. . . a flickering series of blurry images in the late of the evening . . . cement dust settling gently on a frozen breeze . . . frozen waves trapped in ice lining the banks of the silent lake . . .
. . . ‘field reports from the western lands’, the album, is officially now in a finished master state . . . sixteen pieces gathered into four movements, totalling almost an hour of new materials . . . [transmission fades] . . .
6|6|7
the sinister grin of the tangerine dictator beams out from hundreds of thousands of ornaments of servitude as toby keith sings his little ignorant, racist heart out… black lives don’t matter… mexican lives don’t matter.. muslim lives don’t matter… queer lives don’t matter… poor lives don’t matter… a military drone sails high above a group of protesters, soon to be hosed in pig fat and fed to the dogs…
if she wasn’t my daughter, i’d probably grab her by the pussy and have her urinate all over me, every single day; until my interest or her beauty waned… thousands of column inches of fake news spiralling up into the sky like an all-new vj day ticker-tape parade, making amurikkka great again… strange fruit, gang-rape on the mason-dixon, oil barons and daisy duke… shock and awe lighting up your world like the 4th july…
we the people, jet-washed in kerosene fuel… set fire to… a glorious barbecue for the one per cent… holy-wood liberals throwing their toys out of their prams from their ivory towers, private islands, fleets of vehicles and vessels… draped in gowns and jewels… carbon footprint of the rock gods forever shrouded in the fog of their celebrity… starving children too weak to idolise anymore…
let us hand you your next one hundred years… peak oil, famine, rising tides, the war for fresh water… military drones flying over war zones back home… black helicopters, riot police, terror and celebrity… your children were not born free… a greasy fat bloated ageing white man sitting naked in a leather chair, all belly-guts and body odour… greedily stuffing his fingers into the mouth of a young black girl in tears…
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new jerusalem measured in cartesian geometry as technicolor fears and lucid doubts swarm with distortion out through the rusting valves… agony in the welding pit, turmoil on the shop floor… grand visions of staged reality built on a beautiful lie, now flooded with polluted ideas and strewn across fields of unexploded ordnance…
life as a series of bland background entertainment shows; live on stage ideologies… ritual blood-letting of the virgin bride… policemen in parallel lines, idiot-boys, wild-girls… conflict, starvation, agony, meaninglessness… the screens steadily flickering through the cerebral cortex, psychotropic trips in an ongoing noise-field of paranoia and isolation…
centuries of self-harm… glass and steel monoliths rising from the desert in the dawn’s early light… jagged knives against the city sky… greasy fingers plying their trade over mahogany tables; insatiable lust of the pension-funds… a figurehead in flames, captains of bled-out industry; tea dances and ballroom masquerades… this earth no longer sacrosanct…
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here is the new jerusalem, the glorious inhuman rite… dead insect eyes staring out from endless grave-sites… fields of nothing, forever, the policeman inside our head choking us to death… water-torture, terrorise; ambivalence in waves… steadily reducing civilisation to nil…
the children were conditioned to kill, the authorities cower in fear; pissing themselves in pits of corrupt sins… those games from the old-world battles and wars justified once again; a requiem of infernal sodomy… dancing demons in the oil-pools; diabolical suicide pacts, mass graves, mass genocide…
the governments served as theatre props, the guise of order, systems in place… operators pushing buttons, reacting to the flickering lights… no one understanding, no one in control… the poison keeps on coming, business-blood inside the veins… money-hunger drip-feeding power games…
dream-death scar the broken, primal screams inside the war zone… sleep-death covers the fallen… innocents chopped to pieces by the war machine… four per cent growth, cheap white goods and nazi-trump crusaders… pain incantations, nausea, salvage… fake it, fuck it, fight, fight, fight…
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new jerusalem, centuries of the self, cartesian geometry… a figurehead in flames, as the markets expand and contract… birth canals of squalid reasoning… glass and steel monoliths rising from the desert in the dawn mist…
blood-letting and the virgin bride… deflowering the idyll… grand visions of staged reality built on a beautiful lie… idol worship on the shop floor… agony in the welding pit… cerebral cortex psychotropic trips…
technicolor fears and lucid doubts, claustrophobia in the ballot box… greasy fingers plying their trade over mahogany tables… islamic jurisprudential rites, framed in caustic idolatry… the screen steadily flickering…
life as background entertainment shows; distortion, dissonance, signals filtered through unknown sources… tea dances, ballroom masquerades, mass population indexes, virtual trigonometry… meaninglessness… copy, paste, delete…
6|6|7
see the pale-faced boys amongst the rubble, filled with dying, devoid of joy… idiot boys lingering in the shadows, teeth dipped in venom; licking their wounds and talking of genocide… lingering there in grim despair… toys of systematic decay…
wordless boys with crippled spines, torn from plastic dolly limbs; nauseous, thirsty, all alone… adrift amidst the ruins, the black, greasy belly of the dead city heaving with rot and misery… broken-babies scar the burning earth…
haunted pedestrians under a crescent moon, hanging like a jagged blade; rusted and poised to cleave at the ruins… dirtied, bloodied, broke, stillborn; ragged hands rifle through the remains of lost, discarded generations…
dust and debris greying the skyline, black monoliths hang voidal in their murkiest repose… all foetal-reasoning lost at birth… in glass-shard towers they crawl home; adrift in chemical lullaby… visions of new jerusalem…
6|6|7
mapping out the meaningless void while the city writhes and coils, undulating in the darkness, slowly changing its shape, twisting and turning, contracting and expanding… spectral torment sketched out along the dark streets, haunting the city with myriad tales of the slow failing… ghosts haunt pale-faced pedestrians, murmuring betwixt poured-concrete piazzas and glass-shard tower-blocks…
black monoliths looming in the desolation, bleak and oppressive… streets flooded with rainwater mixed with fuel and decay… cathedrals bleeding tears onto the shoulders of shivering parishioners… listless districts swarming with emergency vehicles, taxi cabs, prison transports; couriers ferrying suspect packages for hidden mahogany boardroom tables…
a sense of expanding peril and doubt rising up from the storm-drains, ascending stairwells, elevator cables, fire escapes… stretching out above the chaotic muttering, chattering, whispering, negotiating, screaming, cajoling; controlling… sidewalks burn with false promise under the crescent moon, hanging like an ivory blade above the reinforced steel towers… reasoning collapsing in the dizzying, spiralling dreaming…
6|6|7
spectral torment sketched out along the dark streets, haunting the city with myriad tales of the slow failing… black monoliths looming in the desolation, bleak and oppressive… a sense of expanding peril and doubt rising up from the storm-drains, ascending stairwells… stretching out above the listless districts, swarming with squad cars, taxi cabs; harrowed pedestrians…
chaotic muttering, chattering, whispering; negotiating… swarming thoughts twisting and turning; the endless calling… crawling along the wounded blocks, blood-slaked sidewalks burn with false promise under the street lamps as power-lines choke and restrict… screaming sirens amidst the din, engulfing the whirring drones of the ageing air con ventilation systems…
mapping out the meaningless void while the city writhes and coils, undulating in the darkness and slowly changing its shape… reasoning collapsing in the dissipating, blurring memory manipulation circles… dizzying spiralling dreaming, avenues collapsing hope as the slow devil symmetry calls into focus the vivid understanding…
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