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Magik eagles flew over angry, crying seas Powered by a gentle wind to give me a quiet, inner comfort As I crawled on shaking, spinning knees While my frightened, twisted, baffled mind Cried out in pain and fear for ease again From my endless, hungry need to fucking score again!
Magik eagles flew to bring me close to you. Set my weary, elfish soul free again. Help me lose all my control and feel your magik touch. Help me heal from my disease that hurts in me so fucking much! Magik eagles let me feel the ancient teachings. Let me feel the watchers’ way come in. Give me strength in all my weakness With earth mothers’ safe and sane control again. Let this elf become himself and enter in. Let the wind contain my soul and bring it back to me. Let all the fires of the earth burn the demons’ crave. Give me freedom to remove my deadly, hungry want To find and dig my own private, shallow grave.
Let the oceans gently wash my inner mind. Let your cleaner “eagle” thoughts be the ones I find. Let my music and my song be freely given to one and all. Let me share the ancient, secret, magik rhythm With earth mother and her precious call. Let me see the perfect, humble elf you see in me. Let your magik, healing feathers float gently down on me. Let the watcher, in his brightest darkness, Protect and watch the humble, little elf in me. As you fly above my head so high Please keep a watchful, cautious eye on me. Please take kind and gentle care of me, The humble, little elf so free in me. Set me free from the demon seed.
Please help me see the perfect elf Please help me be a cleaner me As the watcher watches me. I now can rest my weary, old control And simply be what I was so afraid to be, A happy, little, maleish, boyish, elfish. . . . . . me!
poxa, não indo pro cac vocês só me perderam com cara de besta não encontrando a afinação da última música, hehe. bom, sério mesmo, foi a primeira experiência, e eu tava muuito nervosa e envergonhada, torcendo pra que fosse pouquíssima gente, rs. mas se rolasse alguma outra oportunidade, e supondo que eu estivesse melhor preparada, eu iria realmente lamentar se vocês não pudessem aparecer. :) e que bacana esse convite pro blog, volta e meia eu tou lendo algo por lá. quando quiser qualquer coisa, é só falar!
não sei se seria vontade, acho que é mais uma questão de aceitar bem as condições, rs. mas vá lá, lo-fi é mesmo uma coisa linda. e por falar em beleza, horizonte e sem adeus são coisinhas lindas do céu. gostei muito mesmo.
Oi...
está no ar a entrevista que fizemos com a banda Júpiter Maçã, ou melhor, com Flávio Basso, o criador desse planeta.
abraços,
Rennó & Amélie. http://outroscriticos.blogspot.com/
p.s.: Esta entrevista foi concebida para ser publicada originalmente no Site Recife Rock, mas depois de muito tempo e alguns e-mails não respondidos, resolvemos publicá-la em nosso blog. Sem mágoas, sem rock.
It isn’t any of the twisted thoughts you try to think Why you consume the demons dope and swallow all his bitter drink, Not a single thought of dripping damsels that feeds your need To chase all your cravings and crave the bad you need To enhance the demons’ hungry feed!
To chase the dope and drink And feed that hunger for the constant need For more of that poisoned dope and all the fucking booze you drink, It isn’t what you think. It isn’t what you even hope Why a pleasant feeling comes with a craving for “no” to fucking hope. No, my fine, young friend, it isn’t what you think!
That isn’t what I humbly caution you about With all your years of wear and doubts today. The real and true addiction is to the non-ending love for pain and bad And how you crave it every, fucking day!
It’s how you fight relentlessly to crave the fear And then give it all away, everything you had. You crave the fear again. You keep it for yourself, A lost and lonely, starving elf, A weakened blind of mind, young lad.
It reaches out through cravings to smoke and snort And fucking poke and hide your constant fear away. The demon has your balls. It is no fucking joke today!
A normal, morbid kind of normal For your twisted, little mind, Beware! The demons’ seed is sleeping To awaken . . . . . . . any fucking time!
It was a sad day in the frowning town, A cry was heard with absent tears from the liquid down.
An elf, in his madness, Had done his slowly, quickened run away. He scored to score and scored to score some more From the self centered, ego feeding, trollish horde While all the other elves were drunk and stoned at play.
A younger elf with ears to make him fly, To fly away and for a minute lose his high. With flowing hair of red To counteract the flowing black of dead, Not knowing “the secret setup” just to die, “The secret setup” just ahead!
The insecure of security ended everywhere. His freedom was removed for a moment of his time With secret, private, dancing, danger deals. He dealt his own restrictions with his mind.
A darkness came. All elves had their safest place to go To seek and find the pleasant of insane. Surely, with the deepest of their secret ways No elves, no elves would ever know The truest nature of their cruelest game, The cruelest game embarked today.
With the purist innocence of the sheep A meet was made. No truth would sing its’ song. The healthy elves began to weep As the demon sang along.
The tools of choice were greed and lust. The sharpened dullness of a proven point was made. To be proven in the secret, silent shade Was the bravest must. All elves must see and hear, With damage done. The price you pay is dear!
Peço licença para apresentar-los
esse que é o meu primeiro trabalho como músico instrumentista produzido de
forma completamente independente. Trata-se de um compilado de composições gravadas
durante a segunda metade do ano de 2008 e dos primeiros meses de 2009 para
clarinete, metalofone, bateria e percussão e com produção gráfica do artista plástico e cartunista Fabiano Gummo (www.myspace.com/fabianogummo). Nesse trabalho exploro o dialogo
entre os sons e ruídos urbanos com vertentes do free jazz e do experimentalismo.
Para maiores informações basta entrar em contato através do
e-mail:
The watcher is standing In the shadow of the tree Forever watching as words and thoughts Take shape for what and end shall be.
He looks upon the noise and haste As wondering minstrels choose their lives and place. They sing along with a joyous song Of empty minds and face.
The trees have wind to take them near and far and high. The watcher soars to follow souls And reaches to the highest depths Of all eternal skies.
He scoops the gypsies, vagabonds and such And guides them from within So souls and hearts won't feel the pain Of demon dealer love with all it's touch and sin So they will feel the truth of love again . . . . . . .And win.
The watcher stands in shadows tall With a caution in the air. A guard is up for one and all. There may come a day and sometime soon To feel the love from inside out And dance upon the moon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . And shout.
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