Long ago was the battle fought and won

When life and death stood upon opposing shores

And glimpsed each other

Death looked upon life and smiled

Whilst life like a maiden shy upon her bed of roses

Coyly looked aside

The Portal Of Dreams

The Visitations

Young girl with roses in her eyes sits on a bed of white sheets. The lights are off the gloom begins to thicken as she waits.

She's waiting alone in the dark Waiting. Where is the sun and the flowered park. We're always waiting. Why do they always meet in shadow.

Young girl with roses in her eyes. I'm as close as your breathing. Waits for the phosphorescent mouth But you can't hear me. It's blue and comes upon her neck in whispers like dry grass.

She's waiting for her lover's voice. I tried to talk to you. The sun is gone the music plays. But you wouldn't listen. From the sheet corner and she cries.

Young girl with roses in her eyes hugs close the dark and cries. The words she hears are weak her lover's not asleep he's dead. She feels his breathing by her side he reaches across the border. Stretching his boneless hand towards her

Death is silent. Painless. I didn't know what happened. I was suddenly standing above my body. While you looked on too much in shock for tears. I tried to speak but couldn't. I tried to talk to you but you wouldn't listen. And now we meet like guilty lovers in the dark. For such a hopeless moment and even as we meet I feel you slipping from me. And I go back to my darkness.

The girl with roses in her eyes. My spirit lingers after you like a faint stream of clouds. Speaks with her lover who is here. My mouth hovers about you. Like vines their voices intertwine. Forever.

It is all they have. I see you waiting for me summoning up the power as the light dies. She struggles to hold him back. The light we loved. He clutches but the power is gone and the pillow turns to chalk.

I tried to speak but couldn't. And now we meet like guilty lovers in the dark for such a hopeless moment. And even as we meet I feel you slipping from me and I go back to my darkness. Young girl with roses in her eyes sits on a bed of white sheets. The lights are off the gloom begins to thicken as she waits.

She's waiting alone in the dark. Waiting. Where is the sun and the flowered park. We're always waiting. Why do they always meet in shadow.

Young girl with roses in her eyes. I'm as close as your breathing. Waits for the phosphorescent mouth. But you can't hear me. It's blue and comes upon her neck in whispers like dry grass.

She's waiting for her lover's voice. I tried to talk to you, The sun is gone the music plays. But you wouldn't listen. From the sheet corner and she cries.

Young girl with roses in her eyes hugs close the dark and cries. The words she hears are weak her lover's not asleep he's dead. She feels his breathing by her side he reaches across the border. Stretching his boneless hand towards her.

Death is silent. Painless. I didn't know what happened. I was suddenly standing above my body. While you looked on too much in shock for tears. I tried to speak but couldn't. I tried to talk to you but you wouldn't listen. And now we meet like guilty lovers in the dark. For such a hopeless moment and even as we meet I feel you slipping

from me. And I go back to my darkness.

The girl with roses in her eyes. My spirit lingers after you like a faint stream of clouds. Speaks with her lover who is here. My mouth hovers about you. Like vines their voices intertwine. Forever.

It is all they have. I see you waiting for me summoning up the power as the light dies. She struggles to hold him back. The light we loved. He clutches but the power is gone and the pillow turns to chalk.

I tried to speak but couldn't. And now we meet like guilty lovers in the dark for such a hopeless moment. And even as we meet I feel you slipping from me and I go back to my darkness.

White Noise

Dedicated To The Memory Of

Delia Derbyshire 1937 – 2001

The Golden Section

The Angel of Death stands between heaven and earth, holding a poison dripping sword. Identified with Satan, he is full of eyes, a diligent reaper, an old fugitive and wanderer like Cain, a beggar, a pedlar, an Arab nomad, a skeleton capering with sinners and misers in a juggler’s dance.

But the nightmarish Angel presents a different face to the one who has 'died before death', or who has attained some measure of the apatheia of the saint.

We are told that Azrael, Death, appears to our spirit in a form determined by our beliefs, actions, and dispositions during life. He may even manifest invisibly, 'so that a man may die of a rose in aromatic pain' or of a rotting stench. When the soul sees Azrael, it 'falls in love', and its gaze is thus withdrawn from the body as if by a seduction. Great prophets and saints have even been politely invited by Death, who appears to them in corporeal form. Thus it was with Moses, and with Mohammed. When the Persian poet Rumi lay on his deathbed, Azrael appeared as a beautiful youth and said, "I am come by divine command to enquire what commission the Master may have to entrust in me.”

In fact, a strange connection becomes apparent between Mors and Amor, Love and Death. The moment of 'extinction' in the pleasure of love resembles that of death, and thus that of the mystic. In mythic terms, Eros and Thanatos are almost twins, for in some cases Death appears as a lovely youth, and Eros as a withered starveling.

Both Love and Death are gateways, hence their eternal adolescence and their fixation in the midst of the rite of passage.

Coil – Horse Rotovator

The Sable Smoke Where Vanishes The Flame

Byron

On Death

You would know the secret of death But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life

The owl whose night bound eyes are blind unto the day Cannot unveil the mystery of light

If you would indeed behold the spirit of death Open your heart wide unto the body of life

For life and death are one even as the river and the sea are one

In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring

Trust the dreams for in them is hidden the gate to eternity Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd

When he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling

That he shall wear the mark of the king Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun

And what is it to cease breathing but to free the breath from its restless tides That it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing

And when you have reached the mountain top then you shall begin to climb And when the earth shall claim your limbs then shall you truly dance

Kahlil Gibran

I'll walk with you through space and time

And when sleep is near I will fold you in

I'll disappear with you in clear blue flames

And when our time arrives

We will slide through space

Michael Gira

Nemesispublications@googlemail.com