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Camera Obscura Pt. 2: A View with a Room

"Camera Obscura Pt. 2: A View with a Room" (2005)

1. (Project...)
2. Cloak & Dagger
3. Sirius Fever
4. The Dancefloor Clinic
5. The Don Of Venice
6. (Eject!)

1. (Project...)

2. Cloak & Dagger

Cloak & Dagger
(lyrics by Mir-h iD)

Whodunit? The silent witness?
I’m beside myself with laughter
in the dark, neutrally stabbing the general sulk.

Don’t bank on the pokerfaces
with their monochrome make-up.
I know their type. Edited and clean-cut. Dot dot dot.

I could blow their cover
casting shadows on the screen.
I’d walk the bloodhound myself.
The sallow ivories are with me
dogging my steps as I toddle off
till the iron curtain falls.

Under my skin a private-eye
likes watching with
venetian-blinds shuttered to half-light.

If your capital slots you in, isn’t that necessity enough for you?
The way the stuff of dreams moves you, numb like furniture (in that order).
The perfunctory hypostasis of being being overinsured.
So I showed the toothless my poetic license to…
Sure they got it. My IOnU, the pound of flesh,
my soul. which cost a bomb.
And even then I gave the formal toothpaste smile.

Don’t take me for some narcotic narcist,
grafted back unto the den’s womb
that feeds the hypothalamus on the assembly sideline,
the mirror-maw’s white-line.

No matter. Let the dusty dusky jurist,
who peers over my shoulder and keeps that blotted copybook,
shut his trap. It’s time to twist the knife.
Turn the key to freedom and free will.
The golden flick-knife refracts
the half-light into a reel of whizzing pictures;
in free indirect discourse
the body with organs recharged.

the hand that strokes; the fresh blood of my veins;
my femme vitale; leaves in bloom;
fall into spring; home sweet home.

Under my skin a private-eye
likes watching with
venetian-blinds shuttered to half-light.

Whodunit? The silent witness?
I’m beside myself with slaughter,
framed into untimely chalk lines,
arranged with a pillow over my head.
The cloak is ragged, the dagger cold.

3. Sirius Fever

Sirius Fever
(lyrics by Mir-h iD)

No sleep. Day 1 on the Dogon calendar. My lips are crackers, while my swollen tongue tastes but harmattan dust. These are Dog Days: rabid dogs slobber with spastic tongues; sweltering fevers chainreact, glowing as they foam with delirious drivel.

The radio’s picked up transmissions from HR2491, when tuned in at the ritual pulse – I could smell how it melted into Nommo’s ether. … “Puisque vous savez si bien ce qui est hors de vous, sans doute vous savez encore mieux ce qui est en dedans” (“Micromégas”, Voltaire) – our inside is drawn towards the outside.

Patterns emerge… At the Bandiagara cliffs, a native swung at ropes he charmed into a DNA-like coil, before he plunged into the spirit world. The Nommos, the griot said, will revisit us in human mould to channel the passage of souls to the white dwarf orbiting its star!

The Dama dance, Youdiou. The Kanaga masks breathed. Their geometric pageant made me forget the crude hands that cut them. Like a sketch can still exude its original genius. The stilts walked the dancers to their earthly apex, their lithe bodies mechanically oscillating, as if it were their last dance.

Sigui, Yougo Dogorou. The olaburu of the Awa-society must know that the ‘random’ accidents tie in with an overwhelming cadence. Butterflies in a cosmic storm. Imina-Na is everywhere. Little do they know that their superstitions have sprung from a source much deeper, though dead to the world. Satellites in a cosmic storm. The serpent is everywhere.

Let me devour the flesh and the blood of your wisdom. For a moment I felt the lightness of being and binary vision; I am the sigu tolo of the orbiting eyes gazing in amazement. The inside and the outside on the perilous fringe.

These are Dog Days: rabid dogs slobber with spastic tongues. Sweltering fevers chainreact, glowing as they foam with delirious drivel.

4. The Dancefloor Clinic

The Dancefloor Clinic
(lyrics by Tyrann)

The earth is calling
The flute's enthralling rodent mammal muridae

Before the blooming of a new age,
Renaissance takes death for granted

Xenopsylla Cheopsis cutting a caper
Cavorting on the oeuvre of Ferdinand Loh

In the cadence of hooves' adagio
White linen garments beckon eagerly
As every third is found prostrated on the hearse

St. Rochus, St. Sebastian,
Bless us from the scourge of mankind

Semen sowed in septic seedbed
Bodies' buboes budding freely
Flagellating flesh-furrows

Doctor Beak, the juggler
Conducting his dreaded bâton
Exposes random lung and boil

The maestro of the mortals
Spins obscene pirouettes throughout the operating theatre

Hemidemisemiquaver tarantella-scherzo
Caravacan Phylakterium: get thee hence, blackest of plagues!

Your lymph-notes' rhythm
Is symptomatic of
S.evere A.cute T.anzwut S.yndrome

Expelle pestem a me et a loco isto et libera me
Col tempo, la tempesta
Gluttony satiated?

5. The Don Of Venice

The Don Of Venice
(lyrics by Tyrann)

Faustus: "This night I'll conjure though I die therefore...
Welcome, so enter and disabuse me of my flesh
Solve yet dissolve my body-and-soul binary
Behold, the magic of my senses is still unimplored

Tempter, shape-shifter, complete my mind's soliloquy
And push me off the verge of my intellect's scope
No more postponing my possible feats
I bid theology farewell, requesting knowledge divine"

"Ich will mich hier zu deinem Dienst verbinden,
Auf deinen Wink nicht rasten und nicht ruhn;
Wenn wir uns drüben wiederfinden,
So sollst du mir das gleiche tun."

„Werd' ich zum Augenblicke sagen:
Verweile doch! Du bist so schön!
Dann magst Du mich in Fesseln schlagen,
Dann will ich gern zugrunde gehn!
Dann mag die Totenglocke schallen,
Dann bist du deines Dienstes frei,
Die Uhr mag stehn, der Zeiger fallen,
Es sei die Zeit für mich vorbei!“

Faustus: "Sophistophilis, debar me no longer
From the illicit treasures life reserves"

Mephistophilis: "Take off your carnal cloth, take off !
So proffer your arm, you shall see ...
... you may wander !"

Faustus: "May the angle have changed, my vista un-narrowed
Yet tedious the place that sees parallels intersect
Where further means back and back we shall dash... now!"

Faustus: "Deeply imprinting the earth's moldy squalor,
Twisting the ants' dim hour-glasses at will,
I quench my lust on each Helen's bosom
But gape, precious adviser, what's dulling my eyes?
Spout out, sordid cretin, who dares to parody
Him who bears the aureole of might
With this absurd parade at april's lecherous dusk?"
Mephistophilis: "Honour where honour is due!"

(Enter an Old Man:)

"I see an angel hovers o'er thy head
And, with a vial full of precious grace,
Offers to pour the same into thy soul:
Then call for mercy, and avoid dispair."

(Faustus stumbles and utters strange agonizing sounds)

Faustus: "The missing link, the balance, the superego ... myself
I am the architect of this metropolis,
(of) my egoverse's over-ripe fruit!"

Chorus Lamentum: Blessed are his eyes, waxen wings alike,
Incandescently heated by Mammon himself,
Sparing him the shattering clarity:
His deserted house of cards: a charnel babel.
Thus unsolved remains the equation
The indescribable bears the ineffable
As the campanile's swarthy hands
Are pointing towards heaven again

Faustus, dying: "I saw Venice and I'd ...

6. (Eject!)


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