Projections

by Cary Grace

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1.
Kaleidoscope 06:42
What universe is left for me? My eyes are full of poetry, and malediction falls upon deaf ears. The careful archetypes I drew are idealistic and untrue, and all around me wisdom disappears Into the kaleidoscope; electric blue and heliotrope an enigmatic envelope around. Into the kaleidoscope; a scintillating chromatrope is vast beneath the microscope, unwound. What road remains to travel now when everything we disallow— in entropy our vacant motion stilled. I lift my breath inside my chest to whisper words of my unrest— stagnation rushes in; my lungs are filled. Into the kaleidoscope; electric blue and heliotrope an enigmatic envelope around. Into the kaleidoscope; a scintillating chromatrope is vast beneath the microscope, unwound. And if I were the only one stunned beneath the empty sun I would not fear so much, or much at all, but countless in our multitudes as stars, we repeat platitudes, and care not if we rise or if they fall Into the kaleidoscope; electric blue and heliotrope an enigmatic envelope around. Into the kaleidoscope; a scintillating chromatrope is vast beneath the microscope, unwound.
2.
Undertow 04:29
Umbrella for your rain dance in the storm— you’ve had your fill, but overkill’s the norm. I think you better bow down, bow down low. It’s written on your face— don’t let it show. Penny for your thoughts; ain’t worth a lot. You’re advertising something you are not. I think you better slow down, slow down, slow. Whatever you won’t say they think you know. All of your black flowers open wide on the ceiling, moving side to side— and you are clinging to the undertow. Better hold on tight— don’t let it go. Better hold on tight— don’t let it go, no, no, no. Better hold on tight— don’t let it go.
3.
Old tomes of retribute lie impotent and mute. Their sycophants rebel— draw coins from the wishing well. If this is fortune, will it buy me peace? If this is freedom, where is my release? Are you the chosen few? So it was said is true. Whisper uncertainty, heads down in the greenery. If this is reason, will it make me wise? If this is certain, why not for my eyes? God’s country might survive when no man stands alive. Evaluate your worth: red blood spilled upon the Earth. If this is malice, why is it divine? If this is justice, why is it unkind? Diana, stretch your bow. Those for your arrows go fear not the fading moon— they too will be fading soon.
4.
Prometheus 10:57
Was it carved upon the stones that built Atlantis and were lost? Was it whispered in the streets of ancient Rome? Far too many years have passed in thawing and in frost, but all things have a way of coming home. And when the fire is gone, when the fire is gone, how will we go on, Prometheus? Will we taste the poison? Will it take us by surprise? Will scientists explain it all away? All of these magnetic fields upset the compass, blind the eyes; convince us that this is the only way. And when the fire is gone, when the fire is gone, how will we go on, Prometheus? Is ignorance still bliss? Perhaps tomorrow will arrive to gaze on a cold hollow in the skies. Will anything we know remain? Will anything survive? Or will we leave a legacy of lies? And when the fire is gone, when the fire is gone, how will we go on, Prometheus?
5.
Hard Weather 04:59
On the island of the rain ghostly fingers drum the air— tap, tap, tapping on the pane, washing all the shadows bare. And dressed in deepest malachite, ivy scrambles with delight over echoes of the past: some will crumble; some will last. If ever, this is the proving ground. It’s hard weather; I'll see you when it turns around. In the tower of the sky, Italian suits lay out the plans to set ablaze the depths of space with know-nothings and also-rans. But all of those Manhattan lights will never give you back your rights. Look upon the enemy: he breaks down very easily. If ever, this is the proving ground. It’s hard weather; I'll see you when it turns around. In a palace on the moon languishes the ruling class: the charlatan and the buffoon, and all the wealth that they amass would not be worth a pittance here, in the dungeons of their fear, and when clear of the public eyes hearts flutter—frightened butterflies. If ever, this is the proving ground. It’s hard weather; I'll see you when it turns around. I'll see you when it turns around.
6.
Eye 18:20
Blood moon like a ruby shining; bright wing of a white bird flying. Cold Wind, she will tell you nothing; red stars, they will send you searching. I am. I am. A dream like a violet window; a place where the light is shadow. Blood moon like a ruby shining; bright wing of the night bird flying. I am. I am. I am the eye eternal: one, watching from all directions. I know like a perfect mirror— no sight; myriad reflections. I am. I am.

credits

released November 24, 2008

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Cary Grace UK

Cary Grace is an American expat, residing in England since 2005. She is as much at home wielding a soldering iron as a guitar, and runs
Wessex Analogue, manufacturing Wiard brand boutique modular
synthesizers. She devotes as much of her free time as possible to making and listening to music, and finds much of her creative inspiration exploring the beautiful English countryside by motorbike.
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