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Stone Angels

アーティスト：Ulver  アルバム：Wars of the Roses 

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Angels go - we merely stray, image of a wandering deity, searching for wells or for work. They scale rungs of air, ascending and descending - we are a little lower. The grass covers us. But statues, here, they stand, simple as horizon. Statements, yes - but what they stand for is long fallen. Angels of memory: they point to the death of time, not themselves timeless, and without recall. Their strength is to stand still, afterglow of an old religion. One can imagine them sentient - that is to say, we may attribute to stone-hardness, one after the other, our own five senses, until it spring to life and breathe and sneeze and step down among us. But in fact, they are the opposite of perception: we bury our gaze in them. For all my sympathy, I suppose they see nothing at all, eyeless to indicate our calamity, breathless and graceful above the ruins they inspire. I could close my eyes now and evade, maybe, the blind fear that their wings hold. The visible body expresses our body as a whole, its internal asymmetries, and also the broken symmery we wander through. With practice I might regard people and things - the field around me - as blots: objects for fantasy, shadowy but legible. All these words have other meanings. A little written may be far too much to read. A while and a while and a while, after a while make something like forever. From ontological bric-a-brac, and without knowing quite what they mean, I select my four ambassadors: my double, my shadow, my shining covering, my name. The graven names are not their names, but ours. Expectation, endlessly engraved, is a question to beg. Blemishes on exposed surfaces - perpetual corrosion - enliven features fastened to the stone. Expecting nothing without struggle, I come to expect nothing but struggle. The primal Adam, our archetype - light at his back, heavy substance below him - glanced down into uncertain depths, fell in love with and fell into his own shadow. Legend or history: footprints of passing events. Lord, how our information increaseth. I see only a surface - complex enough, its interruptions of deep blue - suggesting that the earth is hollow, stretched around what must be all the rest. My 'world' is parsimonious - a few elements which



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投稿者： PetitLyrics
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