Blaze & The Stars

by Blaze & The Stars

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vimeo.com/59372478 ('Déchéance du Travail', video directed by Salomé Coelho, 2013)
«há um jogo que nunca vemos – por causa do trabalho? o jogo do trabalho?
contemplar, estar estático, sentir que uma imagem está parada quando nela nunca pára o movimento, dar pelo tempo passar, sentir tédio, fazer uma pausa, interromper a sucessão normal do trabalho e do descanso.»

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released October 8, 2012

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Blaze & The Stars Portugal

«Tout vrai langage est incompréhensible.» Antonin Artaud

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Track Name: That Sweet Darkness
Could that sweet Darkness where they dwell
Be once disclosed to us
The clamor for their loveliness
Would burst the Loneliness

(Words: Emily Dickinson)
Track Name: Déchéance du Travail
A mesure que l'automation et la cybernétique laissent prévoir le remplacement massif des travailleurs par des esclaves mécaniques, le travail forcé révèle sa pure appartenance aux procédés barbares du maintien de l'ordre. Le pouvoir fabrique ainsi la dose de fatigue nécessaire à l'assimilation passive de ses diktats télévisés. Pour quel appât travailler désormais ? La duperie est épuisée ; il n'y a plus rien à perdre, pas même une illusion. L'organisation du tavail et l'organisation des loisirs referment les ciseaux castrateurs chargés d'améliorer la race des chiens soumis. Verra-t-on quelque jour les grévistes, revendiquant l'automation et la semaine de dix heures, choisir, pour débrayer, de faire l'amour dans les usines, les bureaux et les maisons de la culture ? Il n'y aurait que les programmateurs, les managers, les dirigeants syndicaux et les sociologues pour s'en étonner et s'en inquiéter. Avec raison peut-être. Après tout, il y va de leur peau.

(Words: Raoul Vaneigem)
Track Name: Lungs
Won't you lend your lungs to me?
Mine are collapsing
Plant my feet and bitterly breathe
Up the time that's passing.
Breath I'll take and breath I'll give
Pray the day ain't poison
Stand among the ones that live
In lonely indecision.

Fingers walk the darkness down
Mind is on the midnight
Gather up the gold you've found
You fool, it's only moonlight.
If you try to take it home
Your hands will turn to butter
You better leave this dream alone
Try to find another.

Salvation sat and crossed herself
Called the devil partner
Wisdom burned upon a shelf
Who'll kill the raging cancer
Seal the river at its mouth
Take the water prisoner
Fill the sky with screams and cries
Bathe in fiery answers.

Jesus was an only son
And love his only concept
Strangers cry in foreign tongues
And dirty up the doorstep
And I for one, and you for two
Ai'nt got the time for outside
Just keep your injured looks to you
We'll tell the world we tried.

(Words & music: Townes Van Zandt)
Track Name: Francesca Woodman
Uma rapariga
que roda
a cabeça
na sombra
e os pés
no bordo
tremendo
da madeira
desfoca
o centro do amor.
Uma rapariga
que enrola
as tripas
na luz
que afaga
as paredes
e roça
os vestidos
nas costuras
das casas
cristaliza
o poroso poder
do cimento.
Uma rapariga
que ventoinha
nua
mostra
os dentes
e traça
quadrados
de arame
no ar
enrodilha
os corpos
no medo.

Ah como a carne
saltita
macilenta
nas fotografias
e como é bom saltar
à corda
sobre sombras.

O tempo sustém
roupas e cabelos
com pinças delicadas.

Não é fácil fingir que se paira,
que não se vai morrer.

Pode-se acreditar nos lugares
onde uma rapariga adia o corpo mortal,
nos lugares onde a pele chupa a luz
e se afunda no umbigo
dos lugares.

Pode-se acreditar no reverso
dos corpos, no negativo aguçado
do lugar que nos foi dado.

(Words: Miguel Cardoso)
Track Name: Pray Them Bars Away
Four years down and twenty one to blow
Ten thousand more breakfasts to go
Fourteen million seconds of living this way
And I guess it's time I started to pray them bars away

I wonder what you're doing since I don't see you none
Are you still a doin' all them rotten things we done
If you've got some spare time why don't you learn to pray
Maybe you can help me to pray them bars away

Remember old Red Barber we checked out last night
He still hold them eighteen years it serves the devil's right
He checked out in a casket he've been sixty two today
I heard that he went crazy tryin' to pray them bars away

Sometimes I miss the women and miss them all I do
Sometimes I miss the whiskey and I miss the good times too
Sometimes I miss my mama I saw her Christmas Day
But I never miss a time to pray them bars away

I'm told I should be thankful for everything I've got
So thank you for the rock walls and the brave bulls, thanks a lot
And thank you for the good job and twenty cents a day
Thank you for the break time to pray them bars away

(Words & music: Lee Hazlewood)
Track Name: Seeking Beauty Against Government
Is that the only way we can become like Indians, like Rhinoceri,
like Quartz Crystals, like organic farmers, like what we imagine
Adam & Eve to’ve been, caressing each other with trembling limbs
before the Snake of Revolutionary Sex wrapped itself round
The Tree of Knowledge? What would Roque Dalton joke about lately
teeth chattering like a machine gun as he dabated mass tactics
with his Companeros? Necessary to kill the Yanquis with big bomb
Yes but don’t do it by yourself, better consult your mother
to get the Correct Line of Thought, if not consult Rimbaud once he got his leg cut off
or Lenin after his second stroke sending a message thru Mrs Krupskaya
to the rude Georgian, & just before his deathly fit when the Cheka aides
outside
his door looked in coldly assuring him his affairs were in good hands no need to move - What sickness at the
pit of his stomach moved up to
his brain?
What thought Khlebnikov on the hungry train exposing his stomach to the
sun?
Or Mayakovsky before the bullet hit his brain, what sharp propaganda for
action
on the Bureaucratic Battlefield in the Ministry of Collective Agriculture in
Ukraine?
What Slogan for Futurist architects or epic hymn for masses of Communist
Party Card holders in Futurity
on the conduct of the world seeking beauty against Government?

(Words: Allen Ginsberg)
Track Name: If I Should Sleep with a Lady Called Death
if i should sleep with a lady called death
get another man with firmer lips
to take your new mouth in his teeth
(hips pumping pleasure into hips).

Seeing how the limp huddling string
of your smile over his body squirms
kissingly, i will bring you every spring
handfuls of little normal worms.

Dress deftly your flesh in stupid stuffs,
phrase the immense weapon of your hair.

Understanding why his eye laughs,
i will bring you every year
something which is worth the whole,
an inch of nothing for your soul.

(Words: e.e. cummings)