EARTHLY FOLK
On the 7th moon she past away, and they walked her in salt, guiding her body to land of the dead…
(Song)
Her unit, her body, her sentience and organism… her field – bathed, conceded with persistence and flourishing for some given to her years and surrendered to dying once these years have been met; The gift of life was taken back and the gift of death was given to her. Death came upon her.
All life is a gift of matter…
Nothing i knew had any chance against death…
The subtle drop at the centre of the heart chakra where the very subtle consciousness resides. Originating from the father's red drop and the mother's white one, it consists of two halves, which split at the moment of death to release the very subtle consciousness.
While the consciousness can leave the body from several different openings, the eyes, ears, mouth, nostrils, navel & anus.
Once trembled, existed
Entangled with gifts of matter
Fleeing the visible, escaping receding the ecstasy of odour, of melody and touch.
She now knew death
Milkmaiden make me a river of milk in the sky
So i may see my writing, the dream of me
Her history became absent
Die in this world
Be taken into the next
Leave your skin to us the miserable, the two footed the flesh loving sensual folk
Milk honey wool
Bread love memory fool
Die in this world we
Cut our threads of
Tits and wheat, potatoes and seed
Grip on wood until your body is
Ash and mud
Bones full
Hands of men pass you on
Hands of men pass you on
GUARDIAN OF THE AFTERWORLD
When all Burial tactics were performed
Black mirror, crystal calm
She was nothing but matter and maybe more than matter,
Once trembled, existed
Entangled with gifts of moisture
(Song)
I dissolve, i resolve
I demolish
Rebuild myself into emptiness
No flesh, no blood
She spoke to them but they did not hear
The body no longer caste shadow on the earths
Feet no longer left wet imprints on boulders
Alone, intangible, free floating
She thought she was unnoticed
Sometime, somewhere i cease to write myself
I cease to see myself
I can’t see myself in the black waters of the earth
Milkmaiden make me a river of milk in the sky
So i may see my writing, the dream of me
Her history became absent
Golden Flower I Weave
Golden Flower I See
Come Golden Death of Me
SERAFINS: PROCESSION INTO THE AFTERWORLD
(Song)
Golden Flower I Weave
Golden Flower I See
Come Golden Death of Me
Shred skins, the epidermis,to remove impurities..
“ i no longer have and never had a body to touch with my own fingers, and i have never seen my eyes in such a way that i could cross over to see myself: a violent realization, to which no offered resistance, for more than, i not ever had this i, but this light that i am is there, at one extreme; at the other extreme, an andern Ende, amandernende, one word that will be only mine when i get there, O rejoicings. Isn’t the capital E at the end beautiful?” Helen Xicous
Delicate technologies of cessation and transformation
Form flows into formlessness and then tides back to form and formlessness again, with neither of these fully complete.
While my intestines are eaten by the creatures behind seven gates
May i recognise all sounds as my sounds
May i reorganise all lights as my lights
May i recognise all rays as my rays
May i recognise all sounds as my sounds
May i reorganise all lights as my lights
May i recognise all rays as my rays
Inside a celestial city, where the moon splits into two
All Phenomena are devoid of substantial existence
They are like a dream, like an illusion, an echo
Do you remember the way in and do you remember the way back?
Consciousness departs from body and enters into a phantasmogoric liminal realm
At Zero-degree desire
Persona becomes increasingly nameless, a-personal, distant from the world of the living
When her bones were crushed by the spirits servants of the afterworld
Bereft of tangible body, she is a spectral subject
Her history became absent
49 DAYS AFTER DEATH
A slight misalignment in space and time
Hovering beyond the threshold of perception
Traveling the disembodied in between
It is here amongst stunted oaks and gelatinous fungal kingdoms, where moss grows like deep-pile carpet, dwells a spirit of a Bird, a Bird that eats Human forms….
(Song)
Dear thread stitch me to the light, to the deep dark of night
Stitch me to my star, hold at it lightly, gently always dancing, host my organ ghosts
Let us prepare for the afterworld
Cruel traditions
Ye who see are still among the living
Again, somehow, one saw life a pure bead
Coo coo
WRITTEN BY ANNA KUSHNEROVA
NARRATED BY FION DAVIES COX
SANG BY RIC HOLLINGBERY