giovedì 12 novembre 2009

new and long long (gone) post

a new post, again without images.
next ones won't be containing any text, i promise!

THE PRIEST THEY CALLED HIM

We started from this sentence.
That's what we first heard, Chiara Lee and I, when someone came up with the
story of a Reverend Murphy. We were still in New York City, and it was quite
a long ago.
Rev. Murphy never was a Father.
That's how his Legend began.
We could've been the ones to keep it on. Go on, they said.
We decided we needed at first to be baptized, so we summoned Vittorio and
named him “Gvitron”, pretending this was the name of a biblical hero, and we
asked him to perform this duty.
The three of us have different opinion about it. Of being christians.
But, going to start a new thing, a Legend of our own, we just felt we were
right. And we talked about it in the heat.
You have to start from something, if your porpose is to leave a trace.
I still believe it.
The religious sense that pervades us all.
You're just afraid of dying, one day. And you feel the urge of tracking back
your path.
Or, maybe better, you have to feel that somehow someone is going to do it
for you.
To track down what you've done.

...AND HE TOLD US TO TURN TO THE SUN

“Come all you warriors and renowned nobles
Give ear unto my warlike theme.
No time for other Legends, it's awareness we do aim at.
A common religious sense pervades Us all,
against the heresy, the heresy that grows.”
Play with lullabies.
Play with numbers.
Build a Kabbalah of your own.
“You have to keep on loving the three if you still want to understand the
twenty-seven.” is a phrase I use often.
As the Ol’ Fisherman says, when words are mostly sounds.
An unavailable memory, a youth, a salvation.
No truth in these words? No truth in these words?
He once told me: And as his voice fades from you, you slip down a
shallow swale under that oak tree with a heart-shaped scar. You’ll carry
them out to sea and let the waves take them away. They’ll take them away.
But how can you forget. The echo won’t die. Will you forget? A canyon of
saints. Let them divide.
See?
It's all about choice.
The word “heresy” comes from ancient Greek, and it means choice.
All this is about choice.
Never, never forget you have a choice.
And so let the light come in.
And just at the end turn to the Sun.
Only when you will be down as low as you can go.
A hateful foul.
A long song. Maybe a concept.
Oh going down...(saying it while laughing)

NEVER FORGET YOU HAVE A CHOICE

It's all about choice, swinging in those dark streets I got deep once in a
while.
A sermon, a parable, a proverb.
The pain deserved by the whole human kind.
Writing phrases and music about heresy, a concept record about heresy.
It makes me think of the day I will try to breed: fellowship, not family.
A legion, down down stairs.
Apples and pairs.
Silly sounds as lullabies. A continous prayer.
Its power sometimes comes not from what you say but on how you say it.
I'm here trying to go down, as low as i can go.
Just at the end I will turn to the Sun.
The Light of the Day of the Lord(s).
This is not a path toward darkness. Not even a downward spiral.
We see it just as movements. Going down as long as we can go. It means
choice.
Perhaps, heresy.
From there, the new point, you’ll be given the opportunity to turn to the
Sun.
Still, He’s the one who will tell you to turn to the Sun.


WE NOW PRAY WITH TWO HANDS, WE NOW PRAY WITH TRUE ANGER

We miss something.
What if heresy, this whole album we recorded as a concept, is telling us the
truth.
What about this whole Journey of ours, being baptized/ resisting Satan’s
temptations/ the book of Revelations/ now the heresy - what are they for?
I see them now simply as movements. With no special meanings.
We got down, as low as we could.
There, right there, He told us to turn to the Sun.

venerdì 6 novembre 2009

The Ol'Fisheman says

When you’re destined for dawn in your famous blue sweater, shine a light our way won’t you? You search for it between verses and ignore our hard histories. Are you that selfish? Can you be that vain, even without a name? You’ll take the fall you say, holding my hand. With arrows in the sky under autumn clouds the stake in one hand, and satchel full of hearts in the other. What shines down on a voice echoing through the pews makes men weep in some districts. An unavailable memory, a youth, a salvation. No truth in these words, no truth in these words. I don’t believe in myself, how can I believe what I say? A youth for the masses, he’s come for you. And as her voice fades from you, you slip down a shallow swale under that oak tree with a heart-shaped scar. You’ll carry them out to sea and let the waves take them away. They’ll take them away. But how can you forget. The echo won’t die. Will you forget? A canyon of saints. Let them divide. While UFOs have their ballet beyond the treetops a campfire grasps for oxygen…and lost embers rejoice like drunks into the night. Let’s drink our wine and think of him. We’ll drink our wine until the end. And so it goes.