Angles We Have Heard
Written by DJ Mandrews on December 25, 2015
the uncanny valley presents:
angles we have heard
voivod / shanir ezra blumenkrantz / x / siouxsie & the banshees / can / king crimson / they might be giants / talking heads / the hand that bleeds / the creatures / björk / secret chiefs / the pretenders / depeche mode
I’m trying to escape, but each time I failed. I’m searching the key, the opportunity. The storms over the years of screams in my ears, the dust in my eyes and the violent gusts of lies. My chain is not so long, my dignity is gone, I’m crawling in the mud just to get my grub. My heart is locked in a cage, this treatment is not sane, you handcuff all my time, your loving is a crime. You’re no angel. My mind is behind bars, the future seems to dark, I can see your demon’s horn as you stick out your reptile tongue I’ve got hallucinations your loving is a crime. You’re no angel
First he’s inched her latch down, anxious her hand begs my distraction I will learn to focus on you cause you won’t recognize it, stabilize it. Things take me to exception look for respect down there you’re not a nice track footfall. Will we still hold rain? Things we couldn’t do strive for me to leave rights of her, rights treasure her, treasure her freshness. He even finds a way, supreme man improves like what might see her life for everyone. She had to leave Los Angeles, all her toys wore out in black and her boys had too. She had to get out. She gets confused, flying over the dateline her hands turn red cause the days change at night, change in an instant. She found it hard to say goodbye to her own best friend, she bought a clock on Hollywood Boulevard the day she left. It felt sad.
Tears of joy at the birth of a brother, never alone from that time. Sixteen years through knife fights and danger, strangely why his life not mine. West side skyline crying, fallen angel dying, risk a life to make a dime. Lifetimes spent on the streets of a city make us the people we are. Switchblade stings in one tenth of a moment, better get back to the car. Snow white side streets of cold New York City stained with his blood, it all went wrong, sick and tired blue wicked and wild, god only knows for how long. Fallen angel, west side skyline crying for an angel dying, life expiring in the city, fallen angel.
I met someone at the dog show, she was holding my left arm, but everyone was acting normal so I tried to look nonchalant. We both said, “I really love you,” the Shriners loaned us cars, we raced up and down the sidewalk twenty thousand million times. Why did they send her over anyone else? How should I react? These things happen to other people. They don’t happen at all, in fact. When you’re following an angel, does it mean you have to throw your body off a building? Somewhere they’re meeting on a pinhead, calling you an angel, calling you the nicest things. I heard they had a space program, when they sing you can’t hear, there’s no air. Sometimes I think I kind of like that and other times I think I’m already there. Gonna ask for my admission, gonna speak to the man in charge; the secretary says he’s on another line, can I hold for a long, long time? I found out she’s an angel; I don’t think she knows I know. I’m worried that something might happen to me if anyone ever finds out.
With a little practice, you can walk, you can talk just like me, if that’s what you wanna do. Well, you can look, you’ll walk in circles around me, but first I’ll walk in circles round you, but first I’ll walk around the world. I’ll walk in circles ’round you, but first, show me what you can do.
Here it comes again: taste of jagged glass and rusty can. There are just black holes there the stars would be watching, just black holes where the stars should have been.Plumes of dirt caress a urine colored sun, swarms of angels come to kill your sons, and there’s nothing but black holes where the stars should have been, nothing but black holes where the stars would be watching. Oh, those strange argonauts digging again in your pit: cover them in menstrual stream, cover them in black gold, plunge them into ingots ripping through your menstrual stream, rising up taste of rusty can and jagged glass feeling again. Here it comes again: hordes of locusts blot out your sun, raining down, rain on everyone, poor little rich thing, poor little bleeding heart, poor little misunderstood…piss on it, I’m sick of it. Enough is enough, I wanna flick it up in spite of it, just for the hell of it I wanna flick it up out of sync, out of phase, out of sight, out of spite.
When your eyes pause on the ball that hangs on the third branch from the star, you remember why it is dark, and why it gets light again: The Earth, like the heart, slopes in its seat and, like that, it travels along an elliptical path, drawn into the darkness. An unpolished pearl in sky-black palm of hand, flickering sun-flame, and then you remember that you, yourself, you are a light-bearer, a light-bearer, receiving radiance from others flickering sun-flame, unpolished Earth in palm of hand.
He’s gone two thousand miles, it’s very far, the snow is falling down, gets colder day by day. I miss you. The children will sing, “he’ll be back at Christmas time”. In these frozen and silent nights, sometimes in a dream you appear outside under the purple sky; diamonds in the snow sparkle, our hearts were singing, it felt like Christmas time. Two thousand miles is very far through the snow. I’ll think of you wherever you go. I can hear people singing; it must be Christmas time.
Oh you sad one, playing the angel isn’t so easy where you’re from. Oh you wild one, devil’s companion: you won’t stay satisfied for long. I don’t want you to change anything you do, I don’t want you to be someone else for me. Oh you dark one, eternal outsider caught in the spider’s web you’ve spun. Oh you blind one, gentle and kind one seeing the world as a loaded gun. I don’t want you to change anything you do. I don’t want you to be someone else for me. Stay as you are the darkest star, shining for me majestically.
Reversal of despair, bright young spark he showing flair loosens flesh from machine, granted it obscene, thrust his fists, fisting posts, still insist he sees the ghost of what we try to see in darkened rooms and endless laughter lock into theories old existence of all creatures told human eyes to snatch a glimpse of our life’s genesis, lust for knife, such is life, love for every kind of strife. Angleworm bit in half, fellow eaten raw and helpless. Perfect it’s not as easy to find the good in ourselves that we leave behind, forever sublime, and never quite comprehend why. That is why we try and we try, until do us die, to pull up the soil and plant greener seeds. Perfection an ultimate. Aiming high cannon my fear young failure to the sky, confidence leaknesses dominate my mind out of blue into black ideas meets oblivion, endless, destructible, delusions of defeat and anguish.
Perfect it’s not as easy to find the good in ourselves that we leave behind, forever sublime, and never quite comprehend why. That is why we try and we try, until do us die, to pull up the soil and plant greener seeds. Perfection an ultimate!