseen as the
Killers let us die one by one
And the killers let us die one by one
In the rejuvenation of the white supremist, two bit, and no account
Ejaculation of the mister big man with a small dick
In the society of ass and pussy licking scumbags
While were hammered through this hell
To see the sunrise, to beg and steal
The rich man’s drugs you will not legalize
And the government of genocide won’t subsidize
When will the cure to save the chosen people see our eyes?
When will the cure to save the chosen people materialize?
Brothers of blood, sisters of compassion
We send you alone from the
Positive connection with a positive conviction
That a positive persuasion is inciting persecution
And we encourage retribution to deter the crucifixion
To all cowards and voyeurs:
There are no more tickets to the funeral
There are no more tickets to the funeral
There are no more tickets to the funeral
There are no more tickets to the funeral
To my brothers, don’t isolate
I would like to praise the masters of slow death
Let there be no confusion, it is no delusion
About the brothers living homeless on the streets of New York City
In the gorilla warfare of the present
No government subsidy, no insurance, no sight, and no surgery
No hospitalization, no telephone, no T. V., no teeth and no autopsy
While the impotent and ignorant vote to test and list
While San Francisco General try their switching protocols
Vote to see who lives or dies and smash the renegade at work
While the murderers and liars tell us that the numbers of our dying are too high
While our news demeans us with a hot new drug today and
The greedy business fingers of the willful blind rejoice and
WELCOME ACQUIRED IMMUNE DEFICIANCY
WELCOME ACQUIRED IMMUNE DEFICIANCY
We who fight and cry for a life gone every fifteen minutes say:
ACQUIRED IMMUNE DEFICIANCY IS HOMICIDE
ACQUIRED IMMUNE DEFICIANCY IS HOMICIDE
ACQUIRED IMMUNE DEFICIANCY IS HOMICIDE
SWING LOW SWEET CHARIOT
Chariot
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home
SELF
TORMENTOR
by
Charles Baudelaire
(Taken from Les Fleurs du Mal, translated by Richard Howard)
No
rage, no rancor: I shall beat you
as butchers fell an ox,
as Moses smote the rock in Horeb-
I shall make you weep,
and by the waters of affliction
my desert will be slaked.
My desire, that hope has made monstrous,
will frolic in your tears
as a ship tosses on the ocean-
in my besotted heart
your adorable sobs will echo
like an ecstatic drum.
For I - am I not a dissonance
in the divine accord,
because of the greedy Irony
which infiltrates my soul?
I
hear it in my voice - that shrillness,
that poison in my blood!
I am the sinister glass in which
the Fury sees herself!
I
am the knife and the wound it deals,
I am the slap and the cheek,
I am the wheel and the broken limbs,
hangman and victim both!
I
am the vampire at my own veins,
one of the great lost horde
doomed for the rest of my time, and beyond,
'to laugh - and smile no more'
GLOOMY SUNDAY
Sadly one Sunday
I waited and waited
With flowers in my arms
All the dream has created
I waited 'til dreams,
Like my heart, were all broken
The flowers were all dead
And the words were unspoken
The grief that I know
Was beyond all consoling
The beat of my heart
Was a bell that was tolling
Saddest
of Sundays
Then
came a Sunday
When you came to find me
They bore me to church
And I left you behind me
My eyes could not see
What I wanted to love me
The earth and the flowers
Are forever above me
The bell tolled for me
And the wind whispered, "Never!"
But you I have loved
And I'll bless you forever
Last
of all Sundays
SI LA MUERTE
Si la muerte
viene y pregunta por mi
haga el favor
de decirle que vuelva mañana
que todavia no he cancelado mis deudas
ni he terminado un poema
ni he ordenado mi ropa para el viaje
ni he llevado a su destino el encargo ajeno
ni he echado llave en mis gavetas
ni he dicho lo que debia decir a los amigos
ni he sentido el olor de la rosa que no ha nacido
ni he desenterrado mis raices
ni he escrito una carta pendiente
que si siquiera me he lavado las manos
ni he conocido un hijo
ni he empredido caminatas en paises desconocidos
ni conozco los siete velos del mar
ni la canción del marino
Si la muerte viniera
diga por favor que estoy entendido
y que me haga una espera
que no he dado a mi novia ni un beso de despedida
que no he repartido mi mano con las de la familia
ni he desempolvado los libros
ni he silbado la canción preferida
ni me he reconciliado con los enemigos
digale que no he probado el suicidio
ni he visto libre a mi gente
digale si viene que vuelva mañana
que no es que le tema pero ni siquiera
he empezado a andar el camino
Abel
et Caïn
I
Race
d'Abel, dors, bois et mange;
Dieu te sourit complaisamment.
Race
de Caïn, dans la fange
Rampe et meurs misérablement.
Race
d'Abel, ton sacrifice
Flatte le nez du Séraphin!
Race
de Caïn, ton supplice
Aura-t-il jamais une fin?
Race
d'Abel, vois tes semailles
Et ton bétail venir à bien;
Race
de Caïn, tes entrailles
Hurlent la faim comme un vieux chien.
Race
d'Abel, chauffe ton ventre
À ton foyer patriarcal;
Race
de Caïn, dans ton antre
Tremble de froid, pauvre chacal!
Race
d'Abel, tu croîs et broutes
Comme les punaises des bois!
Race
de Caïn, sur les routes
Traîne ta famille aux abois.
II
Ah!
race d'Abel, ta charogne
Engraissera le sol fumant!
Race
de Caïn, ta besogne
N'est pas faite suffisamment;
Race
d'Abel, voici ta honte:
Le fer est vaincu par l'épieu!
Race
de Caïn, au ciel monte,
Et sur la terre jette Dieu!
Charles
Baudelaire
SUPPLICA
A MIA MADRE
(Pier Paolo Pasolini)
È difficile dire con parole di figlio
ciò a cui nel cuore ben poco assomiglio.
Tu sei la sola al mondo che sa, del mio cuore,
ciò che è stato sempre, prima d'ogni altro amore.
Per questo devo dirti ciò ch'è orrendo consocere :
è dentro la tua grazia che nasce la mia angoscia
Sel insostitubile. Per
questo è dannata
alla solitudine la vita che mi hai data.
E non voglio esser solo. Ho un'infinita fame
d'amore, dell'amore di corpi senza anima.
Perché l'anima è in te, sei tu, ma tu
sei mia madre e il tuo amore è la mia schiavitù
ho passato l'infanzia schiavo di questo senso
alto, irrimediabile, di un impegno immenso.
Era l'unico modo per sentire la vita
l'unica tinta, l'unica forma: ora è finita.
Sopravviviamo: ed è la confusione
di una vita rinata fuori dalla ragione.
Ti supplico, ah, ti supplico: non voler morire.
Sono qui, solo, con te, in un futuro aprile...