{"id":839,"date":"2013-04-20T16:59:06","date_gmt":"2013-04-20T14:59:06","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/?page_id=839"},"modified":"2013-05-03T02:22:24","modified_gmt":"2013-05-03T00:22:24","slug":"19-the-noise","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/teksty\/teksty-oryginalne\/teksty-ph-solo\/19-the-noise\/","title":{"rendered":"19. The Noise"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a>
\nA Kick to Kill the Kiss<\/strong><\/p>\n

He’d like you to call him lucky,
\nthe original self-made man;
\nno sense of wide-screen vision,
\nno gender strangeness he can understand.<\/p>\n

Roll on the old, old story,
\nyou can call it original sin;
\nyeh, stamp that one in his passport,
\npaste it and colour it in.<\/p>\n

Colour in a history of pride and prejudice;
\nwhat he wants is mystery, but what he gets is this:
\na kick to kill the kiss.<\/p>\n

He thinks it fair competition,
\nsomehow having and eating the cake,
\nwhen the women are in their bodies
\nand the men are all over the place.<\/p>\n

What he wants is Paradise, of which he has no clue.
\nWhat he wants: Oblivion. („…Baby, all I want is you.”)
\nWhat he wants and what he needs are very different tricks….
\nGot some strange philosophy through going for
\nthat dictionary tic
\nand the kick of kiss-me-quick.<\/p>\n

A kick to kill the kiss
\nand he says
\n„Baby, all I want is you.”<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nLike a Shot, the Entertainer<\/strong><\/p>\n

Like a shot from the barrel of a smoking gun he’s not,
\nstill he aims for adoration.
\nOn the spot where the kettle has been called black by the pot
\nhe awaits his true vocation.
\nYou’re so hot, eggs are frying where you walk upon the street,
\nwhat you got is the secret that he’d trade his soul to keep.
\nLike a shot he will tell you all his stories –
\nis that what entertains the entertainer?<\/p>\n

Like a shot of the elixir of youth your trade in stock,
\nboth a curse and a protection;
\nlike a shot, in like Flynn, he’ll tie his tongue up in a knot
\nto profess his true affection.
\nYou’re so hot, eggs are frying where you walk upon the street;
\nyou’re so hot that he turns to tango every time you meet.
\nLike a shot he’ll be thrown upon your mercy –
\nis that what entertains the entertainer?<\/p>\n

Entertain the entertainer….<\/p>\n

Like a shot, like a paparazzo picture gone to pot
\nhis decay bears no reversal;
\non the rocks he will take his medicine straight
\nbut this is not, I repeat not, dress rehearsal.
\nYou’re so hot, eggs are frying where you walk upon the street;
\nX the spot where he hopes he’ll always fall upon his feet.
\nWhat a shock when he stumbles in the spotlight –
\nis that what entertains the entertainer?<\/p>\n

Let’s talk about something else; let’s talk about us;
\nlet’s talk about egocentricity; let’s talk about keeping it up.<\/p>\n

You’re so hot, eggs are frying where you walk upon the street;
\nwhat you got is the secret that he’d trade his soul to keep.
\nLike a shot he’ll regale you with his stories –
\nis that what entertains the entertainer?
\nLike a shot he’ll be thrown upon your mercy –
\nis that what entertains the entertainer?
\nWhat a shock when he stumbles in the spotlight –
\nis that what entertains the entertainer?<\/p>\n

Let’s talk about something else; let’s talk about us;
\nlet’s talk about egocentricity; let’s talk about keeping it up.<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nThe Noise<\/strong><\/p>\n

I loved the Noise,
\nelectric breath;
\nNoise filled the emptiness,
\nroared in the emptiness.<\/p>\n

A noise to strip the paper clean off the wall,
\na noise to crack the masonry like a breaking-ball,
\nthe cutting edge of sonic, the wave that never breaks
\nand the heart and soul are pumping
\nme awake, me awake, me awake.<\/p>\n

I loved the Noise,
\nshake to the core;
\nthat’s what the Noise is for.<\/p>\n

Nothing came of nothing except what was left behind
\nin the barrage of the bombard, under organ grind.
\nI’m caught there in the moment, bug-eyed overnight drive
\nand the heart and soul are pumping
\nme alive, me alive, me alive, me alive.<\/p>\n

And in the rush of the silence with my arms
\nwrapped round me warm
\nI’m holding breath, impatient
\nfor the dark before the dawn….
\nJust at the crack of daylight
\nthat’ll be the curtain torn,
\nthat’ll be the ground in a forewarning murmur
\nof the Noise, of the storm.<\/p>\n

I loved the Noise,
\nelectric breath,
\nNoise filled the emptiness;
\nI loved the Noise,
\nI loved the heat –
\npump-pulse that priming beat.<\/p>\n

A statement of intention, an elemental plan –
\nthe Noise is in the temple, the Noise is out of hand;
\nthe needle on the end stop, crescendo in the choir…
\nyes, and the heart and soul are pumping
\nme on fire, me on fire, me on fire, me on fire.<\/p>\n

I loved the Noise,
\nI’ve drunk my fill;
\nthe Noise is with me still.
\nI loved the Noise
\nthough now it’s gone
\nsome glorious echoes of the Noise still linger on.<\/p>\n

Power on.<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nCelebrity Kissing<\/strong><\/p>\n

Celebrity kissing, this has got to stop;
\nyeh, they’re swarming like flies,
\nthey’re like bees around the honeypot.
\nCelebrity kissing, will it never end?
\nWell, you know and I know this is only pretence….<\/p>\n

You give it all you’ve got in radiance on the podium,
\nmanicured fingers grip the figurine.
\nYou taught us all you knew in missionary position;
\nthrow your arms around your latest scene,
\nit could have been celebrity kissing….
\nThis has got to stop:
\nyeh, they’re swarming like flies,
\nthey’re like bees around the honey;
\nyou were wonderful, darling, does it never end?
\nWell, you know and I know this is only pretence.<\/p>\n

They saw you coming for a thousand miles,
\nknew something wicked by the pricking of the thumbs;
\nthey can’t believe this cheek you’re turning is your better side;
\nI think they preferred it when you acted young and dumb.<\/p>\n

So you take it to the limit,
\ntake it from the top,
\nshake it till it’s broken,
\ndoes the penny never drop?<\/p>\n

Celebrity kissing, this has got to stop:
\nyeh, they’re swarming like flies,
\nthey’re like bees around the honey.
\nYou were wonderful, darling, does it never end?
\nOh, you know and I know this is only pretence….<\/p>\n

Oh, look out. Oh, yeh, will the penny drop?
\nSome kind of madness in characterization,
\nsome kind of method in your made-up face;
\nyou got your wake-up call, your open invitation,
\nyou get to party in the pagan place.<\/p>\n

This is only pretence.
\nCut and print, cut that kiss, cut….and print:
\nthis is only pretence.<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nWhere the Mouth is<\/strong><\/p>\n

Money where the mouth is, pennies on the eyes.
\nTimes are hard and you find that you’re in trouble
\nbut it’s hard to sympathize.
\nYou talk up quite a story, you blow the bubble well.
\nMoney where the mouth is, silver-tongue the sell.<\/p>\n

Put up or shut up.
\nCut price or cut-up.
\nPut up or shut up.<\/p>\n

Money where the mouth is, will there be just desserts?
\nWhite-collar crime – yeah, the summing-up
\nwill reckon surely nobody got hurt.
\nHey, offer jam tomorrow – the cash will do quite well.
\nWith your fair shares for all, try to practice what you preach
\nwhen they ring that Lutine bell.
\nHey, put your money where your mouth is
\nand hope the money talk will spring you from the cell.<\/p>\n

We’ve heard the empty promises, the barely veiled threats;
\nwe’ve yet to see the colour of the money now –
\nwe’ve yet to see it….
\nOh, but we’ll get to see it, you bet.<\/p>\n

Put up or shut up.
\nCut price or cut-up.
\nPut the money where the mouth is.<\/p>\n

Yeh, you copped for quite a lot, but everything you got
\nfell off the back end of the yacht.
\nYou did your best to grease the machinery,
\nyou shut us out of the talking shop:
\nthe desks are empty when the buck full stops.
\nHey, you put your money
\nwhere your mouth was not.
\nYou put your money where your mouth was not.<\/p>\n

Well, put the money where the mouth is,
\nsnuffling in the trough.
\nYeh, put your money where your mouth is,
\nwith the pigs in the trough.<\/p>\n

Where the mouth is,
\nwhere the mouth is.<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nThe Great European Dept. Store<\/strong><\/p>\n

It’s a triumph, material triumph,
\nmass consumption and conformity.
\nDown in hardware the shelves are stacked up
\nwith the latest line in luxury.
\nThe perfume counter has make-up ladies
\nall immaculately make-believe;
\nthey sell you lifestyle package
\nand you’d better buy
\nbecause you’re never going to leave.<\/p>\n

Nations of shoppers consume in a frenzy
\nthe security of branded names;
\nthey’re fighting in the food hall
\nfor exotic vegetables and fruit, eco-friendly game.
\nIt doesn’t matter which currency you use
\nbecasue they’re all exactly the same.<\/p>\n

And it’s all on offer, everything’s on offer,
\nmulti-national door-to-door
\nin the Great European Department Store.<\/p>\n

It’s on offer, it’s all on offer, you can pack it flat to take away:
\nScottish heather to Spanish leather,
\nGerman turniip to Dutch weather-vane.
\nIf you’ve got the money the door’s wide open,
\nthey are only here to pamper you.
\nThe ethnic art room has plundered several continents
\nto decorate your living room.
\nIt doesn’t matter which credit card you use
\nor if you even sign your real name
\nbecause they’re all exactly the same.<\/p>\n

And it’s all on offer, guaranteed natural, quality control assured
\nin the Great European Department Store.
\nHey, let’s shop; let’s go!<\/p>\n

In the Great European Department Store….<\/p>\n

Ooh, the shopping’s something shocking now;
\nooh, will the shopping never stop
\nin the Great European Department Store?<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nPlanet Coventry<\/strong><\/p>\n

You find you’re standing alone – not so splendid, isolation.
\nIn the Green Room the talk is all of righteous indignation
\nand you might as well have landed
\nin some strange and distant galaxy.
\nThe rules are unspoken on the Planet Coventry.<\/p>\n

What reaction can you gauge, naked on the stage?<\/p>\n

The gravity’s not so great, but the atmosphere’s chilling;
\nyou made some serious mistakes
\nthe day you pushed yourself for the grilling;
\nand the jigsaw pieces – take a look – a jumble of asymmetry.
\nAll the corners are cut on the Planet Coventry.<\/p>\n

Out of order, out of reach,
\nbriefless on the beach;
\nno reaction you can guage,
\nonly silence from the front row,
\nsilence from the back row,
\nsilence and you’re naked on the stage….
\nwake up.<\/p>\n

You dreamed you’d no need of dreams: that’s an alien situation.
\nIn the Glasshouse the mimers mill in dangerous mutation
\nand you might as well have landed in a different reality.
\nThe rules are all broken on the Planet Coventry.<\/p>\n

Out of order, out of reach, briefless on the beach;
\none more punter for the chop, dried up in the dock;
\nheadless chicken, total block, tongue a Gordian knot;
\nno reaction on this page,
\nonly silence from the front row, slience from the back row,
\nsilence from the prompter, silence all the rage –
\nonly silence and you’re naked on the stage.<\/p>\n

You wake up, and you’re naked on the stage.<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nPrimo on the Parapet<\/strong><\/p>\n

He crawled on hallowed ground without a map;
\nhe walks on hollow legs, leaving no footprint;
\ndrifts like a ghost through the quarters of lost desire,
\nbreathing underwater,
\nstill running through the fire.<\/p>\n

Four horsemen drive the coach of Holocaust home
\nand with what sense of history do we view our bright new world,
\nwith the video nasty blasting through the set
\nof our next door neighbour?
\nDo we learn to forget? Do we learn just to forget?<\/p>\n

And raw barbarity sleeps, spore in soil?
\nNo-one an innocent, no-one entirely immune.
\nStill we wait for a saviour, there are no saints as yet.
\nJust the guilt of survival,
\nwe learn to forget.<\/p>\n

The blindest eye is turned on the beast we clothe,
\ndrab in the uniform of silent acquiescence.
\nSo I’ll raise this toast to Primo, climbing up upon the parapet
\nwith one final word of caution:
\nwe must learn not to forget.<\/p>\n

There’s pain in remembrance,
\nbut we must learn not to forget.<\/p>\n

Here’s a toast to Primo,
\nlet’s learn not to forget.
\nHere’s a toast to Primo,
\nforgive but don’t forget.
\nHere’s a toast to Primo,
\nlet’s learn not to forget.<\/p>\n

One last word of caution
\nfrom the very rim of the parapet.
\nOne last word in remembrance…
\nwe must learn not to forget.<\/p>\n

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

A Kick to Kill the Kiss He’d like you to call him lucky, the original self-made man; no sense of wide-screen vision, no gender strangeness he can understand. Roll on the old, old story, you can call it original sin; … Czytaj dalej →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":659,"parent":519,"menu_order":19,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"sidebar-page.php","meta":{"_sitemap_exclude":false,"_sitemap_priority":"","_sitemap_frequency":"","footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-839","page","type-page","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/839","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=839"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/839\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":841,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/839\/revisions\/841"}],"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=839"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}