Instrumental
Instrumental
Mmmm...
Mmmm...
The white of her beneath the white
And in my thoughts
Where I can enslave everyone and everything
I cross the space between our bodies
I place my mouth upon her breast
She expresses neither surprise nor shock
But only sucks in her breath
Moans
Slowly places her soft hands behind my head
Drawing me into her
Her hands so cool on my hair
Her body soft soft soft soft
I think I'm going mad
(Even the flies have eyes) Janice [repeated several times]
"Do you think she can see us from in there?"
"Naw—she's busy."
"She's deep in thought, she is—but what could she be thinking about?"
The Church Discography
"How long's she been in there?"
"Seven days. I bring her food and drink. I take it out again. She's got enough paper in there to last another week."
The Church Discography
"Wasn't her brother the mad historian who went digging into the secrets of the gray caps? Didn't he go under the city?"
"He's there now, some say, along with the snails and the cursed gray caps."
"What's she do then?"
??? [1:40]
"What could she be typing so furiously?"
"The story of your life. A history of pubs and bars. How should I know."
"Whatever it is, it must be important. To her."
"Funny. That typewriter's like an echo. It falls away when we stop talking."
"Yes, yes it does! Do you think she's...?"
"Naw—I must be wrong. Hasn't got anything to do with us. Hasn't got anything to do with us."
Instrumental
Dare I deprive the reader of that first glimpse of Ambergris? That first
teasing glimpse during the carriage ride from the docks? That glimpse, and then
the sprawl of Albumuth Boulevard, half staid brick, half lacquered timber? The
dirt of it, the stench of it, half perfume, half ribald rot. And another smell
underneath it—(Coughs)—the tantalizing scent of fungi, of fruiting
bodies, of spores entangled with dust and air, spiraling down like snow.
(Violently coughs) The cries of the vendors, the cries of the newly robbed, or
the newly robed. The first contact of shoe on street out of the
carriage—the resounding solidity of that ground, and the humming vibration
of coiled energy beneath the pavement, conveyed up through shoe into foot,
from foot into the rest of the body suddenly energized and woken up. The
sudden hint of heat to the air—the possibilities! (Maniacal
laughter)—and, peeking out from the storm drains, from the alleyways, the
enticing, lingering darkness that spoke of tunnels and sudden exploration. One
cannot mention our move to Ambergris without setting that scene, surely! That
boulevard became our touchstone, in those early years, as it had to countless
people before us. It was how you traveled into Ambergris, and it was how you
carried them out when you were finally left.
The Church Discography
But as fascinated as Duncan would become with Ambergris, he went elsewhere
for his education. At our mother's insistence, in one of her few direct acts of
parenting. Duncan received his advanced degrees in history from the Institute of
Religiosity in Morrow {or as the historians call it, "that other city by the
River Moth," a good hundred miles from Ambergris} Hooo-ahhh! Yeah!
Hoo-hoo-hooaaahhhh! Yeah! No, no, no, no, no....
The Church Discography
Duncan devoted one dark, ripe little corner to the "changing facade of
Ambergris," as he called it. At first, this corner consisted only of overlapping
street plans, as if he were building an image of the city from its bones. The
stark white paper, the midnight black veins of ink, contrasted sharply with
everything else in his rooms. (Maniacal laughter) No, no, no, no, no....
My love, last night was wonderful. I've never talked to anyone the way I've
talked to you. You teach me so much. You make me understand things so well. You
make me feel I'm floating on a cloud, on a star, so light do you make me feel.
Until next time, sorrowful and sick. I will not sign this letter, in case it is
discovered, you know who I am. You know who I am, my love.
The Church Discography
Your skin is so smooth I want to lick it all day long. Your body makes me hum
with pleasure. Your hair, your breasts, your small hands, your ears, as delicate
as the most delicate of fungi, your strong thighs, your elbows, your eyes, your
kneecaps, even! I want all of you, again and again.
We were on a street called Bannerville. I remember that. Huh. The streetlights were bare of the terrible burden of death. Yeah. Some of them work. They glowed green. At the end of Bannerville, we'd turn to the right and we'd be a block away from the Truffidian Cathedral.
The Church Discography
A strange surge of joy or recognition overtook us, all out of proportion to our reality. We began to run, to laugh, abandoning our shuffle through the shadows; with safety so close, it was agony to walk slowly. The worst seemed past. It really did. I was already thinking about what I'd say to Bonmot. I was already thinking about that, Truff help me.
The Church Discography
And Sybel had been holding my hand. He was a little behind me at this point. We were almost at the end of Bannerville, not more than twenty feet from safety. Overhead, a street lamp flickered free of the green glow that pervaded the rest of the city.
The Church Discography
And we were both about to turn the corner. I could hear Sybel's heavy breathing as he ran. Then I heard an unfamiliar sound—a sound trapped between a gasp and a moan—and when I turned and looked at Sybel, all I could see was a mist of blood, floating out in streamers. I stopped running and stared. I couldn't breathe for a second. Nothing of him was left—not even his shoes, man. Nothing at all. His dissolution was complete and utter. There was such a final terrible beauty to it. I thought it must be an absurd magic trick, a horrible joke. But it wasn't, and the laughter caught in my throat and became a sob. Yeah, laughter caught in my throat and became a sob. Yeah.
The Church Discography
(The closer I get to the end)
(The closer I get to the end)
(The closer I get to the end)
The closer I get to the beginning
(The closer I get to the end)
(The closer I get to the end)
The closer I get to the beginning
(The closer I get to the end)
(The closer I get to the end)
The closer I get to the beginning
(The closer I get to the end)
Instrumental
Here's a tale for you
Once upon a time
A woman decided to tell a story about how she tried to kill herself
The Church Discography
Her brother saved her
At the last second
And then sent her north to be dissected by various disciples of empirical religions, yeah
The Church Discography
Until one day
Until one day
Until one day
Until one day
She escaped
Ah, she escaped
We are lost, my love
If you make a sound
We are dead
You understand
Whoa...
I've—I fell asleep for a while. I couldn't help it.
I've been pushing myself to the end even faster, taking fewer breaks.
I dreamt while I slept. Edward was in my dream.
Neither of us had really ever left the insane asylum.
We just sat there in matching straitjackets in uncomfortable chairs, facing each other.
We were surrounded by huge orange-red-and-black mushrooms.
The sight of their amber gills above us, slowly breathing in and out in a sussurating mimicry of conscious life, was strangely calming to me.
"Where have you gone?" I asked him.
"Underground," he said.
"What did you find there?" I asked.
"Acceptance, everlasting life, and mushrooms," he said, and smiled.
It was a lovely smile. It radiated outwards to suffuse his entire face in a golden light.
"Is that all?" I said. "Was it worth it? Did you have to give up anything?"
"My fear. My consciousness. My former life."
"What was that like?"
"Do you remember those trust exercises they made us do? Where one of us would fall into the arms of the others, and you just had to fall and keep falling and believe they would catch you?"
"It was like that?"
"It was like that. Except imagine falling for a hundred years before you're caught, looking at a black sky full of dead stars in front of you, and the abyss at your back."
"You're dead," I said. It wasn't an accusation.
"Probably," he replied.
War
War of the houses
War
War of the houses
War of the houses
War of the houses
War of the houses
War of the houses
War of the houses
Instrumental
She stumbled
Caught herself
Blinked twice
Stopped screaming
But no
She was still screaming
It was just soundless
A look had come over her
Destroyed unity
Between mouth, eyes, forehead, cheekbones
The Church Discography
Before me she became undone
Looking through those glasses
She fell to her knees
Now grappling
They didn't want to come off
She still couldn't close her eyes
She still couldn't close her eyes
She still couldn't close her eyes
She still couldn't close her eyes
