{"id":814,"date":"2013-04-19T22:55:18","date_gmt":"2013-04-19T20:55:18","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/?page_id=814"},"modified":"2013-05-03T02:16:30","modified_gmt":"2013-05-03T00:16:30","slug":"13-skin","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/teksty\/teksty-oryginalne\/teksty-ph-solo\/13-skin\/","title":{"rendered":"13. Skin"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a>
\nSkin<\/strong><\/p>\n

There’s a shiver down the spine
\nof the body map…
\nhow come everything gets so physical?
\nWith your finger on the pulse
\nand your head in the clouds
\neverything’s so tactile
\nIn your private world,
\nIn your little world.<\/p>\n

CHORUS:
\nUnder the skin you search for paradise,
\nunder the skin some kind of parasite
\nremains concealed.
\nUnder the skin a true identity, a memory
\nwill soon be revealed, under the skin.<\/p>\n

Hit that button, no time to lose –
\neverything’s so immediate.
\nYou’d have it all right now
\nIf you got to choose
\nIn your private world,
\nsuch a tiny world.<\/p>\n

CHORUS<\/p>\n

Is something out to get you under the skin?
\nFull of the promise of paradise?
\nParadise now?<\/p>\n

Everything gets so physical,
\neverything’s so immediate
\nIn your private world,
\nsuch a tiny world.<\/p>\n

CHORUS<\/p>\n

Does something get to you
\nunder the skin?<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nAfter the Show<\/strong><\/p>\n

He made a bit of money,
\nthat’s something you might like to know….
\nHe’ll be drinking in the cafe on the corner
\nafter the show.<\/p>\n

He’s been so many people,
\nhe wore them all like poisoned vests,
\nstill playing the soliloquy from Hamlet
\nclose to his chest.<\/p>\n

Where do the actors go after the show?
\nWhere do the actors go?<\/p>\n

He had his hour of glory,
\nthat’s something you should keep in mind….
\nWhen he’s drinking in the cafe on the corner
\nthere’s no sense of time,
\njust waiting on for Godot,
\nconvinced he’s been here years before…
\nhe’s taken that philosophy in German
\nsquare on the jaw.<\/p>\n

Where do the actors go after the show?
\nWhere do the actors go?<\/p>\n

He made a bit of money,
\nthat’s something you might like to know;
\nhe’ll be drinking in the cafe on the corner
\nafter the show<\/p>\n

Where do the actors go after the show?
\nWhere do the actors go?<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nPainting by Numbers<\/strong><\/p>\n

It’s not that complicated,
\nno more than a clench of fist –
\nshe want to paint her heart out,
\nshe want to tell it as she sees it is.
\nAuthority condemns her,
\nthey say to paint’s a waste without a base,
\nsome bedrock of idea.<\/p>\n

Painting by numbers doesn’t add up,
\nPainting by numbers doesn’t add up,
\nit’s passionless bed-rest,
\nwork-body that’s headless,
\na head that’s without heart –
\npainting by numbers doesn’t add up to art.<\/p>\n

Her constant vows mean nothing,
\nnot content alone that sells –
\nThe Market Theory beckons,
\nno-one remembers what the story tells;
\nno-one remembers passion,
\nwe just recite the line
\nthat art is fine and fashion costly.<\/p>\n

Painting by numbers doesn’t add up;
\nsafety in numbers, put your hands up
\nin mute surrender…
\nthey’ll break her or bend her
\nfor the heart on her sleeve.
\nPainting by numbers all the modern world believes.<\/p>\n

And the whole thing falls apart
\nwhen the movement’s more important than the art;
\nwhen we’re more concerned
\nwith what’s been thought than said
\nthis is the moment when the culture’s dead.<\/p>\n

It’s not that complicated,
\nit’s simple as can be:
\nshe want to paint her heart out,
\nthey want a programme for the B.B.C.
\nwhere academic critics can talk of art that’s fine
\nlike holy wine – the Blessed Intellectuals!<\/p>\n

Painting by numbers, safety in numbers…
\nThe poets from Venus assume that they’ve seen us –
\nthey’re quick to depart.
\nPainting by numbers doesn’t add up to art.<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nShell<\/strong><\/p>\n

Turn a card, turn a page,
\nthe action sure to start,
\nsecond-stage reaction
\nto illogical thoughts on random lines –
\nin a Borges dream we move toward
\nthe writing of lives.<\/p>\n

Leave it out, leave it in,
\nno edits –
\nwith a shout, with a grin I said
\nit was a certainty that I’d arrive
\nin an Escher sketch
\nwe walk around
\nthe drawing of lines.<\/p>\n

The character uncertainty
\nas he contemplates his lot
\nand tries to move with urgency
\nthough he’s rooted to the spot.<\/p>\n

On the brink, on the edge,
\nbut lately what I think,
\nwhat I said escapes me
\nin a flash, a tiger burning bright –
\ndoes the visionary trance obscure
\nthe burgeoning night?<\/p>\n

And she said „What are you doing?”
\nAnd he said „What do you think?”
\nOh, no,
\nwhat on earth are we doing?<\/p>\n

The characters procrastinate
\non the threshold of the door;
\nthere’s something here that fascinates,
\nthough the meaning’s still unsure
\nand the plot so thick.
\nIs it some kind of history?
\nSketch the thumbnail to the quick.
\nOh, even though it’s full of contradiction,
\nthough it’s flawed in the design
\nthis is no fiction,
\nit’s a lifeline.<\/p>\n

Here we are, there we went,
\nfull circle, shooting stars,
\nheaven-sent, turned turtle on the beach
\nour shells are left behind
\nlife a library, like a memory
\nof our ghost-written lives.<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nAll Said and Done<\/strong><\/p>\n

All the words in the world
\nwouldn’t make you stay this evening;
\nthough I scrabble around for any I can say,
\nso hard to take our leave,
\nso hard to stop believing.<\/p>\n

I guess we know this silence well enough,
\nand you’ll be going by and by;
\nI’m scared that anything I offer
\nmight be taken for a lie.<\/p>\n

CHORUS:
\nAll said and done,
\nand there’s no way to make it any different.
\nI hold my tongue as you’re walking away.
\nSo goodbye comes –
\noh, I don’t want to make it difficult
\nbut nothing’s easy
\nwhen there’s nothing left to say.<\/p>\n

Now we only talk as though time were heavy weather
\nwith a storm-cloud brewing on each hasty phrase…
\nall the words in the world wouldn’t put us back together.<\/p>\n

Maybe we had our opportunities…
\nmost of those chances passed us by;
\nI’m scared that anything I offer
\nmight be taken as a bribe.<\/p>\n

CHORUS<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nA Perfect Date<\/strong><\/p>\n

A perfect date to hesitate,
\nI hope it won’t be too long.<\/p>\n

You’re a sucker for the punch
\nand the telegraph bells are ringing;
\nnow it’s coming to the crunch
\nas you stumble on the Jaffa Gate.
\nI think you know how it happens on the stage
\nwhen the heavenly choir are singing –
\nyou’ve been taken by a perfect date.<\/p>\n

You made the Mount of Venus your Jerusalem,
\nyou’re marking time as symbol for debate;
\nyou hope to find some moment close to infinite,
\nyou hope to find a perfect date.<\/p>\n

A perfect date to hesitate.
\nThe future beckons us on.
\nThere comes a time to hesitate –
\nI hope it won’t be too long.<\/p>\n

You’re a sucker for the punch…
\n…you’ve been taken by a perfect date.<\/p>\n

You’ve been playing on a hunch
\nand the strings of your heart are zinging.
\nYeh, you cut loose from the bunch
\nbut that doesn’t mean you’ve sealed your fate.
\nI think you know how it happens,
\nthough it’s strange,
\nwhen the heavenly choir start singing:
\nyou’ve been taken by a perfect date<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nFour Pails<\/strong><\/p>\n

Four pails of water and a bagfull of salts.<\/p>\n

That is all we are, that is all a man comprises,
\nchemicals alone, with no spirit, soul or ghost –
\nnothing so bizarre.
\nNo amount of faith disguises
\nwhat is true is what we fear the most<\/p>\n

Nothing can survive
\nsave the things men leave behind them.
\nAny other case would be really too absurd –
\nif thoughts remained alive
\nsurely modern science would find them?
\nNo, the soul is nothing but a word.<\/p>\n

All the wonders Man achieves
\nemerge from cerebral tissue.
\nChemical reactions’ ebb and surge
\nform that Thing that is you….
\nIt’s a sad philosophy,
\nbut better sad than wrong.
\nFace the truth instead:
\nwhen you’re dead you’re dead,
\nwhen you’re gone you’re gone…
\nnow she’s gone.<\/p>\n

Four pails of water and a bagfull of salts.<\/p>\n

That is all she was, all my lover represented –
\nthat sounds just as mad as saying she will never die.
\nFools may clutch at straws
\nbut truth must not be circumvented:
\nas the tree falls, so must that tree lie!<\/p>\n

Now that sounds so odd…
\nonce I would have preached it brightly.
\nNow questions appear I rationally can’t ignore…
\nNothingness or God,
\nWhich of them seems more unlikely?<\/p>\n

Once I would have answered clearly,
\nnow I only think I’m nearly sure.<\/p>\n

(Chris Judge Smith)<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nNow Lover<\/strong><\/p>\n

In the here and now….
\nBetween sensation at the nerve-ends
\nand arrival of information at the cortex
\ntime elapses.
\nSo, you see, each time we touch
\nwe did so in the past.<\/p>\n

Now, lover,
\nslicing through time in a perfect curve,
\nDue for a moment of energy;
\nsomehow we’ll get what we most deserve
\nin the here and now.<\/p>\n

In the here and now,
\nalthough completely different people
\nin the moments before and after having sex,
\nwe are time-locked.
\nCracked, forgotten statues,
\nwe are strangled in the undergrowth,
\nlost in ancient magic, we are motion,
\nwe are wonderful flow.
\nWe are time-locked,
\nUnknowing of the code, but addicted to the pulse<\/p>\n

Now, lover,
\nmelt in the crucible,
\nflesh and blood bodies consumed by the catalyst.
\nSomehow we’ll raise our sights from the mud,
\nwe are always now,
\nwe are Always Now!<\/p>\n

If we were always here and now,
\ninstead of slightly, now and then…
\nso immaterial, so lost, embracing
\nall the grace that comes before the fall.<\/p>\n

If we were always here and now,
\nelectric shiver in the spine,
\nhow could we turn away, see life as grey and drab?
\nHow come we don’t see what we have?<\/p>\n

If we were always here and now,
\nsoul to soul and skin to skin….
\nIs it some kind of make-believe,
\nis it some kind of dream we’re in,
\nwith a mint copy of original sin?<\/p>\n

In the here and now,
\nbetween sensation at the nerve-ends
\nand the arrival of information at the cortex
\ntime elapses<\/p>\n

Cracked, forgotten statues, we are
\nstrangled in the undergrowth;
\nlying on the mattress
\nof the magic and the wonderful,
\nnothing really matters as we’re
\nsucked in by the undertow….
\nWe are Motion, we are Feeling, we are Now!<\/p>\n

Although completely different people
\nin the moments before and after having sex
\nwe are time-locked, we are time-locked….
\nThough we know
\neach time we touch
\nwe did so in the past.<\/p>\n

Now come on, come on, lover,
\nslicing through time in a perfect curve,
\ndue for a moment of energy…
\nsomehow we’ll get what we most deserve
\nin the here and now.
\nMelt in the crucible, flesh and blood
\nbodies consumed by the catalyst,
\nsurrender to nothing,
\nwelcome the flood of the here and now.
\nSlicing through time in a perfect curve,
\ndue for a moment of energy,
\nsomehow we’ll get what we most deserve;
\nmelt in the crucible, flesh and blood
\nbodies, consumed by the catalyst,
\nsurrender to nothing,
\nnip the thought in the bud.
\nWe are always now,
\nWe are Always Now!<\/p>\n

If we were always here and now…<\/p>\n

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

Skin There’s a shiver down the spine of the body map… how come everything gets so physical? With your finger on the pulse and your head in the clouds everything’s so tactile In your private world, In your little world. … Czytaj dalej →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":659,"parent":519,"menu_order":13,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"sidebar-page.php","meta":{"_sitemap_exclude":false,"_sitemap_priority":"","_sitemap_frequency":"","footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-814","page","type-page","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/814","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=814"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/814\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":816,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/814\/revisions\/816"}],"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=814"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}