{"id":866,"date":"2013-04-20T19:24:49","date_gmt":"2013-04-20T17:24:49","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/?page_id=866"},"modified":"2013-05-03T02:26:48","modified_gmt":"2013-05-03T00:26:48","slug":"25-none-of-the-above","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/teksty\/teksty-oryginalne\/teksty-ph-solo\/25-none-of-the-above\/","title":{"rendered":"25. None of the Above"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a>
\nTouch and Go<\/strong> \"Przek\u0142ad\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Between the light and the shadow,
\nout of the corner of my eye
\nI saw your feathers all ruffled,
\nanticipating the sky….
\nYou’ve got no reason to stay,
\nday by day your impatience has grown.
\nI’m caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, I know.
\nI’m reaching out
\nbut we are touch and go.<\/p>\n

Making a meal of the moment
\nI might cook up a story or two,
\nbut the dish of the day’s getting colder
\nand I know that, pretty soon,
\nyou’ll pick up your bed and walk,
\nopen your wings and fly away from me
\nacross the leaden, hammer-headed sky
\nwhile I can’t breathe a word,
\nno matter how I try.<\/p>\n

So scared
\nit shows
\nthat we are touch and go.<\/p>\n

I never brought myself to tell you
\nhow you kept all my demons at bay
\nbut my silence came out as indifference
\nand now my diffidence has driven you away.
\nYou’ll be the one with the wings,
\nI’m going down in flames,
\nstill mouthing out the mystery, my angel, of your name.
\nHow touch and go our tenderness became.<\/p>\n

(So scared to show
\nI know we’re touch and go)<\/p>\n

So touch and go,
\nso much I can’t explain.<\/p>\n

(So much is unexplained.)<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nNaming the Rose<\/strong><\/p>\n

He had worked on this for years
\nsince they know they’d be childless:
\nto hybridise a thornless
\nand deep-scented damask rose.
\nShe was always by his side
\nin the lengthening shadows…
\nthis case is closed.<\/p>\n

Ena Harkness, Constance Spry,
\nEmily Grey, Margaret Merrill,
\nZepherine Drouhin, Aimee Vibert and Blanche Moreau –
\nall these spirits still survive in the act of the grower
\n(in peace and compassion he’s…)
\nnaming the rose,
\nnaming the rose in the memory of sweetness.<\/p>\n

Dedication to the call
\nand he offers up the hope
\nthat love conquers all.<\/p>\n

It’s not easy to explain
\nhow he felt at her passing
\nthe very day on which
\nthe most perfect bloom was full-blown;
\ntender cruelty that she’d
\nnever share in this moment,
\nnaming the rose.<\/p>\n

He takes her ashes to the seed-bed
\nand works them in gently
\nso that her soul will rise like sap
\nin the plants as they grow
\nand then whispering her name
\nwrites it out on the label,
\nnaming the rose,
\nnaming the rose
\nfor the sake of her sweetness.<\/p>\n

Naming the rose
\nin the memory of sweetness.<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nHow Far I Fell<\/strong><\/p>\n

(Here’s the old man and his not-so-childlike bride;
\nhere’s the humbling of us all, delusion never dies;
\nhere’s the story: anyone can fall at any time at all.
\nWe’re born to be fools in life.)<\/p>\n

I was the king of the mountain,
\nI had everything that money couldn’t buy:
\nat the summit of ambition I was ready for the sky.
\nI viewed the world from this, my citadel…
\noh, how I fell.<\/p>\n

Silent and sleeping, the volcano,
\nso I thought that I stood square upon my feet.
\nI ignored the warning tremors in my hubris, I repeat –
\nI never saw you coming, Jezebel…
\noh, how I fell.<\/p>\n

As I look back now on the tears I was to cry
\nI am holding on to the vestiges of pride,
\nI am holding on, but I will never be the one to tell
\nhow far I fell.<\/p>\n

(Here’s the old man and his not-so-childlike bride;
\nhere’s the humbling of us all, delusion never dies;
\nhere’s the story: anyone can fall at any time at all.
\nWe’re born to be fools in life.)<\/p>\n

A fool and his money are soon parted
\nand there’s nothing like an old fool, so they say:
\nonce the plastic had been melted quickly you were on your way,
\nleaving me drowning in the wishing-well –
\noh, how I fell.<\/p>\n

You’ll never know how deep you cut me,
\nalthough anyone can see the state I’m in.
\nSo I pay the price of such unoriginal sin…
\nbut I will never bring myself to tell
\nhow far I fell.<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nSomebody Bad Enough<\/strong><\/p>\n

I keep your picture in the back of the book
\nas index to my hidden pages;
\na secret life
\nis where we meet
\nand I’ll not let you go.<\/p>\n

I know you think that I’m a bit of a creep
\nbut I will grow on you in stages
\nuntil you recognise that we’re both in so deep
\nthat it’s contagious.<\/p>\n

And if you love somebody bad enough
\nI believe in the end they will offer you in their lives.<\/p>\n

I keep the website stocked with pictures of you;
\nI love to scan your shocked expression.
\nI know that you’re the only one
\nwho really understands
\nall about possession.<\/p>\n

And if you love somebody bad enough
\nyou will follow their footsteps wherever they’re going in life;
\nand if you love somebody bad enough
\nI believe in the end they let you in their lives.<\/p>\n

And if you love somebody bad enough
\nyou will follow their footsteps wherever they lead you in life;
\nand, yes, I love somebody bad enough
\nI believe in the end you will let me in your life.<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nTango for One<\/strong><\/p>\n

And every time you call me
\nI wait to hear what favour you require of me this time….
\nThe object of your own desire,
\nnot everything’s about you,
\nI’m not exactly hanging on your words,
\nthis audience is restive,
\nperhaps you’ve not observed
\nbecause it’s me, me, me with you
\nand what I feel means not a lot.
\nNo, I don’t need this,
\nyou’re welcome to what you’ve got.<\/p>\n

Not everything’s about you,
\nmy world does not revolve
\naround whatever problem you want solved;
\nperhaps you might do better with a fresh resolve.
\nBut it’s always me, me, me with you
\nand I have had it up to here;
\nno, I don’t need this –
\nyou’re welcome to yourself, my dear.<\/p>\n

You’re welcome to the party,
\nso glad your guests have all arrived.
\nThey’re all reflecting your brilliance in their adoring eyes.
\nYou’re welcome to this moment,
\neverybody’s here for you…
\nbut you’ll be dancing by yourself before the night is through.<\/p>\n

Not everything’s about you,
\nnot everything’s about you,
\nnot everything about you’s true.<\/p>\n

And every time you call me
\nyour self-obsession grows:
\nyou’ll stew in your own juices, I suppose.
\nI’ve had enough of listening, there’s nobody at home;
\nnot everything’s about you, everybody knows
\nthat everything about you’s emperor’s new clothes.<\/p>\n

You’re welcome to the party,
\nso glad that everybody came;
\noh, how they admire you as your worth is self-proclaimed!
\nThe spittoons fill up with vitriol
\nwhile you’re puffing up your name.
\nYes, you’re welcome to this moment
\nyou perceive as your righteous fame;
\nand if exhausting our patience
\nhas long been your chosen game
\nyou’re a winner, you’re a champion…
\nin your own eyes you’re a saint.
\nIs that what you’ve become?<\/p>\n

Yes, you’re welcome to yourself
\nbut when this one-off race is run
\nnot everything’s about you.
\nNot everything’s about you,
\nand getting on without you won’t be hard,
\nif of comfort that’s a crumb.<\/p>\n

It’s always me, me, me with you;
\nsurely it can’t be so much fun
\nto find you’re dancing a tango for one?<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nLike Veronica<\/strong><\/p>\n

Wear your hair like Veronica Lake
\nand he says you look ever so pretty
\nas he brushes the tear from your cheek almost tenderly…
\nsoon he’ll be home.<\/p>\n

Falling in love was your first mistake,
\nwith a heart that held no trace of pity.
\nAs you look in the mirror you wonder what face you will see
\nwhen he comes home.<\/p>\n

Soon he’ll be
\nin through the door in a cloud of rage and impotence;
\ncalling you whore, his greeting is a Glasgow Kiss;
\ndown on the floor you raise your arms but there is no defence…
\nhe’s only in love with his fists.<\/p>\n

Wear your hair like Veronica Lake
\nand the bruises won’t show where he hits you;
\nsafe behind the curtain, in private, in secret nobody will see
\nhow he comes home.<\/p>\n

Soon he’ll be
\ninto your face in a spittle-stream of vitriol and abuse,
\nfilling the place with the stench of alcohol and piss;
\nno saving grace, no comfort, no escape and no excuse:
\nhe’s only in love with his fists.<\/p>\n

If this is all that there is
\nisn’t there somewhere to run to?
\nOr do you think in the future he’ll change his ways?
\nIs that why you stay?<\/p>\n

He is not your heaven-sent protector, he is not an angel from above,
\nhe is not the man that you once married: now his fists are all he loves.
\nHe is just a weakling and a bully, he is not the devil in disguise;
\nhe is not the man that you once married, he only wants to see you cry.
\nHe only wants to hear you beg, he only wants to see you hurt,
\nhe only wants to see you bleed, he only want to make you cry.
\nHe is not your heaven-sent protector, he is not an angel from above,
\nhe is not the man that you once married: now his fists are all he loves.<\/p>\n

Oh, darling, darling, is that why you stay?<\/p>\n

His fists are all he loves.<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\nIn a Bottle<\/strong><\/p>\n

With the sense of anticipation burning on his skin
\nand the train of consequences running at full throttle,
\nbefore the touch, before the kiss,
\nthis moment just before their history begins,
\nhe’d give anything to put this in a bottle.<\/p>\n

No sense of time, no sense of place,
\nin case of senselessness he’ll swear to her alone,
\n(He’ll swear to her alone.)
\nthough he knows tomorrow this will be another face he’s forgotten
\n(No memory’s quite his own)
\nbefore the fire, before the fall, all this is magical,
\nthe future so unknown,
\nhe’d pay anything to get this in a bottle,
\n(as if that’s a thing he could ever own)
\nhe’d pay anything to get this in a bottle.<\/p>\n

Don Juan had been so careful but he let it slip
\nthat the elixir he craved was moist upon her faithless lips
\nand in the hint of her perfume that lingered on his fingertips…
\ndistillation.<\/p>\n

Overstrength, this eau-de-vie.<\/p>\n

(What a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip finally….
\nHe got the bottle, he knocked back the eau-de-vie.)<\/p>\n

He’s stripped of recollection,
\nhe’s left with no protection,
\nthis won’t come again,
\nalthough he always knew that he’d foresee
\nmuch more than he’d ever remember.
\n(This won’t come again.)
\nLosing the thread, losing the plot,
\nit wasn’t\/not possible to stay on fire as he was then,
\nhe’d do anything to breathe life in these embers.
\n(But the secret stays untold…)
\nHe’d give anything to get life from these embers.
\n(and the fire has grown cold, cold, cold.)<\/p>\n

Between the present and the past, his mouth agape
\nand the elixir he drained has twisted essence out of shape;
\nand with dark perfume he is wraithed
\nnow that the genie has escaped from the bottle.<\/p>\n

Sangrial, the eau-d-vie.<\/p>\n

(What a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip finally….
\neau-de-vie, eau-de-vie.
\nDon Juan had been so careful but he let it slip.
\nDon Juan had been so careful.
\nEau-de-vie…)<\/p>\n

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

Always we’re too young to understand
\nthat life is neither cruel nor fair,
\nat random or well-planned.
\nSo we stride along the shoreline
\nwhile our footprints in the sand
\nare washed away and then
\nsay „Can I begin again?”<\/p>\n

But where you come from’s who you’ve been
\nand try as you may your debts all stay unredeemed
\n(maybe that’s why they seem)
\nwhen all history’s as distant as your dreams
\nyou close your eyes and count to ten,
\nsay „Can I begin again?”<\/p>\n

Every action, every passion,
\nevery rational retraction, every breath a start….<\/p>\n

Always we’re too young to comprehend,
\nnobody here will ever know the whole story,
\nhow it ends.
\n(Our lovers and our friends…)
\nHolding them closely in the noblest of pretence –
\nlife’s just got started when
\nyou find you can’t begin again.<\/p>\n

(Every action, every passion,
\nforms a little chain reaction, every breath astart.
\nEvery moment, lost or stolen
\nforms the story, base or golden: go from where we are.)<\/p>\n

Always we’re too young to understand….<\/p>\n

(Every action, every passion,
\nforms a little chain reaction, every breath astart.)<\/p>\n

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

Touch and Go Between the light and the shadow, out of the corner of my eye I saw your feathers all ruffled, anticipating the sky…. You’ve got no reason to stay, day by day your impatience has grown. I’m caught … Czytaj dalej →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":659,"parent":519,"menu_order":25,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"sidebar-page.php","meta":{"_sitemap_exclude":false,"_sitemap_priority":"","_sitemap_frequency":"","footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-866","page","type-page","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/866","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=866"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/866\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":992,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/866\/revisions\/992"}],"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=866"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}