Friday, January 11


Exercise One.

When you're looking at life
In a strange new room
Maybe drowning soon
Is this the start of it all?
Turn on your TV
Turn down your pulse
Turn away from it all
It's all getting too much.

When you're looking at life
Deciphering scars
Just who fooled who
Sit still in their cars
The lights look bright
When you reach outside
Time for one last ride
Before the end of it all.


The Eternal.

Procession moves on, the shouting is over,
Praise to the glory of loved ones now gone.
Talking aloud as they sit round their tables,
Scattering flowers washed down by the rain.
Stood by the gate at the foot of the garden,
Watching them pass like clouds in the sky,
Try to cry out in the heat of the moment,
Possessed by a fury that burns from inside.

Cry like a child, though these years make me older,
With children my time is so wastefully spent,
Burdened to keep though their inner communion,
Accept like a curse, an unlucky deal.
Played by the gate at the foot of the garden,
My view stretches out from the fence to the wall,
No words could explain, no actions determine,
Just watching the trees and the leaves as they fall.

Ceremony.

This is why events unnerve me
They find it all a different story
Notice whom for wheels are turning
Turn again and turn towards this time.
All she ask's the strength to hold me
Then again the same old story
Word will travel oh so quickly
Travel first and lean towards this time.

Oh, I'll break them down, no mercy shown
Heaven knows it's got to be this time
Watching her, these things she said
The times she cried
Too frail to wake this time.

Oh, I'll break them down, no mercy shown
Heaven knows, it's got to be this time
Avenues all lined with trees
Picture me and then you start watching
Watching forever.


Twenty Four Hours.

So this is permanence, love's shattered pride.
What once was innocence, turned on its side.
A cloud hangs over me, marks every move,
Deep in the memory, of what once was love.

Oh how I realised how I wanted time.
Put into perspective, tried so hard to find.
Just for one moment, thought I'd found my way.
Destiny unfolded, I watched it slip away.

Excessive flashpoints, beyond all reach,
Solitary demands for all I'd like to teach.
Let's take a ride out, see what we can find:
A valueless collection of hopes and past desires.

I never realised the lengths I'd have to go,
All the darkest corners of a sense I didn't know.
Just for one moment, I heard somebody call
Looked beyond the day in hand, there's nothing there at all.

Now that I've realised how it's all gone wrong,
Gotta find some therapy, this treatment takes too long.
Deep in the heart of where sympathy held sway,
Gotta find my destiny, before it gets too late.


In a Lonely Place.

Caressing the marble and stone
Love that was special for one
The waste in the fever and heat
How I wish you were here with me now.

Body that curls in and dies
And shares that awful daylight
Warm like a dog round your feet
How I wish you were here with me now.

Hangman looks round as he waits
Cord stretches tight then it breaks
Someday we will die in your dreams
How I wish we were here with you now.


(all lyrics by Ian Curtis)

12 comments:

Sara said...

Jeez... I never actually read any of Ian's lyrics written out like that. I hope he found a more peaceful place when he stepped out of this one.

Metamatician said...

Yeah... you and me both. Talk about Hell.

There was a point in college where I could have sworn I was reanimated by the dead soul of Ian or else Camus' fictional Mersault. Not super original, I know, it's like saying Holden Caulfield and Sylvia Plath. But just because things become a cliche (Kurt Cobain is another) doesn't mean they aren't true. That's why they became cliches, because they resonated with so many people.

I came to Joy Division via New Order's Blue Monday 12" (natch) and found JD so different from that and so unflinchingly harsh and yet it spoke right to me without any horseshit, unlike the catty way Mozzer would tease your intelligence or Jim Morrisson would lead you seductively down the path to where "it" all lay...

Ian Curtis took a long drag, looked you in the mind with his blue eyes, and seemed to elucidate the true but so-depressing-you-wished-he-hadn't-said-it fears we all have about a meaningless, bleak universe. If you had balls, they felt as though they'd been kicked and might never feel totally better.

This was one of the darkest times in my life, and while I don't exactly celebrate that period, in its own bleak way it's beautiful (like Morrissey finds Los Angeles "beautiful" in its desolation)...and it meant so much to me in those post-high school years that I had to commemorate the band (really Ian) here.

There's a lot of him in my poetry, my style of thought, my dry wit, my moods, my reclusiveness. Again, I'm not waving a flag in honor of those things, but I try to recognize the truth as it is and just put it out there as an artist and say, "these are my influences, this is who I modeled much of my poetry and art and philosophy after. Deal with it if you want to understand me."

Artists who say they're without many conscious influences have to be telling tall tales, or else they really are originals of the species, to quote Bono, which I'm not fond of doing much. I can pinpoint almost every aspect of my character to someone or something I've bumped into in my life. Yes you are born genetically with a peronality and potentials / tendencies, but those get expressed and refined through life experiences. I try to embrace my influences rather than distance myself from them.

And yeah, Ian was a pretty disturbed bloke. 23, Jesus H. Christ.

lorenzothellama said...

Is that lady in the second picture doing yoga, or maybe it's just too personal to ask?
Lorenzo.

Metamatician said...

Hi Lorro, she's doing yoga to mourn the dead Jesus in the tomb, along with the other Mary, who's mourning in a fashion more typical of the day.

No llama treats on hand... sorry. I could serve you up a nice tray of water crackers and ripe camembert with a little bubbly though if you'd like. I'm not sure how well your digestive tract will handle it, though: I'm woefully ignorant of the grazing habits of the noble llama.

Unknown said...

I was too young in 1980 to remember it very well now. By the time I became aware of Joy Division I'd already passed my enjoying-being-miserable-listening to-miserable-music stage. Maybe I should try and reconnect to it as I always feel I'm missing something when JD is talked about.

Oh, and by the way, I'll have the camembert and the bubbly if the llama doesn't want them. Or maybe I should offer to share?

Metamatician said...

Sharing is always nice :)

Unknown said...

You sound like my mum. When I was little she was determined that my sister and I should be treated fairly and everything be shared equally - this even included biting the last Smartie (chocolate drop with a sugar coated shell, in case you don't know, a bit like M&Ms but flatter) in the tube in half, exactly - one half each - if there were an odd number in there.

I now have the habit engrained in me. I never eat Smarties anymore but I can be quite anal when it comes to pouring wine. So c'mon, hand over the bottle of bubbly, you can rest assured it will be shared out properly.

Unknown said...

You sound like my mum. When I was little she was determined that my sister and I should be treated fairly and everything be shared equally - this even included biting the last Smartie (chocolate drop with a sugar coated shell, in case you don't know, a bit like M&Ms but flatter) in the tube in half, exactly - one half each - if there were an odd number in there.

I now have the habit engrained in me. I never eat Smarties anymore but I can be quite anal when it comes to pouring wine. So c'mon, hand over the bottle of bubbly, you can rest assured it will be shared out properly.

Sara said...

Raelha, I'm not sure I like the sound of you pouring wine in an anal way? Could you rephrase that please. I'm having trouble banishing unpleasant mental images.

Sorry Meta, I should have warned you. Once this lot invade your blogsite it's like a non-stop mad hatters tea party.

Metamatician said...

Every since I came into this world it's been mad hatters all the way down. I'm the only sane one.

Also I heartily disprove of you bringing needlessly prurient "anal" connotative references into this otherwise innocent discourse and suggest you cease seeing that Rex fellow immediately. He is obviously having a deleterious effect on your flowery innocence.

And lovely Raelha, of course you may have the bubbly. I trust everyone the first time, it's part of what keeps me sane. It's only when ... er, I mean "If" you should hoard that libation inequitably that I would be forced to move you from the nice to naughty list, and turn away from you in disgust.

And then we could tell dirty jokes involving bangers over at Rex's cyber-pub and have a completely different sort of relationship. The type The Magdalene seems to be enjoying these days.

Unknown said...

Thanks for the fizzy stuff. And for Magdalene's sake (if it's not too late) I shall proceed to pour it in a purely fastidious fashion. Would anyone like strawberies to go with it or shall we ask Mags to provide the grub from her current, imaginitively-named stocks? If we use them up quickly The Landlady may never know.

Metamatician said...

Strawberries and cream for me, please. And not from Mags' abode either, just in case. "Cream" could mean a LOT of different things in that household at the moment.

No offense, Mrs. S., it's your man who needs a good spanking, not you.

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