Detroit 70 - Johnny Pulp and the Lemonheads

Your father’s a weakling dear. Raped my sister after we were married less than a year. But yet fears the immolation of his first daughter. The city will die without this, the necessary dead. What pacts you have, holding hands on the wall, ready to leap into the golden sea. Is this your wish, that all three die on the word that falls? So be it. I can’t stand these gestures and wild motives. Hark to the darkening mysteries. Dry your eyes. See the farthest point. Let there be one who dies and other lives thrive. It often happens as a foundation. The entire vista is bought by seedy money. You have a bewildered air that is unbecoming and strikes me as camouflage. Your euphemisms are carried as your body. Submerge your privations and stay quiet and indoors. I have figs, olives, hierophants. I have ensured your rooms are perfumed and look out to the oil refineries against the light. See you know the summer roads across the plains and the winter roads aside the hills and use them well. Where do you go? I have the slightest hallucinations. I delve the clefts and go underground. The sedge, rice, cotton, corn, reeds and canes shimmer in the katavothres, the darkest of caverns. Here you revoke laws and refuse to pay the penalties. You keep on about being primordial and it’s annoying. You knew all three brothers and some days you were the tramp whose name can’t be spoken. Fuck that! You ventured to the limit of cosmic order and then upset it by vanishing. It’s implicit is what I meant to say. In the peril you placed us in. Tree, pond, bed, you knew the divine coitus. Yet acted imprisoned. Pleeeeze! Gifts aren’t that much of a yoke. When you disappeared there were things we all could have done darling. Read the Emperor Julian’s open letter: “ Zeus fucked his mother, fucked the ensuing daughter, then passed her on.” How much crisis do you want? This is more than gaming dice. You have a silence that’s scandalous and irredeemable, let’s face it. The gaze that looks back is life. Yet who is left looking if a presence must capture every other presence? My raptors hunt early and late. I am a lech. I am king of the dead. Eros is where the cleft is reached irreversibly. Existence is at stake. I’m invisible and you’re a killer. Your traps lure. I never linger. You have a chorus. I was tricked into having an immortal here in my depths. I can’t live without the invisible. You’re a roaming entity along with the earth’s magma and the deepest crevices. You are always split in two and once disguised as old you looked after the dark storehouse. You are often unannounced. You come on like a silent beggar. Four sisters are three fawns too many. Your dark peplos curled. What’s with the crocus in the hair? I saw your eyes when I peered into the dark well. You crouched on a rock like Amaterasu or Demeter. I heard you sat on a stone with only darkness and the last laugh. Everything is metaphysical and sexual. You flashed the boy and accepted his bowl of potions whilst he crawled up by your slender ankles between your legs. It’s no surprise that all we can do now is laugh about it. The eternal machines are always boosted by a good fucking. Your thighs and conch end the mysteries in obscenities of course. Earth’s a place of advent. I pivot to you.