Sweet Rejection

Experimental Products 

From the album Prototype, 1982

Genre: Coldwave/Synth

 

She sits there waiting, fingers dancing.

Waiting for, a lunch engagement.

It's half-past-one, and still no sign.

Oh what torture, how sublime.

Be a saviour, keep another in mind.

See you later, oh so very unkind.

Persecution, we wear a face of a clown.

Sweet rejection brings you tumbling down.

The evening's over, there's no-one here.

The wooden cross of life to bear.

Shaky future, this life is tough.

I've got to say, OK enough.

Oh so peaceful, think how nice it could be.

But as always, one and one will make three.

Keep your chin up, don't be wearing a frown.

Sweet rejection, brings you tumbling down.

Be a saviour, keep another in mind.

See you later, oh so very unkind.

Persecution, we wear a face of a clown.

Sweet rejection brings you tumbling down. 

 

'Make It Happen' by Playgroup directed by Trevor Jackson and Donald Christie. P + C Playgroup Recordings 2003. Vocals by Kyra

Satana by Arthur Adams

 

Home Is Where the Hatred Is

Gil Scott-Heron

From the album Pieces of a Man, 1971

 

 A junkie walking through the twilight
I'm on my way home
I left three days ago, but no one seems to know I'm gone
Home is where the hatred is
Home is filled with pain and it,
might not be such a bad idea if I never, never went home again

Stand as far away from me as you can and ask me why
hang on to your rosary beads
close your eyes to watch me die
you keep saying, kick it, quit it, kick it, quit it
God, but did you ever try
to turn your sick soul inside out
so that the world, so that the world
can watch you die

Home is where I live inside my white powder dreams
home was once an empty vacuum that's filled now with my silent screams
home is where the needle marks
try to heal my broken heart
and it might not be such a bad idea if I never, if I never went home again
home again
home again
home again
kick it, quit it
kick it, quit it
kick it, quit it
kick it, can't go home again

 "Something else is hurting you - that’s why you need pot or whiskey, or whips and rubber suits, or screaming music turned so fucking loud you can’t think." —  Charles Bukowski.

Voyage to the Planet of Prehistoric Women

Astronauts encounter monsters and beautiful women after their spaceship crashes on Venus.

Directed by Peter Bogdanovich (1968)

 

"Astronauts landing on Venus kill a creature that resembles a pterodactyl and is worshiped by the local women. The women try and fail to kill the astronauts by means of their superhuman powers. Eventually, the astronauts escape the planet, and their robot, damaged by a volcanic fire, becomes the women's new god." (Wikipedia).

A Crater To Cough In

Circle Takes The Square, 2003

This path that we walk upon is the collection of points that the rain has drawn.

The rhythm section of the storm.

By the moonlight to the gateposts of the forest,

in the snow light, we are bound for the portal of the pines.

Grey as famine, on this path against our will by our main sails we're bound to the tempest until the sea is still.

Which compulsion with this miniature death tributise?

From behind the walls of my broken coughing tent, a formal vision,

but I allude to my helpless passion for the obtuse

When will this night end?

When the lightening finally tears through the mast of our sinking ship.

All the hopes of the slaves are betrayed by the grates.

On this coffin of a vessel every note's another breaking wave.

Revel in this vision, a formal visitation, on the night with the light from above.

Famished dogs follow slowly as my own paws drag me to a dock,

to the last plank where I struggle to deny myself the path that every Pisces craves,

just above the water in the middle of that man-made lake.

On that pier I turn my eyes from the water like a mirror of myself in the moonlight,

and I cough for every crater that I could see,

on the surface of that coffin we've come to call the moon.

Now I wonder if all those judgements that you made were true.

And the trapdoor of the solstice is thrown wide, wide open.

Let them all sink, let them all sink through.

The talking, the spinning of a web- its all just formal ritual.

The burning.

The burning question what do you deserve?

The gazing at a candle to find calm, but we all know its at the center of the storm.

Oh moon, though pluckest me out, oh moon-

I who have sat by Thebes below the wall and walked among the lowest of the dead

(to Carthage then I came).

Only the most sacred crater will suit my burial,

only the most sacred choir performs this ritual dirge.

Perfectly imperfect, like a storm.

By our mane dragged and bound to our grave by our mane,

to the grave dragged and bound to the tomb by the scavenger's tooth.

Circle Takes The Square - As The Roots Undo

Same Shade As Concrete

Crowquill

Same Shade As Concrete

Interview At The Ruins

Non-Objective Portrait Of Karma

Kill The Switch

A Crater To Cough In

Recommended

Circle Takes the Square – A Crater to Cough In

General Comment

"I think the meaning of the song, as a whole is that no matter how much you try to control your own destiny, you're on a path that was set out long before you came. You can't change it, no matter how much of nature you control. Which goes back to the theme of the album, you have to enjoy the adventure, because the destination isn't the objective."

Whitey On The Moon

Evening

i havent forgotten that i love you,

said the sun to the moon

nor that the sky we share is blue

until i slide under that sand dune

and hide until i find a clue
so one day i will understand you

 ~ Antraeus

 

Evening by Tin Pan, 2011

 

Evening, every night you come and you find me
Why must you always remind me, that my baby's gone
Evening, you got me deeper in your power

Every minute seems like an hour
Since my baby's gone
Shadows fall upon the wall
That's the time I miss your kisses most of all
Even though I try, how can I go on
Oh evening, let me sleep 'til the glow of dawn is breaking
I don't care if I don't awaken
Since my baby's gone
Shadows fall upon the wall
That's the time I miss your kisses most of all
Even though I try, how can I go on
Oh evening, let me sleep 'til the glow of dawn is breaking
I don't care if I don't awaken
Since my baby's gone

The Prisoner Puzzle

"We all live in a little village." - Patrick McGoohan.

"The most dangerous thing on Earth is within us. And so therefore that's what I made Number One: one's own self, an image of himself, that he was trying to beat." - Patrick McGoohan.

Right, Patrick McGoohan is saying that it's all very well observing and resisting 'evil' outside of ourselves - even that is hard enough - but it is strongest in us, actually within ourselves. Number One, "the greatest enemy that we have" is the number one, most bestial, backwards ape, the part of us that has no been tames let alone refined. The number of the Beast, the lower self, or ego, that believes it is number one, the central most important being who has yet to evolve to the level of awareness exhibited by Number Six. The other numbers are like wallpaper or scenery, just the conformity that results from fear and weakness. The other numbers are like wallpaper or scenery. It's like they are sheep and Number one is the sheepdog - or Number One is the farmer and Number Two is the sheepdog. Well, Number Six is the wolf on the steppes, a stray sheep that got away, a number that was, in some way, perfect in itself, or self-contained. 'Six' can roll forwards and backwards and sit comfortably in balance, in harmony wit its environment. Or it can do so like a penny farthing, which the number might be said to resemble. But, yeah, one as in neanderthal, original, physical, animal man which we are meant to be working on, which is the reason we are one Earth, struggling against ourselves through projections onto others. The seed. the root of all evil. His dark "other half, his alter ego."

Antraeus

"The most dangerous thing on Earth is what is within us. And so therefore that's what I made Number One: one's self, an image of himself, that he was trying to beat." - Patrick McGoohan.

A very rare interview from Canadian Television circa 1977. Warner Troyer interviews Patrick McGoohan about the making and meaning of the 1960's T.V. series The Prisoner.

Comments

The last Orson Welles of our time. Everything now is just rubbish to entertain mass audience, very sad for all of us.

Ha, even when Patrick McGoohan isn't playing #6....he's still #6.

 

Remember, even in every intro to the show, they tell you WHO NUMBER 1 IS:

Number 6: Who is number 1?

Number 2: You are, number 6.

b c n u