Thundertoe

by Brainshit

Thundertoe cover art
/
1.

about

this is midi doom

credits

released 06 June 2006
Brainshit is: Lord Crustacean, Mantis Cruiser, Mr. Casio, & Mstr. Ralph

tags

license

all rights reserved

feeds

feeds for this album, this artist

contact / help

For help with downloads, click here.

For all other inquiries, click here.

Track Name: How It Works, Ralph
How It Works

I

That which I will extend to you
Is a palmful of light
Hedging the webs of my fingers,
Speckled beads of illumination
Pruning my hand, making it glow
A warm, internal translucent
Red. A redness granted only to my
Blood and its visceral kin.

----

This is love, but not as you
Know it now. It is the sort of love
Found in the corners of death --
-- Vacuum pockets of radiant darkness
Buried in every compressed and
Frigid inch of ice, of stone, of breath,
Of lost comets burning through the
Pseudo-dark of galaxies.

It will not want you, will not take
You as its master. No, no, no,
It will cradle its swaddling
Fragility in its own bosom,
And deny you that
Familiar infantile heat.

You must wrangle this light;
Lasso it, bind it to your soul
With the lariat of all the
Presently,
Previously, and
Potentially manifested
Artistic idiosyncrasies
Within yourself.

And, my God, will it hate you.
It will hate you more than
Smoke hates the fire from
Which it is inevitably born. Smoke,
Rising, coiling away and upward, its
Facets twist away and reflect the air
In foul, second-long minces -- My gift
Will find ways to steal the light that already
Possesses you, sap your reservoir dry with a glowing
Tendril dipped like a straw in sweet cream.

That which I will extend to you
Will flex the celestial dynamo of the heart.
Through you will emanate the tides of
Cardiac palpitations, they will wriggle
Through the whole of you. The light
Will enter you, crawling as a slug
Upon your arm. It will
Burn into your veins.

This is how you will assimilate.
This is how we will fall in love.

Oh, let the brightness coat your entrails,
Let it destroy you and rebuild you from
The unbearably bright effigies
Of my golden palm. Walk in light,
Bathe in light, leave light in your wake:
Flecks of sun, scattered like stars
In the daylight.

----

That which I will extend to you
Is just a fleeting glimpse
Of all our desired lights, and
A textural photograph of this
Immediate light.
And this light, our light,
-- Polestar of palms --
Is but a reflection of the true
Ancient refractory
Galacticism. A quiet reminder
Of all that we
Simultaneously
Despise
&
Desire.

II

Let us
Remember and
Forget
And remember and
Forget
And remember the
Sages of Richland,
Of Bethel, of Atlanta,
And remember
The young delusional heads
Of mantra-drunk bums
Reveling in their
All(anti)-american deja-vu.

And no, it won't all be white motorcycles
And red guitars, and horrible tattoos,
And Russian beer, and
Cyclonic schadenfreude
For them. And it won't all be derelict
Roofs, and broken molars,
And wastewater bathtubs
For them. And it won't all be nightmares,
And dusk-brimmed eyelids,
And unbearable brightness for them.
It will only be fierce judgment. It will only be a
Tangible deity. It will only be a physical God
Manifested in light.

III

Take my gallant South of past with its
Strange dark fruit and pastoral hills,
Take its dirt roads, take its
Swallowed urban highways,
Take the charcoal dinners
And the cul-de-sacs of youth
Frozen with rare white glaciers.
Take my cold North of present with its
Hidden music, and beautiful women
With curved spines and Michigan lovers,
Take its odd facial hair and blonde vultures and paper bears,
Take the distance between my parents,
Take the Italians and the Irish that they have found
To love.
Take the marching bands of quiet sons, stepping in
¾ time down towards D.C. Take the beautiful girls with
Rich voices that no one really wants to hear.
Take my late-rising 10:52 a.m.’s, take
My ominous 2:14’s, take my broken alarm clock, take it, and throw it out
The window.

In fact, take all of these things, and toss them out the window.

I don't know if I need them anymore.

IV

Oh, let us sing
For the quasi-disenfranchised,
Sing, "Ho we oh, our fabled
Tyrant brandishes a crescent smile
From atop his gallow throne! Dine
Upon the rotted fruit of Eden;
Learn the holey history of Man
Written upon confetti! Dance and
Swing low for all the mothers are
Watching! It is a foolish time
When time itself forgets what time it is."

Sing for those engorged with avarice,
Sing, “The catechism of destiny
Will be unknown to all but me! I will sit
With a raven perched upon each shoulder,
And cough, for I will have spoken every word, and will need
Them no more!”

Sing for those with true souls,
Sing, “The dark skin
Of blues will resonate from your angel-fingers
And broken glass bottlenecks! Poverty has made
You strong and clear-minded!
We can hear it in your haunted voices, in your
Eighty-year-old Nationals!”

Sing for my generation,
Sing, “We are dumb and formless! We are high,
And drunk and horny and foolish! We are no different than
Our parents and their parents! Oh, we are in a time
Of change -- so were they -- so are we!
Glory glory glory hallelujah! We are drunk on change!
And now that it’s here, we’ve all fallen on our asses,
Dizzy with our spectral revolution 200 years in the making!”

Sing for the ghosts,
Sing, “We know you are dead and not sad! We wish
We were with you! We are jealous of your music, your
Ceaseless Elysian Woodstock! Your split-screen
Percussion! Your hellish symphonies! Your jazz! Your polka!
Your Telecaster churches! Your Stradivarian mosques! Your
Congo synagogues! We are jealous of your silence! Of your peace!
We are jealous of your earthen gates! All is quiet! All is noise! All is all!
We are jealous that we must torture ourselves with life!”

V

The doll-eyed spawn of a didactic chrysanthemum
Veils the twilit horizon. It is the sun petaled violet, and
Hulking slowly towards Eurasia, its grave; only to be
Resurrected in another sloughy sky for another day
Of deathless thralldom.

I am watching it work. The old trees are maundering
To each other. I am watching it work. The tombstone
Sinks a little deeper underneath me. I am watching it work.
The long noses of shadows drag gingerly along the ground,
The house, and the passing cars.
I am watching it work. The sun catches me watching it
And goes down. I am embarrassed for staring, but its too dark to see
My cheeks swell with blood.