Альбом The Books

Yes and no are just distinguished by
distinction, so we choose the in-between.
Give up your books and put an end
to your worries. Enjoy central park in spring.
Our minds are empty, like we're too young
to know to smile.
We know to fear what others fear
is nonsense, right?

The books suggest we set our hearts
on doing nothing,
and then nothing's left undone.
Everybody's busy waiting for the go-ahead,
but by then their heads are gone.
Our minds are empty, grave as well as
strange. (Take this.)
We know to seek success is utter nonsense.
The best is to be blank.

{Here we are. Here we are.
We are antici-there it is. There it is}

That's the picture.
You s-you see it for yourself.
There it is. It's a man.
There it is, with uhhh...

Be good to them always.

You know I simply
cannot understand people.
Oh, how sadly we mortals are decieved
by our own imagination.
This is not real life; this is, for us
aleatoric television,
a mixed consort of soft instruments.

I can hear a collective rumbling in America.
I've lost my house, you've lost your house.
I don't suppose it matters which way we go.
This great society is going smash.

Oh. he's in the middle of putting things together and organizing himself.
You do not need to stand on one foot.
The modern town hardly knows silence.
You are doing something the whole world is doing.

You know I simply
cannot understand people.
Oh, how sadly we mortals are decieved
by our own imagination.
This is not real life; this is, for us
aleatoric television,
a mixed consort of soft instruments.

A culture is no better than its woods:
a feeling of being connected with the past.
Look at it this way: you may fall and break your leg,
and so one leg is shorter than the other.
Can nothing more be done?

'Twas brilling, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogroves
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Your majesty?
Kommen sie in.
Keeping your eyes gently closed, close your eyes tightly.
( )

it will rain, it will rain.

Kalaallit Nunaata Radioa. Grшnlands radio;
vi шnsker jer godnat. Tamassi sinilluaritsi.

and after having what she described as her most thrilling experience, she climbed from the tree next day a queen.

and as in uffish thought he stood,
long time the manxome foe he sought,
he left it dead and with its head,
he stood a while in thought.

and as in uffish thought he stood,
long time the manxome foe he sought,
he left it dead and with its head,
he stood a while in thought.

Balance.
Repetition.
Proposition.
Mirrors.

Most of all, the world is a place where parts of wholes are described
within an overarching paradigm of clarity and accuracy.
The context in which makes possible an underlying
sense of the way it all fits together,
despite our collective tendency not to conceive of it as such.

But then again, the world without end is a place where souls are combined,
but with an overbearing feeling of disparity and disorderliness.
To ignore it is impossible without getting oneself into all of kinds of trouble,
despite one's best intentions to not get entangled with it so much.

Meanwhile,
the statues are bleeding green.
And others are saying things much better than we ever could;
as the quiet become suddenly verbose.

And the hail's heralding the size of nickels.
And the street corners are gnashing together like the gears
inside the head of some omniscient engineer.
And downward flows the garnered wisdom that has never died

Then finally,
we opened the box, we couldn't find any rules.
Our heads were reeling with the glitter of possibilities, contingencies...
but with ever increasing faith we decided to go ahead and just ignore them,
despite tremendous pressure to capitulate with fate.

So instead, we went ahead to fabricate a catalog
of unstable elements and modicums and particles.
With not zero total strangeness for brief moments which amount
to nothing more than tiny fragments of a finger snap.

Meanwhile,
we're furiously seeing green.
And the map has started tearing along its creases due to overuse...
when in reality it's never needed folds.

And the air's withholding the sound of its wellspring.
And our heads approach a density reminiscent of the infinite productivity of the center of the sun.

And therein lies the garnered wisdom that has never died.

Expectation -
leads to disappointment. If you don't expect something big huge and exciting...
usually...
I dunno,
just, uh yea..."

Sit up straight and be quiet,
Sit down, son.
Sit up straight in your seat,
And I do not want any more talking, any more moving about, at all.
Absolutely still, absolutely quiet.
Look up here. Look up here!
Let me have your undivided attention.
Nobody talking, nobody moving,
Absolutely (snap) nobody looking around.
Alright put your hands down, eyes (snap) closed.
Close your eyes, eyes closed.
Come on, right now, come on.
Nobody moving, nobody talking.
Absolutely still, every eye closed.

And, uh, he thought he could, um, uh, he could stop when he wanted to, that he can stop, you know, when he wants to stop. And, uh, I don't think that he ever really believed that he couldn't stop. I really believe it. I think that he really felt that he could stop whenever he wanted to.

He saw Mars but he felt Neptune,
he had hoped to feel a certain strong emotion but this is all they had to say:
"I was the son of a man, and so we came together and we shook hands."
"We shook hands."
He often wondered what a million people would look like scattered randomly
across a moonless sky, and how unlikely it would be that they would all just say the
obvious thing:
"You may call me brother now."
"Yes, brother, I know."

He is forty two,
five-feet-eight-inches tall,
normally wears his curly hair long.
He has a ruddy complexion, broad shoulders and is barrel-chested,
is unusually strong.
He frequently wears a full beard and sometimes glasses.
He is a college graduate, a talented artist, and sculptor.
Now, Maps is a soft-spoken loner, who resents society and all organizations.
Maps fancies himself a ladies' man.
He is an avid chess player, smokes cigarettes, and a pipe.
He is a beer drinker and loves to eat.
Maps is a man of widespread interests, who might very well be living abroad.

He felt lost but he felt pretty intensely good,
and he woke up screaming having dreamed of a color he had never seen before:
"I went to bed and to sleep, it was so unexpected, it really was frightening, and I saw
pretty much
the same thing embedded in my pillow."
He had no trouble recognizing patterns in the most delicate arrays of tangled lines,
but he had a strange fixation on partaking in nefarious things:
"Stealing, lying, cheating, gambling, fornicate..."

He saw red, but he thought five.
He was pleased to find his road trip was enhanced by number-color synesthesia:
"My trusty Rosinante bounds along the road very well, leaving the friendly aroma of donuts and
chicken tenders hanging in the desert air."

He willed away the miles while quixotically attempting to reclaim his inner child,
he was embrangled and enmeshed in something far too loud to comprehend:
"I want all of the American people to understand that it is
understandable that the American
people cannot possibly understand."

Maestro, as you paint this picture would you tell me what-what's going on in your mind.
Now the cross, the mystical vertical cross.
Out of black paint,
(…via con questo coso per… cortesia…)
a cross comes down from the top left hand side of the canvas.
(via con quella testa per cortesia!)
he has just thrown a bunch of gold paint which has not only hit me in the face,
(…ostia…)
but has gone across the canvas to the applause of the crowd below.
(…calma… aspetta… ahу aspetta cazzo, eh… adesso, aspetta!)
now some black paint
(…giщ con quella testa! giщ la testa nico… via via con quel coso lн porcoddio…)
This is the head, this is the head-this is the head of the black death.
The canvas and the photographers are covered with paint.
I might add, its black paint and gold paint on a white canvas.
(…un pochettino un pochettino! cosн cosн dai! piщ in lб!)
(crowd)
that was a — a big slash of paint.
What is this.
(Ah aaah ah ah [dialetto] и bellissimo?? non va piщ via… [dialetto] guarda, No, no, no! Eeehh!)
Now he got even with the photographers who have been covering the canvas,
And opens the canvas and out comes twelve pigeons! Ha ha ha!
Twelve homing pigeons have just flown out of the canvas.
Maestro, what are you doing?
(applause)
You call this painting...
Le Lion de St. Mark.
The lion of St. Mark.
Hommage а Venice.
Homage to Venice, the home (ha ha) of the lion of St. Mark.

following the line of the tide reclining
living on the fat of the sweet sun shining
drawing on the times aligning
walking on the long horizon
there's a little black spot in the sky with diamonds
living off the fat of the sweet sun shining
drawn upon the times colliding
walking on the wide horizon

never never never never never
never never never never never
never

the number on the back of the sign is rising
the gamelan attack of the trines aligning
chance will leave the sky bedizened
sliding on the wide horizon
never is the start of a clever lying
staring at the black of the blind spot hiding
the universe's private bower
these are none but shining hours

Can we talk some more?
I don't know.
I don't either.
Monday. January.
Independent!
I'd like to go home and go to sleep,
I'd like to go home and go to sleep.
And you're running down.
And you're running down.
And your head is made of clouds, but your feet are made of ground.
And you're running down.
You are cursed with a curse.
If you work very hard, my boy, some day you may become, uhm... women.
(eh he he, bless you, eh hee hee hee ha)
Ceзi n'est pas une pipe.
Yeah!
How are you doing today, I'm not doing ok.
I've got a cramp in my left arm.
Change me, change me (oh oh oh)
And I feel like hell. Uh huh, well why don't you go home to bed, heh eh em.
Sssssssssssseven.
And you're running down. Ssssssssss.
And you're running down. (the books)
And your head is made of clouds, but your feet are made of ground.
Aaaarghhhhhh.
And you're running down. (oioioioi)
And crash! The angel of death!
I am the angel of death.
I am the angel of death.
January, our nation is drifting,
strange situation, Monday.
I wonder if I could? Of course you can.
I don't know. True.
I have tried.
Will you try still harder now?
(the situation there is too confused,
what is this, what's he talking about)
I will try to.
(What? Me? No. We need you, for a long long long moment all was silent, you make it sound as though I would be a..., it must have been a terrible time, Do not go, is it really you, I have only one passion, yes father, what was his name again, I don't understand, it is he, thank you, of course, no father, well thank you, very well, the situation there is too confused, what is this, what's he talking about What? Me? No. We need you, you make it sound as though I would be uhh..., it must have been a terrible time, Do not go, the tears streamed out of my eyes, we have done everything, in every sense of the word, heh, so you've said and so you've done, there are three... no four books, why not, please, heh heh heh heh, yes I see, you've, uh, phrased that very well.)
Ahhhhh Books. yes yes that's true.
The books. I can't find the books, they must be in La Jolla.
And your head is made of clouds, but your feet are made of ground.
and you're running down.
I had stayed up for 46 hours in a row.
Yeah!
(ewl zsssh)

Eat rye straw
Leave, withdraw
Drink ink tea
Stay with me

Fame stay shy
By way of why
Wait, lie low
Old ones' odd odes

Read. Read on
Read, read on
Breathe, be calm
You're gone, gone on

it's strange to see how time agrees to slow down for owls with knees.

Read. Read on
Read, read on
Breathe, be calm
You're gone, gone on

at last it started in the middle

beginning as it all begins, it forsook the source of things.

and that which moved flowed over that which stayed, it made the choice to form a standing wave.

it leaned the out against the in, unfolding in a place to call its own.

and it gently draped six senses over this house of cards that it built, and opened ground to the roots of touch and let them in.

incredible sensations

it was the insatiable feeling of a feeling of insatiable desire.

and all that it could do was hold tight to that that it was not.

it told itself it needed names and in so doing it became.

this is the birth that everyone is always talking about. the one assumed but not remembered.

but death does not forget.
the end will remind it to cure it of itself.