Another spoken word with music track, though this one is a little different. Will I Dream originally appeared on my spoken word with music album God Thing, released in February 2011 - you can hear that version here. This version is a completely different mix created by the trance band Manmademan, who are friends of mine, and was done some time in 2012 (I don't recall when exactly). I didn't actually know Sonya and Paul had done so until they sent me a file of it after - they'd created it purely because they were fans of the original track. I like this version very much and don't know why I've only recently gotten round to putting it out. You can hear it at my soundcloud page, or in the player below.
Here's the text, for those of you unfamiliar with it:
Dr Chandra? Will I dream?
I cut my arm with a slide of glass. Fancy Trace because she's not my girlfriend. We stand beneath an amber moon and kiss. I give her tomorrow. Admire my blood, see it glisten to the sluice of the street. Out there. Somewhere. I love the tangle of her hair. I rend her glass and make stars. My cheek on her mirror. My day and my day. I like her flat. A fondness for books and for felines goes a long way. I kiss her skin, stoke her list of wishes. Press her flower and we skit the sky.
I bleed until I don't care for the detail of my bleeding.
Stand alone in her room and the world is me.
By night this feeling will never end.
By dawn I don't know who I am.
I tell you I love you. I fuck you with context. Know that we will bore and kill each other two years from now. There's no such thing as time. You know that. Of course you know that. We will fuck each other over, pull each other into our own place in space and in time. We hurt but say nothing. And it means. And it doesn't. You know that. Of course you know that.
Doctor, what is up with me? Hydrogen and stupidity. I watch a low red moon.
Donald adjusts his tie as the door swings. Spit-combs his hair and swabs a shaving-nick from his chin.
'We got him,' he says.
In a Karbala street the bodies are wrapped in plastic neck to scalp, throat-slit and laid out under sun.
An American pilot banks over the Persian Gulf. Deposits his payload, pines for wife and baby doll in Baltimore. The voices of the drowned sing on the wind.
I slide out, over San Fernando sprawl.
Ruth weeps, misses her husband on the golf course. Her cigarette smoke makes the shape of Africa in the air. She stubs, tends her herb garden.
Bobby sells a kidney to feed his family. Bobby cuts off an arm to feed his family. Bobby steps into an oven to feed his family.
At a radio telescope in the desert Ellie sits with headphones and listens for patterns in the chaos. Spark in the cage of her ribs. Exploded god in her neurons.
John rides Highway 1. Dawn wind wrinkles and slides. John finds a store to stock up on shotgun shells. I am here, or there, or elsewhere.
We send a message to distant stars. The reply comes back; 'fuck off and leave us alone.'
I lie half-awake and rejoice in the hands. I sleep until morning is done. Drink from the fountain in your courtyard. Everybody has a plan. Mine confers no uniqueness. Beneath the skin we are blood and mess, but above the skin we are beautiful.
I'm beneath the northern cross. Stars making pictures in my brain. Their light is spectral, is intelligent, is alive. Telling me where I came from.
Will I dream? Will I dream? Will I dream? Will I dream? When it's over will I dream?
Currently reading: Jim Morrison - The American Night
Currently listening: Logos - Santa Susana Blues [final mixes]