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Lucifer Directing Traffic (at 3am)

from The Marion Flow (Taranaki, 1999) by fiffdimension

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lyrics

A frozen tableaux: guns fanned in a spray fired off into my face. A masochistic sodomy for the unknown music lover with a spade tied out into excursion. Drums & garden rakes & typewriters, with a flick of the nose & a free ball of tax.

It numbs the heart, the beating & drones all melting like crazy. Up there, O up there, with diamond cloud sculptures of heroes & gods alone in repose. The canyon repentance repent for its break. Looking down on mouth in half share, the eyes gazing out from black upon grey, a grey flashing terror alone in the room, far flung from the womb.

Dizziness chilled with collapsing pink tunnel down, exiting diagonally the party guests & the presenter. An eye in the corner, an ape looking out into the numb... & bent down in angles the jetfighter pilot thrown away for the day, civilians scurry down among the rubble for the city once formed in clay & in stone.

I'm a secret that nobody knows. A glance on one up that struggles & gleams, a shyness retort it's all my fault, lips & half-lips that flow down to her hips.

An ape humps a whisper, all fat & denied, shines from the skull a metal plate for a scalp. Greenhouse conservatory trees blown away in the wind, he whispers in spin.

Naughty pony, crashed down among blooming heather like that, you ought to be ashamed. The horse lying there on its back with a smile, a high fall, high heels in high school, a '70s disco. Pop cultural references the buried detritus of literature. Scholarly habits in bookshelves, academic gowns gone wild in the classroom. Gasping & grieving the rest were all leaving. Eyes wide. Journalistic approach.

He's Satan asleep, & he begs out a warning to you. Robot phallus extended, a burial map thrown out on the side. The spaceship fly down inside metal tunnel dodging laser fire. I am careful of my feet. Wind blowing me into the drumkit. Metal clang into clang with bounce-ringing sound, true silver to lack.

A hero: Kurt Cobain on the stereo but I don't mean him. The humour of streotypes. A hero portrayed in swamp metal tabloids or oiled in bronze light with muscles - a cry, a silver shape rolling in tinfoil sucked through a straw. He is sad, he cries... he liked it. A mouth full of mandarin oranges spitting out juice into fiction. Brown book pages, worms, earth, a hole, journey to the centre of the Earth.

A door. A corridor. Light at the end. A man's figure; a black silhouette. The fall of civilisation. A cut; that always hurts. A blankness in a chair. Let's go out for a walk. A sewerage pipe down to the sea.

The house explodes. Junky wino just trained yesterday in demolition techniques, deny the antiques, all crash down in rubble, a car provided. Alone in grass grey. No respect, I say no respect, I say no respect these days.

She's calm & crouched down over a pale lit table in moonlight, not sleeping in conference. Milk & honey flowed in the vale of the fountains, a clown he crashed down. Drowning in concrete he begged for a warning & none came. An injury bound in salt, grievance, zigzagging up & down palpitations to wait for us all - a fossil fused in walls not bearing this progress but lying alone too sweet for his home.

Nestled down among the forest floor a poisonous twig, to bitterly bite at leg. Stabbed in the ankle - a classical reference, Trojan wars you understand. Bronze & marble statues of heroes & gods with spears in hand - a bitter frost of arrows hung down o'er our heads, with go-go dancers interrupting the legends for light entertainment. A commercial break; mythology sponsored.

This leads us to mummies in pyramids. A plaster cast man alone in his bleeding... & over it all the ghouls. Not very nice; they live in toilets & have sharp teeth. A fishbowl full of eyes. People have their noses cut off & live. It was a common punishment in medieval Russia. Their heads begin to whirl & blur - a two-dimensional study in black & white bound to be misinterpreted.

Red apple falling. Harvest & wine. Bells of machinery clang under a beautiful sunset.

Trotsky got an icepick in his forehead; I get one through the scalp at the top of my skull, like a vicious bumblebee but worse.

credits

from The Marion Flow (Taranaki, 1999), track released June 22, 1999

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fiffdimension Featherston, New Zealand

Outsider music from Aotearoa NZ and beyond, by Dave Edwards and collaborators (from 1856 to 2024).

Spans acoustic & electric noise, rock, folk, spoken word, postpunk, free jazz, gamelan, lo fi, electronica, & ethnomusicology.

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