Get all 19 Carlton Heston releases available on Bandcamp and save 30%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of The Old Gods Waken, Netanyahu Cancels US Trip for Israeli Delegation, The President of the USA is Currently Being Sued for Complicity in what The Hague (in a recent 15-2 ruling) has called an Ongoing Genocide, Hollow Night / More Sad Ghost Music, Atlanta Monsters' Ball, Night Elves, 13th, Alive By Some Hideous Strength, and 11 more.
1. |
Daylight Fades
02:04
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Daylight fades
in the last bursts of the sun
sleeping willows radiate
and lay down on their pillows,
when between the tired trees,
through flower beds
on knotted knees,
and soaked through with the sweat of the sea
she stood above
as though her face
had rolled out of a fireplace.
All the last light concentrated
in embers 'round her head
and her cold, bony hand awoke
with movement, slipping to my throat
and finally the hues of blue
slipped in to sealed notes.
"When it's time you will know
to whom these letters are to go"
"Do I look like USPS, bitch?
Suck my fucking dick."
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2. |
Figures in a Dark Hall
09:18
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I stand in a house with a mirror at the center
and everything revolves around that in the winter.
Face after face
as the stockpile wastes
and the last leaves of autumn descend
into gray.
A procession of shadows
from some foreign meadow
creep over walls where the dimming light fades.
Painted in shades
which can never be followed
by a brush or
the eye
of a discerner of paint.
In making rotations,
slipping across corners
with smoke and reflection
and unbreaking order.
In still, and like hollow
pine trees in the dead of night,
still in the still
and the empty: thrusts life.
I do nothing in the corner
where my actions
are the structure
and its steady beams are guaranteed
to hold and last forever,
and these circling shapes
in a dark hallway
play within the forms
they're given,
but every one
for them, their fun
is all the same projection.
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3. |
Monster Party
05:00
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For the sufferings to come,
who here can be assured?
Only peace, deep peace - for this, for this
step aside.
... and we walked a narrow path in the black,
and I looked back at the great pyramid,
and bid goodbye to harmony,
peace and any certainty.
Let's go up and east,
ditch these rebel clothes,
dress sharp as a shard
and crack.
The wind cries "die" where the coocoo clock flies.
Time always passes by one way or another
at least we've got eachother
and I've known you forever,
me and you and they together
can get it together...
can groove!
Groove!
Moving together, gathering weather
move to the beat with a skin like leather.
The hardwood creaks as the gang all gathers
in a dismal den of the twisting masses.
I'm free.
Free to join.
Free to sink with a tumbling weight
and fall like the moon over autumnal rivers,
and every step she takes is a funeral flame.
I'm down, down in the fire of now,
bring your huddled masses, tell' em they're HIRED!
Scrambling just to breathe,
screaming to breathe no more.
It can go either way.
I've got all night or more (or more).
Alright? Alright.
Move your eyes like kites down the wind.
Down the stream we go again.
Get fixed / again.
Get limber, now.
Get fixed!
Get some barren woman's womb,
torch it, bring the embers.
Put 'em in the pile!
We've got to be really quiet!
Always almost silent. So quiet.
There's no telling who or what
will wake up in the night.
I've got a friend, and maybe he wonders
just what kind of god it is that shakes him now with thunder.
He's got the tendons to groove!
Hardwired to groove!
And there's a whole host of hangers-on
ready to ride on his noose
at the monster party,
the snazzy monster party,
and everyone you can recall was there,
invitation only.
at the monster party,
the glitzy monster party
and they'll talk about things from far away
before they've even started.
I need a hand with a head.
We're gonna summon the dead
and send them right back and sadly
pray that we die next.
Curse this house!
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4. |
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Hell, March 13, 1919
Esteemed Mortal, I address this to you:
They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the ether that surrounds your earth. I am not a human being, but a spirit and a demon from the hottest hell. I am what you Orleanians and your foolish police call the Axeman.
When I see fit, I shall come and claim other victims. I alone know whom they shall be. I shall leave no clue except my bloody axe, besmeared with blood and brains of he whom I have sent below to keep me company.
If you wish you may tell the police to be careful not to rile me. Of course, I am a reasonable spirit. I take no offense at the way they have conducted their investigations in the past. In fact, they have been so utterly stupid as to not only amuse me, but His Satanic Majesty, Francis Josef, etc. But tell them to beware. Let them not try to discover what I am, for it were better that they were never born than to incur the wrath of the Axeman. I donβt think there is any need of such a warning, for I feel sure the police will always dodge me, as they have in the past. They are wise and know how to keep away from all harm.
Undoubtedly, you Orleanians think of me as a most horrible murderer, which I am, but I could be much worse if I wanted to. If I wished, I could pay a visit to your city every night. At will I could slay thousands of your best citizens, for I am in close relationship with the Angel of Death.
Now, to be exact, at 12:15 (earthly time) on next Tuesday night, I am going to pass over New Orleans. In my infinite mercy, I am going to make a little proposition to you people. Here it is:
I am very fond of jazz music, and I swear by all the devils in the nether regions that every person shall be spared in whose home a jazz band is in full swing at the time I have just mentioned. If everyone has a jazz band going, well, then, so much the better for you people. One thing is certain and that is that some of your people who do not jazz it on Tuesday night (if there be any) will get the axe.
Well, as I am cold and crave the warmth of my native Tartarus, and it is about time I leave your earthly home, I will cease my discourse. Hoping that thou wilt publish this, that it may go well with thee, I have been, am and will be the worst spirit that ever existed either in fact or realm of fancy.
The Axeman
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5. |
House in the Witch Dream
09:59
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Well I want you
every day.
Well I need you,
you go away.
Don't stray.
Don't go.
Please stay
Oh, oh...
where it's lonely
and quiet, too,
as the night falls,
and so do you.,
boards strain,
winds moan
between the walls,
between the oaks.
I can't always please you.
I can't always please you.
I can't ever be you,
but you can be me, though.
You can be me so
let me tell you how:
just look into my eyes
and see yours as well,
and then into your eyes
where I still dwell.
I am within you.
Let go of yourself.
Boards strain,
winds moan
between the walls,
between the oaks.
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6. |
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Empty hearts long for empty minds,
wander so lonely,
searching so blind.
While we're apart
no joy do we find.
Togetherness could be so easy,
but not in these lives.
We walk away and never know,
and don't ever have the time I suppose
for anything, it always passes by.
Empty hearts,
free from all desire,
will still survive, unburned by
love's fire.
Empty hearts
long for empty minds,
wander so lonely
searching so blind.
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7. |
In & Out of Time
08:36
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For what is to come you have been forever blind.
No interpretation for the things that you see inside.
Voices of the future echo lost behind.
Dreams departed flesh, never to be just like
meandering thoughts and faces; in crawls life.
The dingy mist of morning creeps in through crooked blinds
and falls on former faces of SSRIs,
the nightmares of the knowing, seeing child bride.
Windows scream it to you:
"No need for any more wastes of time."
Pleasure, a pretender, crouches, grins obscured
in shadow, unaffecting of your plight.
This is the domain of the sick.
This vanity is the hate of God.
Return yourself from this deception.
Return to the loving heart of wrath.
Though the pain means nothing,
unimaginable hells persist in corners of this teeming world.
Traces of the pitchfork-torn lives seep down,
organic as the flower people underground.
This is the domain of the sick.
This vanity is the hate of God.
Return yourself from this deception.
Return to the loving heart of wrath.
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8. |
Cemetery Lights
02:43
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Here by noon the air is always frozen
and the path will be a glacier by the night
but they say
still the cemetery lights will know the way,
no place warmer than the grave
to keep the tired bones of friends,
the old and weary faces wasted by the sun,
and wander where time has forgot.
Even people lose the names
of old acquaintances without a single thought,
no thought at all could touch the feeling of having been
and played, and lost.
Another sun cycle fades in morning frost.
The trick, the clever perk of being real:
the soul is what you see.
It's not a lie, it's only allegorical
and it is still
and it is cold
but if it didn't know
then it wouldn't have to feel,
feel an empty search for heat,
fill space with vanity
just waiting for the time when it is free
and by then it will always know
the lights keep their direction
and in the frozen night, their path is all aglow.
Here by noon the air is always frozen
and the path will be a glacier by the night
but they say
still the cemetery lights will know the way,
no place warmer than the grave.
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Carlton Heston Atlanta, Georgia
If you're reading this - Gods of the Dead is the good one. Listen to that first if you're going to listen to anything on here. It's actually pretty solid.
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