Angel of Death

Angel of death come n take me away
Angel of death let me listen to yr ghettoblaster
feel yr wrinkled fingers yr lips so cold
Your face like alabaster Your limbs like marble
Your face is not cruel Your face is kind
Angel of death you got a machine gun a Kodak lens
Angel of death you're a cyber machine you're the static
The gap between the ad break and the TV show
You're a broken voice on the stereo
You're what is written on the blank white computer screen
Your face is as impassive
Downloading pictures of epiphany-
Drawn by Durer in red ink ... captions
Scribed by Goethe in black.
You stand in the corner of my room
Yr face turned away Yr shadow is my shroud
The dust you bring shall cover me.
You seem to sniff the white plaster of my blank walls
I should have laid out pictures- The agonies of Christ
The Holy Spirit- The Holy Virgin sacrificed.
Touch me with your hand o Angel of Death
Teach me to love
And on my smooth shoulders place wings (like Jim)
So that i may fly into a boundless night
That will be your benediction, your prayer
Your majesty and might.

Mors

Mors
The Angel of Death comes to the King's Room at Night;
His Face shines.
Les chansons soutterrain.
Singing, singing.
The Angel of Death in his flight laughs deeply;
He knows his destination.
It shall be through a dark dream
Into a new life.
Vita Novus.

(...If there had been TV in Paris in 1789, or in Russia in 1917, would the populace ever have carried through their revolutions? It seems doubtful.)

the catalogue of the heart's delusions

This is the catalogue of the heart's delusions
Because the trend in design is toward simplicity.
Design is just the response to a problem.
(and the problem is man.)
You survive, and you do not survive.
I think the hardest kind of courage to have is the courage not to lie to yourself.
How to get through death, transcend death? A bloodlet, a sacrifice. Transcend death by absorbing and accepting it.
Life is never fuller in us than when Death's Angel places her hand on our shoulders.
What the process of maturity really entails is acceptance of death.
Something like sleep that brings down blackness on yr head,
a cancelling-out, its finality beautiful.
It would be like a black sleek amusement ride carved out of your
favourite silks beautifully dark
It would creep up behind you and boom like a ghetto-blaster
In yr ear so you'd scream in a nervous skeleton laugh
But its beauty is its democracy which is always welcome
And welcoming.
She creep up on kings with the same embrace.
Yes death is female not the illustrated comicbook skeleton
And yet his face was always a grin
And her embrace is
The simple joke of the absolute.
(And yet death is a jest that hides a truth,
A serious secret selfconsciously revealed.)