unholyangel
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Jan 2, 2001
- Messages
- 516
Well... i had an assignment - write an urbane monologue involving some group you're involved with and the names and words related to it. So, this is what i gave my prof today...
i think next class period, i'm going to give her a sheet of definitions.
My Jungle, without Trees
It’s nothing more than a trip-hop {scratch}
away from evidence on the street -
a vague reflection of what you can hear
vibrating just below the surface.
(that’s one way you can find it)
A network of labels, symbols, insignias –
a uniform equipped.
Your name never told.
(and early warning – beware of those who ask it.)
This wicked jungle landscape of
drowning darkness,
subversive sound.
My fellow tribesmen
marked in understanding
by the fluid steps we keep.
There are those too young and candy-sweet
to understand.
Others still too influenced –
inflicted by chemicals (it IS American Warfare)
My spine shivers
for every amen break[ing] -
but this is no place to pray.
There is no House – (who is YOUR god?)
{reply: save that for Chicago, child.
Or any other place defying the Revolution.}
Tonight we are led by
Shiva, Aphrodite – all essassin[ated] /broken down
fed by diesel [boy]
Worship conducted via
Techniques and a shrine of speakers -
or perhaps a twist of an 808 State invasion
of another drop.bass.network
massive~evolution~urban takeover of underground elements…
*too much
and
too many…*
(but.you.can’t.make.it.stop.and.define.)
me, I’m nothing more than a hybrid-angel…
{and if I should fall from grace, simply tell them this}
We were an island
in that room
on the right.
We were an island
in that room
that night.
I was in love
with noise
with words.
Yes, I fell in love
with things
never heard.
And I danced
as though no one
was watching.
And as I danced
I knew that they
were watching.
------------------
if we are what we eat, then what is to be said of what we choose to listen to...?
[This message has been edited by unholyangel (edited 21 February 2001).]
My Jungle, without Trees
It’s nothing more than a trip-hop {scratch}
away from evidence on the street -
a vague reflection of what you can hear
vibrating just below the surface.
(that’s one way you can find it)
A network of labels, symbols, insignias –
a uniform equipped.
Your name never told.
(and early warning – beware of those who ask it.)
This wicked jungle landscape of
drowning darkness,
subversive sound.
My fellow tribesmen
marked in understanding
by the fluid steps we keep.
There are those too young and candy-sweet
to understand.
Others still too influenced –
inflicted by chemicals (it IS American Warfare)
My spine shivers
for every amen break[ing] -
but this is no place to pray.
There is no House – (who is YOUR god?)
{reply: save that for Chicago, child.
Or any other place defying the Revolution.}
Tonight we are led by
Shiva, Aphrodite – all essassin[ated] /broken down
fed by diesel [boy]
Worship conducted via
Techniques and a shrine of speakers -
or perhaps a twist of an 808 State invasion
of another drop.bass.network
massive~evolution~urban takeover of underground elements…
*too much
and
too many…*
(but.you.can’t.make.it.stop.and.define.)
me, I’m nothing more than a hybrid-angel…
{and if I should fall from grace, simply tell them this}
We were an island
in that room
on the right.
We were an island
in that room
that night.
I was in love
with noise
with words.
Yes, I fell in love
with things
never heard.
And I danced
as though no one
was watching.
And as I danced
I knew that they
were watching.
------------------
if we are what we eat, then what is to be said of what we choose to listen to...?
[This message has been edited by unholyangel (edited 21 February 2001).]
