Free On the Many Deaths of Amanda Palmer by Rohan Kriwaczek Page A
Authors: Rohan Kriwaczek
â ever demanding more
âAnd then there came those incredible Artworks
Far beyond even Our greatest conceptions:
There was Music that blended the compassion of a fool
With an arrogant manâs bold assertions
âThere were paintings that flooded the senses
Miraculous visions, exquisitely drawn
Almost painful to behold, they were so keenly seen
So desperately driven into form
âAnd so We marvelled at Your spirit, and We marvelled at Your Soul
And Your capacity to see beyond the Real
And yet the more You were surrounded by the spoils of your crimes
The more their dark foundations were concealed
âCreation and Destruction, Beauty and Death
To name the one is to define the other
Justice and Insanity, Holiness and Vanity
The parade of Hypocrites goes on foreverâ
And here she paused, as if lost upon reflection
Of the most dramatic import of her words
And with a gesture of her wrist she beckoned in the mist
And I was swallowed in its billowing twists and turns
But then, suddenly I saw it was a thousand million ghosts
A seething mass of limbs all writhing and straining
As if a parody of carnival grotesques had gone berserk â
For She was showing me the Hypocrites parading
And so I watched as many centuries of denial drifted past
Until finally she spoke: âPlease forgive my visual gimmickry
I know there is no need to impress you with such tricks
But I offer you these scenes in casual sincerity
âFor Your curse, the curse of Man, is that You seek to understand
But the closer that You look the less You see
And whilst Youâre staring at a pin-head, searching out the Soul of Man
A whole world of unimagined answers passes by
âOh itâs all a matter of perspective, you understand
You cannot see what youâre looking at without looking away
And these tormented Souls that drift, forever cursing their desires
Deny themselves a life, for fear of losing face
âThese are not the spirits of the dead or damned
They are the everyday folk of your modern land
Alive, but not alight, they pass the time
âAnd then at night their dreams are filled
With every fear and taboo thrill
Before they wake, and once again they stand in line
âAnd then this quiet dissatisfaction
Slowly eats away inside them
Until they wake one day to find their heart is hollow
âAnd all that they can feel
Is resentment and betrayal
Though towards whom and by what they do not know
âAnd soon they are condemning
And soon they are a-preaching
And banging fists on doors for to complain
âBut what they really crave
Is far too dangerous to know -
Theyâve given up, and always look the other way
âFor the most devastating Silence is of words left unspoken
Of fantasies hounded by shame -
For they wither the Soul âtill the Spirit is broken
Or explode into ugly disdain
âSure, Truth is Beauty, and Beauty is Truth
But so is Violence, Corruption and Fear
So make sure you look up when youâre walking on water
But look down when youâre crossing the mire
âEvery man, every woman and child is born
With a Vision that is waiting to sing
But for most it is easier to simply deny
There is anything burning within
âFor to sing would bring Confusion, and Confusion courts Despair
And so the scaffolding around them tumbles down
And so for fear of being left up in the air, their eyes are closed
And their mouths will neâer conceive a melodious sound
âI look into Your citiesâ sallow eyes in search of light
And certainly activity bewilders â
I see a veritable hive of imperfections, masturbations
Titillations, and distractions to consider
âSo I seek beneath the glamour and monotonous clamour
For the heretics, the martyrs, the condemned
And I call upon the glorious hole-builders of old
Those champions on whom I could always depend
âBut nobody answers, nobody comes forth
No, not one whisper of a
âAnd then there came those incredible Artworks
Far beyond even Our greatest conceptions:
There was Music that blended the compassion of a fool
With an arrogant manâs bold assertions
âThere were paintings that flooded the senses
Miraculous visions, exquisitely drawn
Almost painful to behold, they were so keenly seen
So desperately driven into form
âAnd so We marvelled at Your spirit, and We marvelled at Your Soul
And Your capacity to see beyond the Real
And yet the more You were surrounded by the spoils of your crimes
The more their dark foundations were concealed
âCreation and Destruction, Beauty and Death
To name the one is to define the other
Justice and Insanity, Holiness and Vanity
The parade of Hypocrites goes on foreverâ
And here she paused, as if lost upon reflection
Of the most dramatic import of her words
And with a gesture of her wrist she beckoned in the mist
And I was swallowed in its billowing twists and turns
But then, suddenly I saw it was a thousand million ghosts
A seething mass of limbs all writhing and straining
As if a parody of carnival grotesques had gone berserk â
For She was showing me the Hypocrites parading
And so I watched as many centuries of denial drifted past
Until finally she spoke: âPlease forgive my visual gimmickry
I know there is no need to impress you with such tricks
But I offer you these scenes in casual sincerity
âFor Your curse, the curse of Man, is that You seek to understand
But the closer that You look the less You see
And whilst Youâre staring at a pin-head, searching out the Soul of Man
A whole world of unimagined answers passes by
âOh itâs all a matter of perspective, you understand
You cannot see what youâre looking at without looking away
And these tormented Souls that drift, forever cursing their desires
Deny themselves a life, for fear of losing face
âThese are not the spirits of the dead or damned
They are the everyday folk of your modern land
Alive, but not alight, they pass the time
âAnd then at night their dreams are filled
With every fear and taboo thrill
Before they wake, and once again they stand in line
âAnd then this quiet dissatisfaction
Slowly eats away inside them
Until they wake one day to find their heart is hollow
âAnd all that they can feel
Is resentment and betrayal
Though towards whom and by what they do not know
âAnd soon they are condemning
And soon they are a-preaching
And banging fists on doors for to complain
âBut what they really crave
Is far too dangerous to know -
Theyâve given up, and always look the other way
âFor the most devastating Silence is of words left unspoken
Of fantasies hounded by shame -
For they wither the Soul âtill the Spirit is broken
Or explode into ugly disdain
âSure, Truth is Beauty, and Beauty is Truth
But so is Violence, Corruption and Fear
So make sure you look up when youâre walking on water
But look down when youâre crossing the mire
âEvery man, every woman and child is born
With a Vision that is waiting to sing
But for most it is easier to simply deny
There is anything burning within
âFor to sing would bring Confusion, and Confusion courts Despair
And so the scaffolding around them tumbles down
And so for fear of being left up in the air, their eyes are closed
And their mouths will neâer conceive a melodious sound
âI look into Your citiesâ sallow eyes in search of light
And certainly activity bewilders â
I see a veritable hive of imperfections, masturbations
Titillations, and distractions to consider
âSo I seek beneath the glamour and monotonous clamour
For the heretics, the martyrs, the condemned
And I call upon the glorious hole-builders of old
Those champions on whom I could always depend
âBut nobody answers, nobody comes forth
No, not one whisper of a
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