This is the part of the process I enjoy the most (apart from the part where I’m on stage enjoying the full attention of you, the crowd, backed by the pig, the violent apparatus that is Septekh). This is the part where I get to watch my stupifyingly talanted colleagues in this dubious venture display their abilitys tracking new material. A stark reminder of why it is we do what we do. This is noise that needs to reach the ears of you, the crowd. We need to bring you this. It’s coming. The pieces are falling into place. I treat myself to a grim smile in the quiet night of the Dark Island.
Yours truly – LDY GRZNLS
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Time seems to be playing tricks on me. But how can she? She isn’t real. She is a dream.
She is a pilgrim in the void. Pathless. More dissolved and featureless than a forgotten, golden idea.
And here I am. A man of the people. Trying relate to you her words.
Pilgrim. Raise the flag on the other shore. Ride the storm for us.
Or we shall be lost.
The blue in the sky is mine.
Weariness of the wheel. The constant ridding of dead flesh. The constant nurturing of new ideas. New ways to stay. Death mingels with birth and it turns again. Grinding magnificently. Churning the life I choose over and over again to a pulp. A river of filth. In whose murky depths I search for treassures I will never find. Blood and sweat saturates the ground upon which I walk. And now I must be a source. Give myself to the filth. To samsara. To the fantastic wheel. Give myself to a Plan without purpose. Without gratification. Only me. Only you. Will remain.
No greater love. No greater fear.
Fuck you. Never leave me.
The blue in the sky is mine.
Magpies in the trash again. Something’s up.
I rise early these days. Call it growing old.
Kitchen clock is ticking. The deep yellows and reds and evergreens of the landscape outside is barely visible through the morning fog. I sip my coffee. A grown man learning new things. Currently enjoying shutting the fuck up and listening to time vaning and the quiet russling and grunts of feral pigs eating apples under the trees in front of the 508.
The Dark Island is a lonely place. Especially so in the season of dying that is northern hemisphere October. That is exactly why I make a point of not leaving this place if I don’t have a specific reason. Also why I don’t really like people to come all the way out here unless THEY have a specific, preferably pre-stated, reason for visiting.
Herr K Janowski can come whenever he likes. His eyes are reason enough.
He arrives at this sanctuary like a talkative gust of wind, have us running around the premises like a pack of schoolboys and leaves two frantic hours later with 96 of the best shots we’ve ever done.
I am painfully aware that we don’t ourselves have the capacity to invent and produce representations of what we are, accurate enough to make the Plan comunicable. Being a megalomaniac and a control freak, this is perhaps my greatest disappointment. The only way to ease that pain is to work with gifted people like Janowski. Moja miłość.
Love – LDY GRZNLS
Domesticating strange, rubbery animals. A friend. Warmth. Course, wet, stone walls. Little pieces of masonry falling into my hair from great hight. Crumbling pictures. Pitted frescoes. Sails and faces arching overhead in the darkness. The animal squeaks. Definitely rubber. It’s a game. We chase them. Alarm goes off. Phone beeps. Dream fades. Pants on. Down the ladder. Zip up bag. Get in the car. Calm. Air conditioned. I am here. 04:05. Coffee and Imodium. Drive to Norway. We’ll show them something they have not seen before.
– LDY GRZNLS
508 fear of dawn
Eyes transfixed and mouths shut.
In my head and my gut
there is a keening desire.
to uncut down to size,
I labored, unveiled and exhumed
but nothing is not what it seems.
I am a being modeled and groomed
to despise that which renders my dreams.
Through the eye of the needle I will pass or not
and it matters the same.
No questions or answers will decide on what
are the rules to this game.
Because this is not a game.
I am GRZNLS
Fans och vänner i Stockholms regionen:
Vårt framförande kommer att bandas av vår vän ljudräven Peer Stappe.
Post-prod och klippare avslöjar vi i samband med släppet.
Så om du av någon anledning inte vill hamna på YouTube: Du är nu varnad. Annars är det bara att plocka fram dom allra finaste kläderna, lägga den allra märkligaste makeupen och uppfinna dom allra bizzaraste slagorden och komma och göra vad ni gör bäst.
Ställa till ett jvfla SPEKTAKEL!!!!
Massor av kärlek och uppskattning till er alla.
Friends and fans in the greater Stockholm area:
The sound will be recorded by our good friend Peer Stappe.
Post prod and editing TBA.
So if you for some reason don’t want to risk ending up on YouTube you are now warned. Otherwise bring out your best finery, Ostrich and silk, Leather and Linoleum, and come and do what you do best.
GET YOUR WIERD ON & make a fakkin ruckus!!!
Tons och love and appreciation to you all.
Days and nights… They’re all the same. Up! Down! Right! Left!
All the same. The sun becomes the moon becomes the sun becomes the moon becomes the sun becomes the moon becomes the sun. Nothing maters. There is only the road, the mark, trajectory. The plan.
Välkommen till 508 motherfukkers
“-How could I sacrifice this momentum, this gravity, for anything but stagnation, a cage, a bottle and a grave?”
Give me one more day. Now!