Listening to Devil's Music by Teddybears
The following was written while listening to the album, “Devil's Music” by the Teddybears. It was the first time I had heard this group. The album has a lot to offer: wordplay, unusual and exciting instrument combinations. I particularly like the moog syntehsizer that scampers through some of the songs. Highly recommended – 4 out of 5 stars. Give it a listen. Of course, the group is in no way responsible for their effect on me or the words it produced.
Gravel. Metal voice without the spark.
Kicking it in though. Kicking it in. The drumbeat is enough to carry me. Enough for now. Little sisters dancing in a row. Come to sing at the evening show. Can you dig it? Can you be it?
Who knows what there is to see inside of me. Let it all fall out into the street. Pretty neat at your stomping feet. Don't give a shit. Don't give a damn. Me be the man. The man in me is enough for rolling this rock. Sisyphus dances. Rolling it up and watching it fall down, and rolling it up again. Prometheus cries as his liver is torn, punished for bringing fire to man, he leaves himself open to the pain yet again. No matter.
And then there is the children's laughter.
The moog soars behind the band. I hear the haters tell me to keep my mouth shut. Who knows how to do that? If you cannot take it, then don't shake the tree. Let the tree stand away from the crowd. Let the tree be.
Mamma hasn't heard. Mamma is in the dirt. Her ears are maggots worming their way through my brain. Let her buy her own house. Let her find it out, that in the end she is alone as she was alone with me.
No real anger on this score anymore, but no denial either. No place for silly fears and wishes. Not nihilist, but somewhere past that, to a place where even the effort of determining if nihilist is the place to exist. I find a room where I cannot see how dark it is in the dark.
More moogy in the music. Let's get down to the boogy. Woogying. Noogeying. Rub the head until it is raw. If they want it in the street then put it there. If they want it in the window, show it free from care. An ecstasy so far beyond fucking that they will never feel it. They can never know the electricity of it. The buggering they call elite is in the end just booty groovin'. Their disco lights are flashing to silly little tunes in the hashish of their minds.
Bottom flashing. Slapping that ass. In harmony. Booty. Silly rabbit. Silly girl. Trix are to be hid.
Drums be doin' the saggy. Baggy. Maggy. Waggy. No censor, only sensor. Let us dance the schizo-walz. Make the peace with the old man who selling burgers at the perpetual wake for a dream long gone.
He still asks for what he doesn't even know. If I am terminally unique. I don't give a damn. Terminate me. Take it and bite it, go ahead ignite it. Eat my bones, tear my flesh. I will enjoy it. I will relish the loss of the self pride you accuse me of silly, silly, and sillier still. Can you understand me? Can you even hear?
Marching. Marching. Religion. Superstition. Look it in the eye. Look beyond the patient recitation of obfuscation in the hope of redemption. Redemption of what? Redemption from what? Tell the tales of fairies. I do not deny you the privilege any more than I deny a child the freedom to believe in St. Nicholas.
S'okay. S'okay. I am not superior to any. I am not less than any. I do think and I do live. You are the one who thinks my thinking weird. You write the songs accusing me of anger and fear, so how is it that you become the thing you claim not to be?
At least let us be honest. At least let us start there. Neither of us know. Do not claim the holiness of a book. Do not claim the deity of a story. Do not claim it, unless you wish to hold it to the same scrutiny that you push upon me. Unless you are willing to challenge yourself what are you offering? I can easily castigate myself into the grave. Guilt and shame are easy commodities to purchase. They cost nothing. They are firmly wedged in my brain. I do not need the free helping you want to give.
Perhaps you have evidence of your majestic entity, that is unknowable and of universal power. Very well, please share. Do not leave me hanging here wishing for something you claim to have.
How cruel of you to turn away when I laugh, or claim you boast to be more than you can evidence within yourself? How hard hearted of you to say I am evil, without bothering to show me how. You quote words written so far in the past that you cannot even point to the dust from whence they came?
Heard the cat. This is the that of that. Cats do not get herded. They will not allow themselves to belong to a tribe. A dominant male is needed to calm the kitties. They may then follow at their own pace, but a herd they will never be.
Do my words anger? Do they cause dismay? How silly if this is so. They are but words, after all. Any fear or anger they cause as you read them was within you before they arrived. Hear them or not. Ignore them or not. I am not the words. The words are not me. My words and ideas are naught but leaves falling down to be burned in the kalpa fire. As soon as they form an idea, burn it. Burn it away so that making my words a reality does not become a prison for me.
Riffing away. Rigging a new sail. Please. Please. Let's see if we can sail to a new island. Cardiac arrest or no. Pitiful at best, we can perhaps remain afloat until new land is sighted. Let other toss grenades our way. Let them fire the cannon of hatred and prejudice. We will laugh at the emptiness they have drawn around themselves. It is the same emptiness we imagine for ourselves, we must admit to that possibility or become the thing from which we would be free.
Step and dance. Stay in the head today. Save the bottom for another time. Take it down. Be ready for moving to a new town. Leave behind all the things that hide in the storage bin. Hit the broad highway. Austrailia, Nigeria, London, Paris, LA and the big Apple. All await another bite.
I fear though. How often I fear. How long I fear. I want to hurt not. I want not to be hurt. Lost to dancing. Lost to feeling. Will it tear me apart as it has before? Can I risk the light behind the Green Door? The world seems harder than ever. The desire seems more empty than ever. Ever must it be. Let me hope it may not be so for me, once before the final shade let me lie in soft arms. Let me feel the tender kiss on my brow. Let me know as I have never known that the one bestowing the love is not inside my head trying to beat me and leave me alone in the dark as always. Always it has been so. At least it seems as if this is the place I find myself, and I do not know how to leave the seeming behind.
Temptation surrounds me. Groin ignites with dreams. Toes wiggle. Lips of pomengranate. Boy hair and earth mother breasts she sits across from me. At least I can look. I need not go further than that for now. I dream. I dream. It hurts to dream, but it hurts even more not to do it. Push, push, push to be honest. Be the gene, that drives the whole scene. We wriggle and writhe claiming to be more than the biology. We are not the authors. We did not create the lips, the eyes, the breasts. We did no create the desire to touch. How awful then to be denied the freedom and power to access the joy that seems allowed to others. Let me end this crying. Let me end this self pity. Play the organ one last chord. Find a lost chord or a new one, I will carry it with me.