Cave of Butterfly

Holvikirkko

Nastyfuckk

Light Music (Excerpt)

1. The Bulgarian Voices Angelite – Shopeska pesen II. (Buy)
2. Osvaldo Golijov – Tenebrae: First Movement (Buy)
3. John Tavener – Fragments of A Prayer (Buy)
4. Kronos Quartet – Flugufrelsarinn (Buy)
5. John Zorn – The Big Gundown (Buy)
6. Phil Cohran – The Minstrel (Buy)
7. Patti Smith – Spell (Live) (Buy)
8. David Bowie – Moonage Daydream (Buy)
9. Peter Gabriel – In Doubt (Buy)
10. Osvaldo Golijov – Act 3: Doy Mi Sangre (Buy)
11. The Bulgarian Voices Angelite – Zamraknala tanka jana (Buy)
12. Yeasayer – Sunrise (Buy)

*MOON WALKING MIXTAPE

*VIDEO interview with Bliss Lau

This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary
The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God
Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility
Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place.
Separated from my house by a row of headstones.
I simply cannot see where there is to get to.

The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.
Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky –
Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection
At the end, they soberly bong out their names.

The yew tree points up, it has a Gothic shape.
The eyes lift after it and find the moon.
The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.
Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
How I would like to believe in tenderness -
The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,
Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.

I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering
Blue and mystical over the face of the stars
Inside the church, the saints will all be blue,
Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews,
Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.
The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.
And the message of the yew tree is blackness – blackness and silence.

We are the clouds that veil the midnight moon;
     How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,
Streaking the darkness radiantly!–yet soon
     Night closes round, and they are lost forever:

Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings
     Give various response to each varying blast,
To whose frail frame no second motion brings
     One mood or modulation like the last.

We rest.–A dream has power to poison sleep;
     We rise.–One wandering thought pollutes the day;
We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;
     Embrace fond foe, or cast our cares away:

It is the same!–For, be it joy or sorrow,
     The path of its departure still is free:
Man’s yesterday may ne’er be like his morrow;
     Nought may endure but Mutability.

How stern are the woes of the desolate mourner
As he bends in still grief o’er the hallowed bier,
As enanguished he turns from the laugh of the scorner,
And drops to perfection’s remembrance a tear;
When floods of despair down his pale cheeks are streaming,
When no blissful hope on his bosom is beaming,
Or, if lulled for a while, soon he starts from his dreaming,
And finds torn the soft ties to affection so dear.
Ah, when shall day dawn on the night of the grave,
Or summer succeed to the winter of death?
Rest awhle, hapless victim! and Heaven will save
The spirit that hath faded away with the breath.
Eternity points, in its amaranth bower
Where no clouds of fate o’er the sweet prospect lour,
Unspeakable pleasure, of goodness the dower,
When woe fades away like the mist of the heath.

Chapter 1
Any Longer

Because of the eye the hand fell
apart into countless waves
which pushed the fingers of the sun back and forth
along the skin until the skin couldn’t
any longer
contain life or keep out the world

Chapter 2
Again One More Time

The night is losing its hair again
the rain is coming
in a rhythm as unsteady
as these plants trying
again one more time
to make the dead remember
that light has a face

Chapter 3
After All

After all the river could swallow us
not whole but bit by bit
like the stones beneath our feet

but if instead it swallowed the breath
between us we could see
each other without light without
eyes that build distance upon drought
without words that push us from the earth
from the froth and the spray of weight

after all the river is neither earth
nor sky but their violent
marriage at our feet

Chapter 4
A false Sky

A river hides the earth
beneath a false sky
composed of shifting edges
and shattered light
the earth is glad to be free

but the sky resents
being its mask
any longer
contain life or keep out the world

The world is all alone
and I want to talk to it but
silence flows out of me
and drowns everything
like a net of fish
pushing over a stone
or like the kind of blood
that plucks the stars out of the sky
and dissolves them
waiting for breath to wring it out
flooding the lungs
filling the world
like a moon that has lost its mind

Tongues of dull, fat Cerberus
Who wheezes at the gate. Incapable
Of licking clean

The aguey tendon, the sin, the sin.
The tinder cries.
The indelible smell

Of a snuffed candle!
Love, love, the low smokes roll
From me like Isadora’s scarves, I’m in a fright

One scarf will catch and anchor in the wheel,
Such yellow sullen smokes
Make their own element. They will not rise,

But trundle round the globe
Choking the aged and the meek,
The weak

Hothouse baby in its crib,
The ghastly orchid
Hanging its hanging garden in the air,

Devilish leopard!
Radiation turned it white
And killed it in an hour.

Greasing the bodies of adulterers
Like Hiroshima ash and eating in.
The sin. The sin.

Darling, all night
I have been flickering, off, on, off, on.
The sheets grow heavy as a lecher’s kiss.

Three days. Three nights.
Lemon water, chicken
Water, water make me retch.

I am too pure for you or anyone.
Your body
Hurts me as the world hurts God. I am a lantern——

My head a moon
Of Japanese paper, my gold beaten skin
Infinitely delicate and infinitely expensive.

Does not my heat astound you! And my light!
All by myself I am a huge camellia
Glowing and coming and going, flush on flush.

I think I am going up,
I think I may rise——
The beads of hot metal fly, and I love, I

Am a pure acetylene
Virgin
Attended by roses,

By kisses, by cherubim,
By whatever these pink things mean!
Not you, nor him

Nor him, nor him
(My selves dissolving, old whore petticoats)——
To Paradise.