I am a statue from a long line of sculpturers, with two lazy eyes & a limp handshake. I sleep ‘til whenever- don’t wake me up. Redefined every word & attached meaning to the absurd- it’s self-defeating, yet so pleasing. Weak enough to vanish into air. With iris’ like timepieces blinking drowsily at eternity; an unanswered call, a plea for meaning, a world deaf, dumb and blind. A larynx scraping against a wall, I make these cracks real. Bones crushed to dust beneath the weight of a history I can’t look in the eye. Our lives; like skewed lines in space-time. Kamikaze for the capital: “I will see you at the Yasukuni.”
Track Name: The Somnambulist
Alone, an actress; 200 parts and not one her own. Awaking to dreams amongst the gravity of shadows, these actions asleep. Lucidity petrified, tasted and divorced. Nervous feet, stumbling east on a westbound course. Nauseous freedom, cautious and still; Somnambulist in Sisyphean
A nothing like night that we are eager to inhabit, capitulated thoughts translate ourselves onto blank walls. Life in waves, these movements an eye resigned to see. Everything is spoken, waiting for everything to be. Nurturing only damaged impressions of these days dreamed; in reverie.
The fluttering of eyelids at desperate speeds exploring themselves in the gravity of shadows; these actions asleep. In these days of melody, we have words still to be sung. Wade through dirt in deliberate search for breath outside these lungs. Imagined, standing on a staircase at the midnight line between day and night, frozen in motion passing through waiting rooms watching our experiences on film; projections of a life stood still.