June 21, 2007

Worship It As It Rises

The Bevis Frond - Inner Marshland (1987)

"Sometimes," whispered the very tired Judge, "Sometimes I wish I was still a young girl on my parent's farm, back up in the hills above the Purple City, in my room with the view of the Dead Will Return River from its southern window. I sat with my legs hanging over the window sill for hours watching that river, hoping to see them return, looking for the tattered sails of their lichen-boats, the masts of bone and the tillers of razor blades. I wanted it to be like they said in Church, like the priests told us it would be. I wanted some kind of happiness like that promised lie."

The Judge would say this every day at the end of session as the natural light faded and those remaining watched her carefully, expectantly. Then she would remove her blood-splattered white robe, going with it the investiture of her power , and walk naked from the courtroom. The robe would be clean and ready for her the next morning, she knew, always ready in the morning.

Like Nothing Ever Before, Rinsed In White Blood

Band of Susans - Peel Sessions (1992)

William the Younger pulled a splinter of glass from his heel, about a half of an inch long and needle-like otherwise, and handed it to the large white monkey sitting on the wicker lounge chair to his left. The monkey carefully took the sliver of nearly invisible pain and put it - with several thousand other like shards - into the velvet-lined sewing basket it cradled between its knees. The sex of the monkey was indeterminate, even given the otherwise lewd position it maintained to keep the basket from spilling. This was the appeal to William. When he stroked the thick fur at night and whispered his love, he felt giddy, childish, transported at the lack of knowing, the unknowable lack of his love. It was worth the day of pain that inevitably followed, the cost of the broken mirror. It was so beautiful.

Whaat Aameerikaa Neeeds Nooow!

Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments - Bait & Switch (1995)

Bi-polar (as in having a summer home at the South Pole and a Winter Lodge at the North or maybe the other way around, plus two at the Equator diametrically located to one another on the off chance the magnetic poles flip suddenly thus increasing the value of such) and wealthy beyond belief (as in one is incapable of believing that one human (?) being has such wealth as the rest of the world starves to death or dies of diseases easily curable but for lack of funds or just plain kills one another for filthy lucre) and more beautiful than words can express (words being one of several ways humans communicate; pictures a second; guns and other hurtful things a third, etc), the Robot Goddess Berenice sank slowly into her Third Bath of the Fifth Day, flinging away droplets of liquid diamond onto the straining backs of the servants upholding the enormous ruby goblet always used for her Third Bath, careful not to spill a drop themselves as they slowly rotated to keep Her Giantess Self of Beauty in just the precision position relative to the dying sun's dying light. She was exquisite, they murmured to themselves, exquisite, exquisite, a sound like waves on an ancient sea. Exquisite, exquisite, exquisite, exquisite - and so on.