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greengalloway

As all that is solid melts to air and everything holy is profaned...

Thursday, November 10, 2005

More Undercurrents covers


The fifth anniversary issue of Undercurrents came out in
February 1977 with this idyllic cover by Cliff Harper - and
the black n white reality as a centre page spread. The back cover, also by Cliff Harper, was a scene of Gerrard Winstanley and the Diggers from 1649.

Nearly 29 years on and the tension between the 'Free land of Albion' and reality remains.

1 Comments:

Blogger 357martini said...

Black Sabbath

by Henry Rollins

So much litter out of place
It's time to put it in its place
A mind is a terrible thing
A dream is flashing like a polished weapon in my mind
To the summer ambulance
Siren songs
The two girls
Drunk
Fighting outside the club
Broken glass under the crime lights
Fuck these streets
And the bastards who put them here
All these experements
Like how much blood it will take to drown you
And while I know
That I am a hero in the making
A walking legend
Superstar status is my domain
If I had a car big enough
I would drive all of you right off the edge
But there is not the time to play games
I walk the streets looking at you
Listening to you living your garbage cowboy coward fantasy
This place is going to look alot different
After I get done decorating
Too bad you wont be here to see it
I am an angel
I am a sloider
I am on a mission
No one knows but me
The streets talk to me
The sidewalk looks up at me and makes faces
It mocks me
When I breath in the stench fills me
Tries to consume me
Tries to destroy me
It will not destroy me
I am here to clear the air
Look at this place
Look at the filth
Look at the decadence
It forces you to pick a side
Either you destroy it or you become it
Every moment of the day it stares you in the face
Taunting you
Destroying you
And you let it
Tag
You're it
You're shit
It's too late for spiritual awakening
Fuck that hippie shit
It's too late for social change
You can't educate a flock of sheep
Can't you see that's what they want
They want you to turn away
They want you to lie down
Like a lamb for the slaughter
Like a chump for the sellout
There will be no revolution
There will be no uprising
There will be no race war
How could anyone be that stupid?
How could anyone believe that bullshit?
What a joke
I know a lot about jokes
I see them all the time
I spent years with some living jokes
You should see them now
Fat
Stoned
Cowards
Living death
Men of action turned into weak pieces of shit
They could get my repect again
If they shot themselves in the head
At night I walk the streets
I take mental notes
I take inventory
The filth
The garbage
The stench
Liers
Freaks
Clowns
My mission becomes clear to me
My life focuses into a laser beam
My purpose
My life
My vision is pure napalm
I am here to clean
There is only one way to clean
You have ot incinerate
You must cleanse with fire
You must turn disease with ash
Or it still lives
Things have gone too far
The strong are destroyed by the weak
Decadence has set a precedent
It has become a way of life
Not the way of my life
Shit is shit
I am here to burn it
Can't you see?
I am beyond your timid lying morality
I don't believe in equality
That is to say
That I don't think that if you're alive
That's all you need to get by
The man who sells drugs
Is not equal to me
The man who rapes his son is not equal to me
They cannot hide
Guilt trips will not shield them from me
I don't believe in human rights
I think you have grown fat and evil
Hiding behind your your human rights
Reveling in filth
The balance must be brought back
When I walk the streets in my neighbourhood
Drunks come staggering from bars
Guns go off
Police helicopters fly above
Yet nothing happens
Some show
Lets cut the drama
Get rid of the display
The ritual is nowhere
It's hollow
The nights are made of tin
Cheap
Bitter death
I will show you my world
I will bring it home
My beauty
The summer nights of fire and truth
Can you see it?
A dark hot night
The whine of engines from above
The tree line explodes in fire orange
The air fills with the smell of gasoline
The air strike
Like a flower erupting in rapid birth
Filth turned to ash
So beautiful
Decadence lies bleeding
As I walk and plan
I hear angels singing
Black Sabbath songs
The soles of my shoes are thick
Keeps the blood and urine at a distance
The mind I occupy is iron
My time is now
I see them
Maybe it is you who I see
Singing the song of the looser
Your endless, diseased song
The end is coming
And I am the one who is bringing it
I am the punch line
I will defoliate before it's too late
You spend millions on rehabilitation
How big does a lie have to get before even you can no longer avoid it?
You shit in you bed
You wait for someone to come
And clean it up
Well here I am
Ready to throw out the baby with the bathwater

1:29 am  

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