[HOPE GOES BOTH WAYS:] a monument to subtext [Viennagram:] August 17, 2004, 02:42 !!![SUBTEXT:]???[SUBTEXT:]!!! “Hello red phone, red line, I’ve been hired by the Czech Republic Gardens. It was the Skunk that hipped them to my whereabouts and my current situation. The situation involving tape worms, Swedish crowns, offsets, presets, Hi-Fi's, the Love is Dead. Where will I be next? Berlin or Quebec? No, tending to Czech republic denizens, dears, darlings. The circle shall continue to close in, electric loves. Here’s to you, true believers; Check your master and as always: Viva! Viva! Vienna!” Primus Inter Parus, A.V. Vienna {dawn} such big secrets, deep in the air rest and relaxation, appalling the Clamp and Crosby something’s gone wrong in the white flag procession the duchess has gotten sick with the flu wouldn’t you? Dionysius and the bassoon are always leaving on que No, my little ice queen, don’t hush your twin caterpillar lips with a gypsy charm The fairest riles of the yeast, of my esteem Remember Mistachua and your social security number for black ticket/black tie DO NOT ENTER WITHOUT EXIT When the roans start marching, listen closely and hear the siren’s call Your gypsy lap sisters will not understand the call Your sins were never really yours, they say, believe it …but you're leaving for a hot date They’ve been looking for you; a table for two But at a gypsy moth ball, they’d never understand that this is kind of confusing Confucius Hush my little Russian exile, hush my little debutante I’ll leave the harsh light You say we’re moving too fast, to that scorpion subtle bath I said “I might be english, but I happen to like math” I read her body language like a japanese fire engine Like a stove and a toddler She’s wearing the mark of the widowmaker I think we’re moving so, so slow But you happen to insist That I must be English… {midday} Czech republic daughter, black tie babies I’ve got a signature move And it will outlast you I’ve pulled the stye from Babylon I’m not a rich man, but I’ve needed help Now I’m waiting, waiting to wake up And I’m working so hard for the Czech Republic I’ve seen the bright lights of the city They go on, they go off, they go on, they go off, they go off Ran out of red tape in shanghai And stand by me and the bright lights of the city The spot lights sink the trauma so pretty Xanalogue, Xanalogue I need my analogue, Sans the law Danalogue, I need my time in radio motion And I’ve been through the nights of the lonely trial I’ve hung in the stalks of a duchess defiled Oh, Xanalogue take me home… I’ve been here for so long As we listen to the A/F radio I’ve crossed the faust for soul I’ve burned the skirt of rome, never to return I left my morals in there, and its chafed me for so long, Xanalogue That detail job in analog… {sundown} some people say new beginning with the tv on some people buy new beginnings, but not for me I’m waking up, soft, to the tone Of a late night touch mutiny And I’ve pulled out too many pages from the bible That there’s no salvation left for me… I’m practicing the speech to my own eulogy Not even mother mary will come weeping for me. I’ve been reborn, que the confetti Are you ready for total abandon? Are you ready for The Velvet Touch? {dusk} I’ve got a kamikaze with your name on it I’ve seen Clamp and Crosby getting down with the love is dead It was a gypsy-silk suit mystery man waiting for the sailors. “I’ve seen you hiding out behind the black power there was an atrophy on the mayflower The ghost is always running for you, but I’ve read the ‘hold me close’ Is it true? Is it kosher? Looking for the statue of Caesar?” -Chinese Checkers made in Japan We’ve had to shock them with a saltine sun; waxen vaccination I’ve seen in the past and future with a glass eye protein hum The walls, the walls are crooning satin Some men, cannot surpass, they’ve been slowly Dying like Latin Some may even tell the truth, but they’re going to die like latin, too. But I prefer to go a different way. Some may prefer guns of golden, or sweat of potpourri Oh no, I haven’t got an antidote for them But I’ve been looking for a lot of people to use. Because there’s an awful lot of work to do And there’s a lot a lot of people to meet And there’s a lot of filthy hands to shake But there’s not a minute to waste I’ve been working, trying not to die like Latin Yes, working, like a wild card, every minute, every day I suppose nothing can save your soul. There’s a romance novel tonight, dear No, not even I can save your soul from the diametric claws of Latin Someone might die for you someday, but that someone won’t be me Someone might sing in Latin for you, but that troubadour ain’t going to be me. Turn out four wheels; peeling, peeling, peeling for you You live the widowmaker’s private peep show All in vain, you’ve search the world for electric love before you’re out like Latin Your wedding band is for Czar Alexander the first. He’s busy mixed drinking on your good side and if your sways of summer country sides, I was somewhere in the Catskills, some parfait in the north atlantic, wrestling sea snakes every four weeks, four weeks pregnant it feels slight diametric residence. Under pressure, picking up something on my old fashioned dialysis: Czar Alexander the first killing all gypsy moths, feed em to the ‘pedes We’ll wait a hundred years underground, less talk why not? Someone in your neighborhood is a gypsy when the tide comes in But I’m always smiling on a mission wanted: Cho-Cho, had his viet-knees on trial when I said “please can I take your order?” A new world order, instead, like a bed of bouquets only to encrypt the ocean floors. Well, I served that man, but only association was he was a man of scales. Asking, the troubadour, waiting in concrete stills. The fog the fog, they’ve sent, it’s getting a little too hot in here The foe the foe to me, may I see your license please? (it was only red dot dot dot dot line dot) so the fog said to the fuzz: “It’s getting a little too hot in here” Sugar killed the Native Americans but your mother just doesn’t care She’s not feeding you, she’s feeding the yeast Oh, another Mary is fooled again… Too much, too much, she found a roman but it’s only for the touch Too much, I’m waiting like some kind of guilt seeking yeast I’m waiting for a hundred years and Czar Alexander the First Someone’s spraying a heat seek jazz all over Leningrad… Say businessmen, say gentlemen, I’ve heard a little Sometimes in the hospital they wear tuxedos. For what? Sleeping at sunrise, I’ll tell you what: every urchin can smell your fear Push the pushy baby right out of the womb and sell the smell in the powder room Your lovers answer: “something has tainted my babe” But learn to keep the cool because they ain’t giving you nothing Because Czech is your master And all the sugar in this world will never take away the sting And all the heat in this world will never ever cease And all the sinners in this world will never wash your bed Not as long as Czech is your master… They say a widowmaking heart is blacker than an ocean They wouldn’t lie to you, because they’ve had you from beginning And they’ll be grinning at the end, grinning like a step daughter with a noose in her hand. let it bloom… {twilight} waiting for the lights to turn on when czech is your master you must be the last, last of the sirens and a’ whistling to the end put on that ruby red lipstick for your man she had a taste for the red a communist pocketbook say we’re moving too fast? Widowmaker wore our mothers skin… and the stars they send will scratch the ornamental sun before the battleship will leave us once again I know you can’t wait when Czech will fast forever We’ll grab it’s swollen bones and write notes to long lost lives [END VIENNAGRAM:]