Early one morning,
on a beach lit by a crescent moon.
I met someone who told me a story.
How we program the patterns of inevitability,
offering our children as sacrifice to the moloch.
Feeding our addiction with narcotic neurosis.
Bursting from prehistoric caves,
flapping pterodactyl wings,
digging holes in space.
He was wearing a rainbow radiation jump suite,
and inoculating his children,
with homeopathic fallout.
He left me a small piece of paper,
on it written;
Waiting for the word.
In the beginning was the word,
it must have been a very long word,
like the name of a welsh railway station.
And the word became the world,
and the world became thick like a smoothie.
And the separation of sound became greater and louder,
each sound with a desperate need to communicate it's origin.
And a billion, billion, billion people,
each with a bagful of words,
juggled in a world full of language.
Pressing hands against empty space.
And the whales couldn't sing to each other any more,
through seas of sonar and cacophony.
And swift & swallow,
were sucked into screaming engines of jet fighter planes.
And people stood on street corners, and shouted above the
roar of traffic.
And we forgot how to listen,
spinning like a blur over the space and silence.
Were are the silence's,
Where are the silence's?.
Gift wrapped by dakinis,
Transmitted in secret ritual
that returns you to the sender.
Echoing like himalayan thunder between,
the breath and blood.
Im guilty too i need to have the radio and t.v
playing symtaneously just to think.
I need mantras like visual relief in the desert,
i will try to stop the silence from rushing in.
Was houdini silent underwater,
as he masterfully escaped hissing ropes,
fingers on the pulse of eternities workshop,
surfacing from a bond of snakes with just one more point to prove.
This juxtaposition of existence,
balanced between the razor and lace,
symptom, thought form,
breath, blood.
Sometimes i get so lonely.
But i don't need you quite so much anymore.
Right now i walk around in a dream of poems,
waiting to be statistically functional,
putting on a suit and tie to make telephone calls,
limpid as a lounge lizard whilst you breathe aerobically,
waiting for the super powers to kiss and make up,
waiting for the ozone to grow it's skin,
waiting for the chrysalis to empty it's pockets,
waiting for the poppies to dream,
waiting for the clothes to dry,
waiting for the world to begin,
waiting, just waiting for the wyrdd.
credits
from Electric wizardry,
released February 8, 2015
Ruz:- vocal.
Rob:- piano.
A sonic salad of homegrown songs, toe tapping tunes, evocative verse, melodic grooves, healing drones, harmonic overtones,
fun, laughter, wild nature and tales of the ancient future -NOW. Shivakti are Russell, Mayinda & friends....more
This album by Kenyan electronic producer rPH and poet Kins of Spade reflects on the impact of religion in their lives and society. Bandcamp New & Notable May 12, 2023
Poet Douglas Kearney and composer/producer/drummer Val Jeanty link up for a a compelling LP that feels like the written word come to life. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 30, 2021
On her new EP, Japanese producer Mikado Koko deconstructs the traditional, mixing avant-garde vocals and glitch breaks with koto. Bandcamp New & Notable Dec 15, 2020
In a lane all his own, aint about me lays moody spoken word over rippling soundscapes on songs that feel cinematic in scope. Bandcamp New & Notable Nov 23, 2020