Coot - Johnny Pulp and the Lemonheads
rivers flow in us. ho sang-soo. (2).mp3
rivers flow in us. ho sang-soo. (1).mp3
rivers flow in us. ho sang-soo. .mp3
Sleeve Notes
The big surprise was the immense blue sky and the long roads and the canal that made a carnival between the parkland and the never forgotten. The coots were strange like outer space and the tawdry was drawn through the orange fallen leaves and the open air, the sad sighing breezes the oak and weeping willows the big road going two ways and the footbridge high into the big valley of feelings you scared of falling but impressed with eyes further into the bright light of the fading day. We could have been Italian neo-realists or seedy concentrations, but there was a valour and a calm, yea, just a calm across the canal's waters, the moorhens and the prehistoric cormorant spreading its wings out to dry in the log tree and the scent of the coal fires from the barges and their minor league names. What were the lures? The deep quiet and the foraging swan, green parakeets moving like Ed-Parker karate moves against the azure heavens. Nick Cave's 'And the Ass saw and Angel' fell into our arms and Then through the supermarket car park into a space desolate and grey and Cromwellian and what this was about was doing for life on the border between the suburb and the left out what Ron Shelton's Bull Durham did for minor league baseball or Funhouse for life on the midway. The drinks were simple and obvious and high theatre realism springing up out of the souls. Another word for improvising is writing and you don't ask actors to do that. We were writers and the sun set as we walked home and something was written like the dark on a page is meaning the dark on the page is meaning and the moon was full, yea, that moon was full. why'd you rape little red and ride her in her hood and where was grandma eating like she'd done it all before and who is your woodman with his muscles and his axes and why are you sleeping with your dreams on his logs? why are you walking the road to Bluebeards castle and why are you carrying all your whips and those furs and all the other women who are dying for it too? and what is it you are seeing when you're looking in the mirrors the fairest and the wicked you're entranced and bewitched and the witches you adore have their brooms between your thighs and what did you do to get Humpty to fall all broken and what did jack horner pull sitting on your plum? and all that curds and whey oo. all that curds and whey hey. and were you really a sleeping when the prince came to wake you with his thorns that you tangled all crying in your kissing. and goldilocks you were easy had the heat for the threesome and little piggy why the wolf at your door no wonder snow white's exhausted those dwarves keep on coming cinderella you were lustful and your sisters they were easy and the prince and his costumes just another fairy god and the pussy's in the well yea, the pussy's in the well and everything's a little stranger in the nursery tonight yes, everything's got stranger in the nursery tonight. and the pussy's in the well yea, the pussy's in the well and everything's a little stranger in the nursery tonight yes, everything's got stranger in the nursery tonight. come find me... why'd you rape little red and ride her in her hood and where was grandma eating like she'd done it all before and who is your woodman with his muscles and his axes and why are you sleeping with your dreams on his logs? why are you walking the road to Bluebeards castle and why are you carrying all your whips and those furs and all the other women who are dying for it too? and what is it you are seeing when you're looking in the mirrors the fairest and the wicked you're entranced and bewitched and the witches you adore have their brooms between your thighs and what did you do to get Humpty to fall all broken and what did jack horner pull sitting on your plum? and all that curds and whey and were you really a sleeping when the prince came to wake you with his thorns that you tangled all crying in your kissing. and goldilocks you were easing had the heat for the threesome and little piggy why the wolf at your door no wonder snow white's exhausted those dwarves keep on coming cinderella you were lustful and your sisters they were easy and the prince and his costumes just another fairy god and the pussy's in the well yea, the pussy's in the well and everything's a little stranger in the nursery tonight yes, everything's got stranger in the nursery tonight. come find me. On receiving her letter from a distance and long time gone Green mantels and living flames catch the table. It’s humming olive light stretches my disbelief It’s hot pageant listless in a funeral abeyance And after so many years too. The great strength of those Lies in tokens of material. I don’t rest but sear and Listen – now you’re there send me the latest news And take my advice – vulgarity is all over her face She’s nothing but a cow and yoked. The light bulbs are weak and won’t go far believe me. Keep away from abstractions. Forgo intuitions That go inwards. They’ll run you premature. And you’ll be lost. Bait your truths. Dead little fish lie on the top. Go below for bigger fats. Overreach won’t you Damn it. Stay greedy at your devotion. Grip on Whatever they declare as character because they’re liars They have no inside so appearance and reality coincide Are just forces going in a certain direction. Let’s Not mess. My monologues are meant to be, you little slut. That’s a good way of putting things, product of a mote imagination Not wholly conscious and easily satiated. I have marrow. Smoke all you like. Tell them I said so. There’s always humility In first acts. My favourite lizard is the chameleon. They are more than half real. Inaudible but visible. I am very disappointed in all of them. Tell them. Tell them I deny their reality. But that lends them too much existence. Caprice runs from one of them, their face. Commit this: Your grossest carelessness. On that other score Superstitions are undermotivated. Unless there’s money Leave it. Some moments of double reality Say something else. Our vows are ourselves. I’m Not vile because you forsee it simply because You see not as things are but as they seem, Mingling in forgotten scenes. My horror in this. You grow up Like any of them and I’ll fucking kill you. You know squat. I came home at 11. I have my own purgations. One fellow with allusions all over contained great scorn For hell. He’s not the friend I should have had. Dew rusts the morons everywhere. Romance looks for death. Never repeat integrally. Instead, find the canto bone. Would you have what? Degradation exultation, Extent and various life? Pickups? This evening bends A remote state of beatitude. The insects are in the lights. The fox couples the dark. Everything attracts. Earth is carnal. And time is not implicit but forced upon it. Yea globe By these your impressions grow. Further hours. Then nowhere. Then someone. Then emotionless. Then a meal. The faces who watch. Those who are elsewhere. Not everyone cares. This is the mist. This is life. These are the days. Where are you now? Where did you go? The drifting boat. The cruel sea. The lost boys. The frightened woman. The sad. The disowned. The disowning. The moments of happiness. The walks to the trees. The walks up the mountains. The snows that fall. The generations pressing in. The half look. The half sigh. The half life . The half alive. Some primitive terror. The ineffable talk. the backward glance. the revived meaning. The discovered theft. the moments of agony. the misunderstood. The misunderstanding. a bitter apple. a sombre beauty. the sudden fury. what has always been. What has always been. Talk of sexy nuns. Talk of bird feathers. Talk of concealing. Talk of agonies. Talk of navigations. Talk of regrets. Talk of hopes. all the way down. Can you face it? Can you? Can anyone? The frightened woman. The sad. The disowned. The disowning. The moments of happiness. The walks to the trees. The walks up the mountains. The snows that fall. The generations pressing in. The half look. The half sigh. The half life . The half alive. Some primitive terror. The ineffable talk. the backward glance. the revived meaning. The discovered theft. the moments of agony. the misunderstood. The misunderstanding. a bitter apple. a sombre beauty. the sudden fury. what has always been. What has always been. Talk of sexy nuns. Talk of bird feathers. Talk of concealing. Talk of agonies. Talk of navigations. Talk of regrets. Talk of hopes. all the way down. Can you face it? Can you? Can anyone? I am without a season. I am what I always was. I am young blood's great objection. Worried by silence. whisperer. Curious. Nervous but nothing happens. Nothing ever happens. woah. I am without a season. I am what I always was. I am young blood's great objection. Worried by silence. Whisperer. Curious. Nervous but nothing happens. Nothing ever happens. ho sang-soo. the covenant. the sacred hearts. the coffee cup. the beer that follows. The shadows fall. The cigarette man . the bitter wife. the lies they tell. the two men. the girl who watches. the girl who asks. the women come and go.. ho sang-soo. the mountains and the parks. the buildings are drab. the rice wine. the storms inside. merry christmas. its not so cold. outside the window. inside the room. the talk is curved. the angles cry aloud. the lens comes apart. your reappearing. your hiding. your knowing. you show fatigue. the beach has heavy eyes. the fire leagues. the woman lies down. she is nightingale. and between cold ribs. becoming your abstraction. ho sang-soo. ho san-soo. films like a starfish. the torn seine. the many voices. the salt on roses. the granite side. the silent fog. the tolling bell. lying awake. the culmination. the unhurried swell. the older time. the weaving heart. the winding soul. the unravelled. the wistful. the sad. the midnight and dawns. the unhurried deception. the end of it. and then the beginning. the unprayable boy. the devotionless genius. the annunciation. no destination. No destination. emotion hugs itself. what is there? another creation. another world. another life. those who watch. those who wait. those who are greedy. the sex is a final addition. the proud one. the motionless silence. the ground swell. the coming conciliation. the consequences drawn. the missing. pools and eyes. rivers flow in us. ho sang-soo. Business and grief and the sleepy rythem of a hundred hours. The future is behind us. The past never started. Are you at the terminus. Who stands in the snow? it is nightfall. Are you who I once saw elsewhere? Voyager. Repeat a prayer for me. Perpetual angelus. Something like that. Inside the distress a perplexity. The tragedy. The evocation of a nature riddled with the inevitable. Dissect the images. The cople in the snow returning pentagrams to explore who they've become. A womb. A tomb. The shores of Asia and the Harrow Road. The common gull signs off at the canal. The way forward. Time is withdrawn. I am sliding down to inevitable doom. A different life has its harbours. These are the secrets. All lives are admonishments. Will you bid me farewell? Will you ever hold on to me? Is there the sound of the sea inside us? Was the footbridge where the gods walk? Some destroy their own image. I overturn a coffee cup. I swallow an apple and keep metaphysics warm. These are cold days. Where are you? Where are you? Oh how I wish you here and now. Abstracts can't heat us. The wisteria and the fatigue in the morning. The shroud of an evening like a gown. Against my window someone calls. I see my own eyes in the glass. The greatest of dishonor. Death and crows reorganise my cups. I guess you're yawning and untamed overturn me. Here comes the time and the sympathy the sunshine and the cold frosts covering the grasses with their slutty blues. These are the new ways of heavenly. Yea, these are the new ways of heavenly. Ever lonely and ever lost ever searching never finding there are secret guides and forlorn hopes and feelings that rise up and soar into space that soar into space ooo yea. So if the times seems strange and everything's a little lost and the director puts his moves on you and the femme fatale proves fatal look to the birds in the weeping willow yea, look to those birds in the weeping willow And cry a little for the days to come and cry for the days that'll never come back and cry for the haunted and the blue of the sky and the saddest face and its simple beauty. Ever lonely and ever lost ever searching never finding there are secret guides and forlorn hopes and feelings that rise up and soar into space that soar into space ooo yea. so cry a little for the days to come and cry for the days that'll never come back and cry for the haunted and the blue of the sky and the saddest face and its simple beauty. cry a little for the days to come and cry for the days that'll never come back and cry for the haunted and the blue of the sky and the saddest face and its simple beauty. your saddest face and your simple beauty. what dance is this I'm old and the eyes are fading the ice is on the cake and the cookies crumbling all your little ducks in a row and the pretty maids too and where are the strange voyages and where are you tonight there's a cloud across the moon and I'm lost in the crowd I'm a spinning wheel and hokum I'm the whisper in your ear There's a big river flowing\right down to the ocean and a snow flake spinning and the cold wind blowing is the high pressure rising Look down from the rooftops cock robin he's a fighting the way is hard and the road too tiring I'm waiting for sunset and the end of time because all your little ducks in a row and the pretty maids too and where are the strange voyages and where are you tonight there's a cloud across the moon and I'm lost in the crowd I'm a spinning wheel and hokum I'm the whisper in your ear There's a big river flowing\right down to the ocean and a snow flake spinning and the cold wind blowing is the high pressure rising So I'm asking what dance is this I'm old and the eyes are fading the ice is on the cake and the cookies crumbling? sex and losers. the small rooms. the thighs are live embers. hands touch the skin in rooms and dreams. the moment bodies are lost in the ground of themselves. A kiss of amber. she doesn't watch the hand caressing her breasts. How her body aches for it. Most days there's an impersonal desire. is erotica where the world dreads its own silence? The hopeless calculations merge. Some like the forthright others despise themselves too much for that. And vice versa. You will pretend to be far off and I am a hushed up wrong. Nothing is ours. No one own anyone. There are flowers to be given. If I see your lashes as darker and eyes brighter what am I doing? Yours is the face before the world made itself. Sometimes you see yourself as elsewhere and unmoved. But is that right? Is that true? Mirror into mirror the world is infinite but diminishes. You have the concentration of the sky and its drift too. We all shift about glancing at whatever bodies can bless us and want to mount them. That's a poetry's truth. Is my mind awry with these thoughts of you allied to the shadows and naked on a bed elevating the rhythms of bodies and lovers and the swallows flight. Open mouth you are languorous and begotten, and swallowing your first intent. Who finds certainty in dreams and can dedicate their sensuality to a moment and that cry that comes among the broken ground, eyes bent to the linen and the shapeless compass-point of love? I am lost at night and though days are luminous there is a ruffled scene and sudden thunder far away.