{"id":745,"date":"2013-04-14T22:27:00","date_gmt":"2013-04-14T20:27:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/?page_id=745"},"modified":"2013-05-03T01:49:10","modified_gmt":"2013-05-02T23:49:10","slug":"2-chameleon-in-the-shadow-of-the-night","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/teksty\/teksty-oryginalne\/teksty-ph-solo\/2-chameleon-in-the-shadow-of-the-night\/","title":{"rendered":"2. Chameleon in the Shadow of the Night"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a>
\nGerman Overalls<\/strong><\/p>\n

Mannheim: rainy Saturday with no money nor friend…
\nonly Tequila can end the boredom.
\nTry to reach London for a pocket of hope;
\nwe’re children, we grope in the dark.
\nHugh spends his last Mark on coffee and cheese…
\nI feel just like a refugee….
\nRathaus-keepers and traffic police,
\nmiddle-aged maids with rotting teeth,
\nindustrial magazines and old Sunday Times:
\nreading material\/bleeding lines.
\nWhat are we doing here?<\/p>\n

Memorial menace, eager for revenge,
\nhas begun to bend our minds.
\nShower-curtain imperative in the presence of acid;
\nnow, feeling placid is death.
\nI try to hold my breath as the P.A. comes down….
\nhere we all are in Ktown!
\nThe Big Wheel never fails to grind around…
\nit drags me up\/it drugs me down.
\nSeven senses wonder 'Can this be real,
\nOr am I become a performing seal?’
\nWhy are we dying here?<\/p>\n

I walk the streets alone, try to find a sign of love.
\nI’ve crushed the plaster-bone in the freaky clubs.
\nI have bit the fruit
\nbut all I live for is to play
\nand I’m tired of the nights and the days
\nof airports, taxis and motorway showers,
\ngroping for a key in the afterhours.
\nDavid takes to travelling in the van,
\nhe knows that we all can understand:
\nwe’re at the mercy of the Kosmos tour,
\nmaking a pilgrimage to the German Lourdes…
\nbut we’re still crippled here.<\/p>\n

Cathedrals spiral skywards; I think I’m getting vertigo.
\nI think I don’t know what is real.
\nOne more sudden spotlight; one more madness is over;
\nI must not show a sign of fear.
\nWords echo round my ears, I think I’m going to laugh…
\nthink I’ll just go and take a bath, guess I’ll wash my clothes,
\ndon’t you know I’ll grow to go and make my name,
\nmaybe be a servant in the Famegame;
\nstake my sane and rest my life on the line….
\nNow lay me asunder and rend my mind;
\nat the fall of the curtain let this be my ghost.<\/p>\n

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

Slender Threads<\/strong><\/p>\n

I saw your picture in the Evening Standard,
\nyou were wearing your battle dress.
\nI really must confess
\nthat I shed a silent smile for you–
\nit had really blown my mind.
\nI wonder, are you still so kind?
\nAre you still so pure?
\nThere are other rhymes around here somewhere,
\nbut I’m not too sure how they fit….<\/p>\n

Jenny, penny for your thoughts,
\nI wonder how you’re thinking now;
\nI hesitate to visualise;
\nour worlds are much too different,
\nthat’s a sign of the times.
\nTime was when I read your cards
\nand wrote the numbers in the dust;
\nI can’t remember what they were but, anyhow,
\nI missed the cusp.
\nSo, so long, and so, goodbye.
\nDo you think I’d recognise you by your hair or by your mind now?<\/p>\n

We start out together
\nbut the paths all divide;
\nwhen there are no more crossroads
\nI open my eyes
\nand find I’m walking on alone
\nthrough the snowy cold….
\nI wonder if I’ll make it through the night?<\/p>\n

I’m an author and an actor too;
\nyou’re a model in the zoo…
\nI’m just thinking on which side of the bars
\nI’m looking through.
\nIf I prophesied an avalanche
\nwould you wait and call my bluff?
\nIf I gave you just a little song
\nwould that be enough
\nto save your life
\nor is the knife already turning in my hand?<\/p>\n

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

Rock and Role<\/strong><\/p>\n

Watch for the silent moment, only waiting to be saved.
\nWait for the Liemaker: he comes again
\nand sinks his barbs through honesty:
\nroll him over with all possible speed!
\nDon’t let him touch you with the candle of his need
\nor let him be, hysterically ravaging your grave.<\/p>\n

You are emotion picture, re-run at single frame.
\nYou are the instant playback, no chance for change;
\nsmile and smile, living diary!
\nRoll you over before it’s too late;
\nbefore you’re exposed to the monochrome phase
\nwhich can relate only fear and hate through the haze.<\/p>\n

I am the automated arrow, homing on the heat of pain;
\nI am the Peacebringer…it is so strange,
\nI feed on grief and grieve through joy.
\nSo roll me over and turn aside;
\ndon’t let me look into the mirror of your eyes
\nfor fear that I
\nmay steal the life
\nyou gladly gave.<\/p>\n

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

In the End<\/strong><\/p>\n

I promise you, I won’t leave a clue:
\nno tell-tale remark, no print from my shoe.
\nStill, a steady trail to the water’s edge…
\nI will keep my pledge to the end:
\nI intend to go free.<\/p>\n

No more rushing around, no more travelling chess;
\nI guess I’d better sit down, you know I do need the rest….
\nYes, it’s time to resign with equanimity and placidity
\nfrom the game.
\nI can’t explain;
\nI can’t relate….
\nHave I done it all too late?<\/p>\n

Now is the time for the commission to report;
\ntill lately, I thought I’d been planted.
\nTrying hard to make it all come real,
\npermission to feel is ungranted.
\nBut now it’s happening I’d like to keep it private if I can;
\nlast words, last looks, make a final stand.
\nNow my number’s come up on the Pools,
\nI guess I’ll board the Titanic for a cruise….<\/p>\n

Now is the time to make my status clear,
\ntoo late, I fear, and lonely,
\nas friends and enemies traverse the stage;
\nall in a rage disown me.
\nAnd all the pit-props shatter into dust about my ears:
\nmemory and conscience, hope and fear.
\nAs I crawl out further on the limb
\nsomething tells me I am crawling
\nin to unknown prophecies and lives
\nthe rainbow’s end is hemmed around with knives….<\/p>\n

As I stand on the boards and the stage lights grow dim,
\nshall I go out of doors, or shall I maybe go in?
\nHave I reached the point when I should take my cue
\nand follow you and your signs?
\nI can’t remember my lines
\nas the prompter cat-calls
\nand the cards all fall
\nin the strike.<\/p>\n

All the pages are thin, all the corners are curled.
\nDoes the starshine fall in through my window on the world?
\nOr am I living out (the seeds of doubt) a chronicle of revenge?
\nThe willow bends
\nas do my hands;
\ndo you understand?
\nAnd will you still be my friend in the end?<\/p>\n

When my mouth falls slack
\nand I can’t summon up another tune,
\nshall I then look back and say
\nI did it all
\ntoo soon?<\/p>\n

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

What’s it Worth?<\/strong><\/p>\n

What’s it worth to be safe?
\nWhat’s the way to be sane?
\nI can throw myself at the garden
\non my hands,
\nprune the lawn and mow the roses,
\nbut I never understand
\nhow to go
\nto be free;
\nin the end I only want to be me.<\/p>\n

Winter days here are mine;
\nstill, no bites…what’s my line?
\nI could hurl myself to the bonfire
\nwith all verve,
\nclear the path and weed the dead leaves,
\nbut I really just don’t have the nerve
\nto be part
\nof that scene…
\nis this just some kind of strange dream?<\/p>\n

Think I’ll walk to the steeple, where the people
\nare so inquisitive.
\nI could make it to the corner store and buy
\na hoard of derivatives
\nnow.<\/p>\n

Which way now…climb or coast?
\nWill my eggs ever poach?
\nI could throw myself in the frying pan
\nfor my name;
\nhit the road or smile hermetically,
\nbut it’s really never quite the same:
\nevery time a subtle twist.
\nI think I’ll grab my plot
\nand simply exist.<\/p>\n

Or would that be
\na subtle slash at my wrists?<\/p>\n

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

Easy to Slip Away<\/strong><\/p>\n

My friends, I never really thought you’d go,
\nbut, then, we know that’s the way it happens here.
\nNow time is like cat’s cradle in my hands:
\nI gather up the strands much too slowly.<\/p>\n

The refugees are gone…they take their separate paths,
\nobliterate the past, figures in an ash shroud.
\nSusie, I guess you’re on your way to be a star,
\nbut I don’t know where you are;
\nthe only time I seem to see you is on the TV
\nIt’s so easy just to slip away….<\/p>\n

Mike!
\nIt’s a year or two since I’ve seen you….
\nI might have dropped you a line
\nif I’d had time
\nor the will.<\/p>\n

It’s my fault too: I play a hermit’s role
\nof cars and stages, wages, supersoul,
\nhardly ever seem to get outside these days.
\nSo, dear friends, as we grow on we feel to grow away,
\ncan only live in the hope that some day
\nit will all return.
\nIt’s so easy to slip away….<\/p>\n

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

Dropping the Torch<\/strong><\/p>\n

We play games and every move
\nis noted down as a subsequent cause
\nand effectively chains our freedom and will to live;
\nwe settle in to simple survival,
\nhanging on our pleasures grimly…
\nwe must never let them go.<\/p>\n

Our prison walls are slowly built,
\nstone by stone and day by day;
\nno provision for escape,
\nentombed alive in safety
\nand decay.<\/p>\n

Time sets around us in killing frames,
\nblack border round our names.
\nOur fingers lose their grip
\nand the torch slips.<\/p>\n

The enemy for everyone
\nis everyone, inside.
\nI feel the hand of security
\ncreep on me with ice-cold fingers
\nand crush my flower of freedom;
\nI’ve lost the course of my adventure,
\nall the things I’d meant to do are lost.<\/p>\n

There is only one flame each
\nto keep alive in the wind.
\nBut finally we snuff them out
\nall by ourselves.<\/p>\n

We set traps and, in the end,
\nfall into our own snares
\nand have nowhere to go.<\/p>\n

Time ever moves more slowly;
\nlife gets more lonely
\nand less real.<\/p>\n

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

(In the) Black Room <\/strong><\/p>\n

I was thinking about thinking
\nbut it really didn’t get me very far,
\nso I thought I’d throw a Tarot,
\nbut I only got the Priestess and the Star.
\nThere’s a shadow cast between the future and the past;
\nthe room and I agree to buy some time….
\nThe cards don’t tell truth nor lies,
\nonly options and cusp lines:
\nthe furniture in the black room.<\/p>\n

I’ve been thinking about acid,
\nbut, it seems, there’s not a reason to believe.
\nI don’t make a vital breakthrough
\nand it walks me like a dog upon a lead.
\nIt’s all unreal and, the way I feel,
\nI’d like to try and make it on my own….
\nGoing to the feelies is fine:
\nI really have me a good pleasure cruise.
\nBut, deep in my mind,
\nI’m no better or worse, just open to the walls.
\nPaint peels in the black of my room.<\/p>\n

I’m only talking about myself, ordering the treasure shelf,
\ndocumenting these present feelings as the future sets me reeling….
\nWhat I’ll be is what I am,
\nI’m simply trying not to sham or fake.
\nUse vision as sense and not as crutch!
\nIt doesn’t matter all that much;
\nwhatever happens we’ll all survive,
\nI’m only trying not to pawn my life.<\/p>\n

When I’m (maybe) old and strait-laced,
\nshall I then deny all that I feel?
\nIn words of bitter compromise,
\nre-smelt the wrath that’s in my eyes like steel?
\nBe a hermit then?
\nOr be a miser?
\nBe a man who hasn’t managed yet to write his rules?
\nThe Fool?
\nThe future holds my hand in the room….<\/p>\n

Well, then, my ghosts shall steer down through the years
\nand lay a hand upon my soul
\nlike ice.<\/p>\n

So: onto the familiar top steps!
\nIn cloud-scud moonlight glow
\nthe Tower reels.
\nI, the blind man,
\nfeeling for a path I know…
\ndon’t you know that I’m only feeling for how to feel?<\/p>\n

Rats run.
\nSnakes coil.
\nFathers
\nstare out at the whispering night;
\nrub mud on their arms.<\/p>\n

Spiders.
\nMud boils.
\nChildren
\nwhimper in the human vortex;
\nfaces glow of worms.<\/p>\n

THUNDER
\nSilence.
\nOmens….<\/p>\n

I think it’s coming,
\nall signs are very near, all signs are that
\npain shall come
\nand change shall run
\ndown through my heart
\nand shake my knees
\nand now it is coming,
\nall around is the humming
\nof the World.<\/p>\n

Too late, with my balance gone,
\ndead-eyed doll,
\nI’m falling, falling
\nback to where I began….<\/p>\n

I’m feeling like a kid again,
\nI’m feeling like I just walked in the door,
\nand with my head on fire
\nI wrote this song – I don’t know who it’s for.
\nHands held fast in camera,
\nI’ll swear I heard the Stammerer exclaim:
\n„I am a traveller, unraveller,
\nI only live through pain, and shame, and change!”<\/p>\n

In my room, the secret tomb, I can see
\nfuture forms, space\/time storms:
\nthey’re all me,
\nand I’ve only got to choose!<\/p>\n

In my head I am dead if I fall
\nin the trap,
\nthe subtle lap,
\nsafety’s pall….
\nbut I’m living while I choose….<\/p>\n

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

German Overalls Mannheim: rainy Saturday with no money nor friend… only Tequila can end the boredom. Try to reach London for a pocket of hope; we’re children, we grope in the dark. Hugh spends his last Mark on coffee and … Czytaj dalej →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":659,"parent":519,"menu_order":2,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"sidebar-page.php","meta":{"_sitemap_exclude":false,"_sitemap_priority":"","_sitemap_frequency":"","footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-745","page","type-page","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/745","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=745"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/745\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1385,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/745\/revisions\/1385"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/519"}],"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=745"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}