{"id":724,"date":"2013-04-12T16:42:04","date_gmt":"2013-04-12T14:42:04","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/?page_id=724"},"modified":"2013-05-03T01:41:03","modified_gmt":"2013-05-02T23:41:03","slug":"8-the-quiet-zone-the-pleasure-dome","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/teksty\/teksty-oryginalne\/teksty-vdgg\/8-the-quiet-zone-the-pleasure-dome\/","title":{"rendered":"8. The Quiet Zone \/ The Pleasure Dome"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a>
\nLizard Play<\/strong><\/p>\n

Frozen moment, cold blood time:
\nthe Iguana lady is saying goodbye….
\nShe’s not quite ready, she wants to stay,
\nshe wants to be perfect, but not in the way.
\nHe tries to be cautious, one more cigarette,
\nhe wants to be open, but the time
\nis not yet.<\/p>\n

They talk about poetry, life-stories too;
\nhe wants to know if she keeps a pet or two.
\nShe’s into lizards, she’s into snakes,
\nhe’s into trauma – still got the shakes
\nfrom a lady who only talked dogs and cats
\nmaking love in the alley – she thought like that….
\nSo he doesn’t notice he’s falling in
\nto a change in colour of chameleon skin.<\/p>\n

And the sun beats down on the baking earth
\nin the land where the lizards play.
\nAnd the tongues flick out – though they want to touch
\nall the words get in the way.
\nAnd it’s you and me and it’s he and she
\nand it’s everything I say.<\/p>\n

Frozen vision,deaf and dumb:
\nstill trying to work out what I’ve become….
\nI tried to reach you, I tried to score,
\nI shot the bolt on the open door…
\nthe secret reaction, base metal to gold,
\nand all I felt was my blood froze…
\nI walked on water – I was wearing skis –
\nand now the water must dance on me.<\/p>\n

Anyway, for all that, will you dance with me?
\nwill you dance with me?
\nAnd the sun beats down on the baking earth
\nin the land where the lizards play.
\nAnd they shed their skins and at last begin
\nto find colours for the day.
\nWill you dance with me?<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n

The Habit of the Broken Heart<\/strong><\/p>\n

Oh, the Sisters of Blindness
\nfrom the Convent of the Broken Heart,
\nthey want to smother it with kindness,
\nthey want to tear it all apart.
\nAnd there’s a rock of sterile virtu’
\nin the centre of the bay….
\nI’m so sorry he hurt you,
\nbut don’t throw yourself away.<\/p>\n

You only wanted to have some fun,
\nyou only wanted to try it;
\nyou only wanted to be someone,
\nbut everybody denies it. Why’s it
\nso hard to make you listen?
\nDon’t go and change your name:
\nlearning to lose can be
\nthe start of winning the game.
\nYou’re so special, such sadness seems a shame.<\/p>\n

I know that you’ve got a service to catch,
\nI wouldn’t want you to miss it,
\nbut there’s something so mismatched,
\nsome motive inexplicit…is it
\nthe call of the Convent?<\/p>\n

You only wanted to find someone
\nor something more than pleasure;
\npenitence for the Chosen One
\nyou can indulge at leisure –
\nby the light of the sinking sun,
\ndon’t turn your back on the treasure.
\nWhether or not you want to face it,
\nyou’re a beautiful girl
\nand your lay-lady laughter
\nhas a right to be heard;
\nbut what can I give you
\nif you’ve already got the Word?<\/p>\n

Don’t go
\ndon’t start
\ndon’t take on
\nthe Habit of the Broken Heart<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n

The Siren Song<\/strong><\/p>\n

Letters in pencil, some of them as heavy as lead,
\nas dated as carbon, as black as coal,
\nbut burning as red.
\nClues faintly stencilled: the message,
\nthough leeched, is unbled,
\nas secret as marble – as young, as old,
\nas living, as dead.
\nAnd always that laugh
\nthat comes as though it’s from pain:
\nthough I’m lashed to the mast
\nstill it hammers round my brain.<\/p>\n

Laughter in the backbone,
\nlaughter impossibly wise,
\nthat same laughter that comes
\nevery time I flash on that look in your eyes
\nwhich whispers of a black zone
\nwhich’ll mock all my credos as lies,
\nwhere all logic is done
\nand time will smash every theory I devise.
\nAnd the hour-glass is shattered
\nonly by the magic of your touch
\nwhere nothing really matter….
\nNo, Nothing matters very much!<\/p>\n

So the siren song runs through the ages,
\nand it courses through my veins like champagne;
\nand with all the sweet kisses of addiction
\nit’s calling me to break my bonds again.<\/p>\n

Future memory exploding like shrapnel,
\nsome splinters escape on my tongue,
\nsome of them scar comprehension…
\nbeneath the scab they burn,
\nbut the wound becomes numbs.
\nAnd always the song draws me forward,
\nrejoicing in the search and the prayer,
\nbored with all but the mad,
\nthe strange, the freak, the impossible dare.
\nStill your laugh chills my marrow
\ntill I embrace it on my knees….
\nOh, when the mast becomes a flagpole,
\nwhat becomes of me?
\nWhat becomes, oh, what becomes of me?<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n

Last Frame<\/strong><\/p>\n

Pretty keen – yes, my hobby keeps me busy;
\nand if I talk to myself, what’s the crime?
\nIn the darkroom I am a dealer in space and time…
\nwhen all memory is mellowed,
\nwhen the photograph is yellowed,
\nstill it never lies.<\/p>\n

There you are, your eyes laced with secret pleasure,
\nsaying that you’re on the way to change,
\ndevouring in inordinate measure
\nevery diversion that’s arranged.
\nFor every appetite, a cruel attraction,
\nbut there’s a panic in your actions;
\noh, I never saw you look so strange.<\/p>\n

Fixing memory chemically,
\nholding time on the stop-clock,
\nhanging back from that last frame
\njust in case it didn’t show you
\nin the way I used to know you…
\nI thought you’d always stay the same.<\/p>\n

The red light, the silver,
\nthe black and the bromide;
\nthe silence, the waiting for overview….
\nThe past seems under-exposed, low tide,
\nbut still the images ghost through.
\nAnd you’re there in the bath,
\nwhich is all this has led to,
\nand I can’t say your path
\nis a right one to choose….<\/p>\n

But then
\nI only have a negative of you.<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n

The Wave<\/strong><\/p>\n

The wave hits the beach,
\nwriting words on the sand –
\nto the academic man,
\nthis could be the answer….
\nIn fact, it’s no more than a hunch;
\nstill we try to eat it…
\nI think we’re all pretty out to lunch.<\/p>\n

The wave is out of reach,
\ntrailing words from the hand
\nonly air can understand;
\nsemaphore on the shoreline,
\nwaiting for distance to recede,
\nunhappily imperfect
\nwhen we should be happy just to breathe.<\/p>\n

But with each bated breath,
\nso present, tense,
\nwe want to know, we want it sure,
\nit don’t make sense!
\nSo I’ll do mine and you do yours
\nbut let’s not trade sand and sea
\nfor brick and cement.<\/p>\n

The wave hits the beach,
\nlaps around abandoned clothes,
\nwants to share a joke with those
\nwho’ll brave the breakers,
\nwho’ll break bread rather than pray
\nwhile the definition-maker’s
\nlost in the small print of the day.<\/p>\n

The words are only pictures
\nthat the next wave wipes away.<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n

Cat’s Eye \/ Yellow Fever (Running)<\/strong><\/p>\n

I was walking in the evening, I was
\nlooking for something good, clean, fine,
\npure, straight, but instead I found
\nthe bunker wall and gate.<\/p>\n

It was open: I was free. I gave a
\ntoken guarantee; though I later knew I
\nhad promised more, with an I.O.U.
\nI could scarcely score my way… Oh! But I herald Apocalypse anyway!
\nI was a prime believer in the faith
\nof 'I’: yellow fever in the cat’s eye.<\/p>\n

And it’s everything you
\nwant, own,love, hate, touch, dream,
\ntrust; and it’s everything you need.<\/p>\n

I got a heart like a rochet, I
\nwas out of control, I’d cleaned out
\nmy pockets for some luck to show…
\nreally looking like a hopeless case,
\nI found it in my hand, it was
\nthe Angry Ace. He wants to talk to
\nme, one on one, he wants to give
\nme his professional opinion…but
\nI’m running; I just can’t wait,
\nI haven’t got a moment to anticipate;
\nyes, I’m running, I just can’t stop,
\nI’ve got to get to the bottom just to
\nget to the top, I’ve got the dark
\nalleys and the open skies, I got
\nthe yellow fever from the cat’s eye.<\/p>\n

I’ll let you know how it goes in the ninth life.<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n

The Sphinx in the Face<\/strong><\/p>\n

I remember what it felt like at seventeen,
\nI was a cat, a snake, a lizard, a mouse;
\nstill got an interest in the limousine
\nand a spouse and a brat,
\ncountry house, London flat.<\/p>\n

I’m gonna head for the island when the summer’s out,
\nI’m gonna do all the stuff that I can,
\ndrink like a fish in a waterspout –
\nI’m a fan of the flow,
\nit began long ago,
\nI’m a man who should know it doesn’t stop.<\/p>\n

There’s so much to remember,
\nso much to forget:
\nwe’re all in the possession of the future tense,
\nbut don’t know it yet.
\nThe flesh comes through the spirit,
\nthe spirit through the flesh…
\nwe look the Sphinx in the face for answers
\nand, of course, we’re really not impressed.
\nWe’re caught between age and beauty,
\nexperience and youth,
\nso we feel the need acutely
\nfor any kind of Truth.<\/p>\n

Oh, but we get copped some days,
\ncaught between options we’ve failed
\nto play, such wasted chance.
\nSo I join the wastrel’s dance:
\nit has slow as well as fast movement,
\nand any change must be an improvement
\non simply fossilising, standing still.<\/p>\n

I got a steady vocation for the Quiet Zone,
\nI just can’t wait for the song to be sung,
\nI’m still possessed by the promise
\nof the Pleasure Dome<\/p>\n

You’re so young, you’re so here,so gone,
\nso old, so near,so wrong,
\nsuch a drag so queer,so strong,so…
\nto be told.
\nSuch a drag to be told…<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n

Chemical World<\/strong><\/p>\n

„Well what’s the harm?
\nIt’s good clean fun…
\nwhy don’t you just
\ngo on and have another one?
\nWhen there’s hanky-panky in the
\nboardroom, wooly-bully on the farm,
\nwhat’s the harm?
\nIt’s quite allright –
\nI mean to say,
\ntomorrow’s just another day…”<\/p>\n

Oh, but in the morning,
\nOh, but in the morning haze
\nwill you still feel as fine,
\nwill you still need to trade day for night?
\nIn the country of the blind, the one-eyed man is king;
\nin the country of the sheep, they call him Cyclops.
\nAnd the quality of mind is such a
\ntenuous thing that here you need it
\nlike a blind man needs eye drops.<\/p>\n

Get out of that back room,this vacuum,
\nit attracts you, but in fact
\nyou don’t know quite what it is;
\nyou’re being sapped of everything
\nyou once valued so highly…
\nWill you still feel as strong,
\nwill you still long for weakness to come?<\/p>\n

It’s a Chemical World
\n…Not a candidate ever fails;
\nthough you search for the Holy Grail
\nyou’re not going to find it
\nin the Chemical World.<\/p>\n

A sleeper train; you can’t escape;
\nfast overnight…the ticker-tape.
\nOh but in the morning,
\nbut in the morning haze
\nwill the market have turned,
\nwill there be no more days left to trade?<\/p>\n

It’s the Chemical World
\nand from the moment that it’s embraced
\nIt’s the Chemical World
\nall the diamonds turn to paste
\nin the Chemical World…
\nYeah, you think you’ll look so pretty –
\nit’s gonna blow up in your face.<\/p>\n

„It’s just the time, so slow to pass.
\nIt’s just the drug…it doesn’t last….”<\/p>\n

All lyrics by Peter Hammill<\/p>\n

\"Przewi\u0144<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Lizard Play Frozen moment, cold blood time: the Iguana lady is saying goodbye…. She’s not quite ready, she wants to stay, she wants to be perfect, but not in the way. He tries to be cautious, one more cigarette, he … Czytaj dalej →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":659,"parent":517,"menu_order":8,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"sidebar-page.php","meta":{"_sitemap_exclude":false,"_sitemap_priority":"","_sitemap_frequency":"","footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-724","page","type-page","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/724","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=724"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/724\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":726,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/724\/revisions\/726"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/517"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/659"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=724"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}