Free On the Many Deaths of Amanda Palmer by Rohan Kriwaczek Page B
Authors: Rohan Kriwaczek
creeping revelation
Not the slightest stink of chaos, nor the briefest glimpse of Love
Beyond the usual smug self-satisfaction
âOh, where are the true Saints and the true Sinners?
Your visions have become more tedious than Your crimes
And whilst You measure Your reflection in the mirror of Deception
Every one of You betrays the next in line
âSo if you are truly searching for an honest soul
Waste not your idle time splitting day from night
It is right here among the Damned that will you find that steady hand
For only in the Darkness shines the Light
âOnly the chained Soul cries out for freedom
Only the muddied heart looks up toward the sky above
And there is not one living Soul among your many brethren
That is not Damned by his own hand for want of Love
âFor that is why I made Amanda Palmer
Why I chose to come among you in her form
For the spirit of a singer can reach deep into the heart
Of every coward and deceiver ever born
âOh yes, Music is the king of all emotions
It rules them with a firm and steady hand
Demanding silence of the egoâs bold commotions
It stills the rampant miseries of the Damned
âAnd what better way to wreak my merry havoc
Than to fill Your wanton worn out Spirits with desire
For a voice that reaches forth with such exquisite sexual drama
And a beauteous form, richly wrought from sexual fire
âYes that is why I made Amanda Palmer
To light up the flame of hope within your dreams
For without it You become as tedious as the Bible can seem long
When it is lit, You entertain with some adequacy
âOh yes, that is why I made Amanda Palmer
For to remind You what it is to be alive
For it is hope defines despair, and success longs for disaster
And in those vices my idle fingers thriveâ
And with those words she vanished in an instant
And I was back among the gardens with my friends
And though the perfumes smelt so sweet
And the fellowship seemed complete
I was alone, for Innocence had found its End!
Â
A Personal Extroduction from Text Number Three
By XXXXX XXX
Well, where do I begin? For a start this poem doesnât really fit any of the pre-requisites for a
palmeresque
and yet I found it both fascinating and perplexing in equal measure, and on so many levels, not all of them good. To my mind it is clearly attempting to take on the tradition of the metaphysical poets of old. I see the shades of Coleridge, Blake, Donne, Milton, all looming over it and most probably looking down disapprovingly. Donât get me wrong, this is not a great poem by any means, but it certainly tries, occasionally almost gets there, then comes out with a line so clumsy and naive that these aspirations are quickly forgotten. Indeed I occasionally found myself laughing out loud, a rare event indeed, particularly when judging literary competitions.
Let me start with the presentation of Amanda Palmer herself. By casting her as a literal face of the Devil the author has effectively deified her, remaking in the guise of a magical being. This is perhaps not so surprising given the fan based nature of the origins of the Palmeresque. But then, as the story (if that is the right word) unfolds the magic is somewhat tarnished by her general sense of dissatisfaction. (I imagine that is why she felt the need to return to our realm and report on the problem, as this is not revealed in the text.) Towards the end the Devil explains that she made herself into Amanda Palmer basically to stir things up a little as she was bored. Not a glorious spiritual conclusion really. Thus on the narrative level this poem therefore fails, but it does retain some dignity through its commitment to its argument.
As for the psycho-spiritual debate that forms the main body of the text, well it is hard to know whether it reveals a complex many angled psychological argument, or a series of simplistic andcontradictory truisms, most likely the latter. Certainly there are some stanzas
Not the slightest stink of chaos, nor the briefest glimpse of Love
Beyond the usual smug self-satisfaction
âOh, where are the true Saints and the true Sinners?
Your visions have become more tedious than Your crimes
And whilst You measure Your reflection in the mirror of Deception
Every one of You betrays the next in line
âSo if you are truly searching for an honest soul
Waste not your idle time splitting day from night
It is right here among the Damned that will you find that steady hand
For only in the Darkness shines the Light
âOnly the chained Soul cries out for freedom
Only the muddied heart looks up toward the sky above
And there is not one living Soul among your many brethren
That is not Damned by his own hand for want of Love
âFor that is why I made Amanda Palmer
Why I chose to come among you in her form
For the spirit of a singer can reach deep into the heart
Of every coward and deceiver ever born
âOh yes, Music is the king of all emotions
It rules them with a firm and steady hand
Demanding silence of the egoâs bold commotions
It stills the rampant miseries of the Damned
âAnd what better way to wreak my merry havoc
Than to fill Your wanton worn out Spirits with desire
For a voice that reaches forth with such exquisite sexual drama
And a beauteous form, richly wrought from sexual fire
âYes that is why I made Amanda Palmer
To light up the flame of hope within your dreams
For without it You become as tedious as the Bible can seem long
When it is lit, You entertain with some adequacy
âOh yes, that is why I made Amanda Palmer
For to remind You what it is to be alive
For it is hope defines despair, and success longs for disaster
And in those vices my idle fingers thriveâ
And with those words she vanished in an instant
And I was back among the gardens with my friends
And though the perfumes smelt so sweet
And the fellowship seemed complete
I was alone, for Innocence had found its End!
Â
A Personal Extroduction from Text Number Three
By XXXXX XXX
Well, where do I begin? For a start this poem doesnât really fit any of the pre-requisites for a
palmeresque
and yet I found it both fascinating and perplexing in equal measure, and on so many levels, not all of them good. To my mind it is clearly attempting to take on the tradition of the metaphysical poets of old. I see the shades of Coleridge, Blake, Donne, Milton, all looming over it and most probably looking down disapprovingly. Donât get me wrong, this is not a great poem by any means, but it certainly tries, occasionally almost gets there, then comes out with a line so clumsy and naive that these aspirations are quickly forgotten. Indeed I occasionally found myself laughing out loud, a rare event indeed, particularly when judging literary competitions.
Let me start with the presentation of Amanda Palmer herself. By casting her as a literal face of the Devil the author has effectively deified her, remaking in the guise of a magical being. This is perhaps not so surprising given the fan based nature of the origins of the Palmeresque. But then, as the story (if that is the right word) unfolds the magic is somewhat tarnished by her general sense of dissatisfaction. (I imagine that is why she felt the need to return to our realm and report on the problem, as this is not revealed in the text.) Towards the end the Devil explains that she made herself into Amanda Palmer basically to stir things up a little as she was bored. Not a glorious spiritual conclusion really. Thus on the narrative level this poem therefore fails, but it does retain some dignity through its commitment to its argument.
As for the psycho-spiritual debate that forms the main body of the text, well it is hard to know whether it reveals a complex many angled psychological argument, or a series of simplistic andcontradictory truisms, most likely the latter. Certainly there are some stanzas
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