lines libretto

BOOK IV
THE DIFFERENCE IN ELECTRIC LIGHT

lines libretto


57

I hear electricity
that lives in the city wires
In the phones, in the monitors
in the air, in the machinery of the universe

Oh, I can hear it
as a stream of electrons exchanges particles
talking to each other
as they fight with each other
as they marry
as they leave home
how they come back

believe me, every time I walk through Marx Square
or any other area
of my city, in any of the spaces available to man
in any Russia, in any World
I can hear this
the electricity sitting in the highways
in fleabags, flea markets
basements, dens, unidentified apartments
TB hospitals, lunatics
libraries, schools, sects, governments of all countries
in all missions, inugurations, integrations, societies
robotics warehouses, McDonald's
butcher shops, plants and factories
nightclubs, brothels, temples and monasteries
in Heaven and on Earth
under the earth and under the sky
everywhere and everywhere I hear the same thing
an incessant electricity
current (blood flow, lines)
from the streetcar wires pole looks at me Freedom
she flows...
she is Life...
she Death under the mask of Qi...
the Nest of Genesis is declassified!

oh, I can really hear it
as I walk from Marx Square to Christ's Lane
as the streets hum
as the Decay climb
how everything is under High Tension.
as a sign with a skull and the word "DANGER" crosses the road
                lines in front

oh, I can really hear it
the electricity coming from the people
the oscillations of their mental illnesses
the oscillation of their pulse, the pulsation of their veins
how the energy burns in them, the will to live
how it burns in them without the right to be resurrected
electricity

and I'm an unnamed fitter, electrician
I take out a fancy ladder
and I reach into their hearts and souls
and I'm tweaking something there, adjusting the lines
so that the light comes on again, a light unknown before
so that the streets of the city
the streets of the city


58

"what are they saying, Tom?
what do the cicadas in the field cry about?
what does the lonely reed sing about?
what are the hills trying to tell us with their division?
what language does the sea speak?
what do the bells of nightmares sound
for whom do they strike?"

when I met you, I realized
that love is probably just a passport
that is handed out at the front door
taken/stolen on the way out
when I met you, I realized
that all my lost real ones
was just a tiny sea,
flowing into the ocean of the past

"but what do they say, Tom?
still, which side to approach the Sound
to determine all the boundaries of the light
what lies behind the shroud of the impossible?
what do you hear, Tommy?
in what language do they speak?
the guiding stars... night nymphs...
rhymes that will become gold over our smoldering bodies..."

when I met you, I too began
to hear the universe move
I began to notice with my auditory nerves
how the Speed of the World was changing
when I met you, I realized
that the Bailiff and the Grand Judge
and the Representative, Nero the Caligula, the Gods
are just pawns in a game of distant light
of Midnight's will
the apologies of the Full Moon


59

emperors, empresses
towers, wizards and fools
everything obeys the layout
my symbols on the board

so listen to the tale, wanderer
I'll give you a glimpse
what has happened and what will happen
what will never be:

all the living shall rise up
all the dead shall die
listen to the poetry of the night
pray to the moon

out of the magnitude of the constellations
an ugly god will be born
if we're gonna die, we're gonna die together
to die is to go on

to live is to climb the wall
break bricks and spines
strategic objects on the map
these are our words, verlibes

believe me, the paradox of death
is the impossibility of committing
of returning, of turning
around its axis, the displacement

the units, the numbers in the table
the office is closed for the Purge
everyone will be led out
everyone will be destroyed happy

but death is only the beginning
and darkness is the door to hell
to live is not a rule but a right
welcome to the Blackest


60

I'm caught in the wind
I'm being carried away by a hurricane
of hallucinations, of memories
I exist longitudinally
I exist - between
what else can I remember?
what else will make me cry?

what do the sewer manholes sing?
what are cigarettes re-written about in cigarette lounges?
is it about death, decay?
about the crown of justice, Tom?

all these questions
make it very painful
I turn to the North
what was I running from, coming back

the wires of the city tell me
phone numbers of people I know
I call all the living and the dead
I ask, "What's up?"

the city answers me
in love with me as a whole
"the time of plenty is over
"hell is only the beginning"

but at the very, very end
at the terminus, the bus stop
I see something flashing
winking out of the Blackness

all the horror I've been through
had to end with something
had to end in something
like a dead man's pulse, like the prices
in the store, like the editor's thoughts
in the final line of the review
I go out on the Will
I'm breathing with my chest wide open
I'm on the Mountain of Corpses
I'm in a City Divided by Zero
I am just as much a part of the devastation
part of the ruins, of the ruins, of the rubble
I'm just as dead, I confess
but something looms in the distance

"rise up, brothers, it's time
"we're going to burn in the sun for the last time"

what's beyond the sunset?
can we go out of here?