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Truffles of Love

by Naevus

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1.
An obscure breakfast My sugar dumpling Spilled over plates And leaving me wanting Time woven in gentle, glancing touches Grazing the internal organs Wiring them up to the heat of the outside The glory and deceit of treatments The sheer metal surrounds Glancing and spreading flat onto a table Paper replacing the maggot spew Holy as whims Silent as the short side of a door I ask for nothing Except that the conduct Be worthy of its own means I hide like a fungal growth In the sourest corner of your heart
2.
Oracle, let the chicken live If he may leave his short career If he will not interfere Oracle, let the chicken live If this world is a patient place If he will owe you not for this grace Oracle, let the chicken live Oracle, let the chicken live If his weight will not be too much If his pain will not be seen as such Oracle, let the chicken live If this world will not resent If there is nothing he must represent Oracle, let the chicken live Oracle, let the chicken live If this world is worth more than he If to kill him leaves him to me Oracle, let the chicken live
3.
God bless morbid loathing of the human mouth Confess disease and feel a satisfaction of your own The bright and airy honesty of wholesomeness Has nothing for the back teeth to fasten into The action is removed to the front of the mouth And what is left but introverted rubbings? The motion of gyrating molars further mocked By empty, cutting canines A piece of peanut Hot coffee on the gums The guilt of the body for its own blind needs Canines do not care for their satisfaction And cannot understand the cravings of those buried ones Like hard mushrooms reared in the dank earth of the mouth They feed only blindly A piece of peanut Hot coffee on the gums The guilt of the body for its own blind needs
4.
Yonder 02:00
Can you see me on your lawn? I am lying on the whore Can you feel which way to go? I can’t see you, can you see me? I’m lying in the garden I hope and pray For this final day And when you’re on your own I hope to say I cannot find the way Can you see me? Can you feel? I can’t tell you what’s yet to be On some Wednesday I’ll find you You can tell me what to do I can’t tell you when I’ll find you in the walls I’ll hone your jewels on the window And can you see the way I lie and hope and pray? I answer all your calls, too Can you tell me? I can't hide Do you see what has to die? Aubrey wanted Dresden heart Legs of tungsten will not start
5.
Parade 04:23
Some shoddy past parade Where promises were made To cleave unto the daylight And to freshness and to space But now the truth therein Is falling from the window Rolling down the rooftop To the gutter, to its place For such a potent curse To all at once disperse Is something to remark upon Travestial debris I see you’re lost for words Let’s leave this to the birds This thinning square of fabric Seems to illustrate our needs And now you must demur Take your place in the circle Pity through absorption Of the qualities we see The pattern holds you fast You have your chance at last To live and yes, I know now Your subsumption brings release
6.
An apparition at the bus stop Chased by unreal appeals To vanity, not flattery But pure, corrupted vanity If there is no second Then there will always be a third Unreal spectre, so freshly cold After wishes and pleas Compliments slip too easy From the lazy tongue of love And they choke in the throat Of everything higher or lower What’s the use in a costume? Well, it gives you a hat to doff If nothing else
7.
Beggar 05:21
You are a modern man You are a man of today But you belong to all the beasts of yesterday Drumming out emotion With reference to thickness To the ability to slide beneath these Hot radio Just slid there Send a calendar to you father Send a picture to your mother Neither need ever know That the one contains the other A pathetic stew A feeble home-brew Heating meat from the bone Gives you something to do Chrome shysters Apple-bobbing burgomeisters The chemical composition of which Is new Moth or mosquito Take me to Geppetto Teach him of the errors Of his son’s embarrassing measures A mythical figure A comical snigger Drawling out Drawling out Drawling it out To be spelled To be counted To be taught the sweetness of decay Born in the shallow heat of the human mind Teach the poor, ailing father a few lessons in magnitude Oh, the poor fellow The simple distinction is beyond him A simple tool enabling you to bang your head against a wall A simple tribute to death, performed by the deed itself A sure-fire way to argue with no-one A remedy for decay A rack for self-display I’m not trying to defend it I’m just trying to remember No valleys No sheep Just a motorway That charges straight through And dumps you in the Irish Sea Then hooks you back out Under the same moon Half a different side A handful of stars thrown around somewhere up there Bowels are reaching for something There’s an overstimulation As if to make up for threatless absence Skimming lines of cloud Skirting rudely around A face of platitude A low line A dim array A bright transport so far it’s as dull as my own I throw another stump Bounding from barriers An acute desire for crudeness with a story Defeating every kind of fire It’s true that this side of the far line has served me better Serves me better now Not as well as before Those few years eloped somewhere And though I’ve been away It was me that got left behind somewhere I’m disabled by the unnature that persists In hammy, small, recent constructs By the labour that failed Not without some projection Or hope A shimmer through high bushes The point of the arc of a house Adding me down Again To a buried sum this time I’m waiting under your soil Through it I see the silver fringe of coniferous trees Still afraid to specify But getting there I’m not the only studied one Crippled aloud, I see your friend is not mad Just alone Alive Suffering a shell Like every other
8.
Bound to the straining testes He is rendered irresolute The upper body Spacious and needy A turret of ferocious force Learns itself as separate From the less vigorous limbs While its location, never free Arcs through its limited route Near below the balls, the balls That nearly bind him near to that turret That learns itself as separate From the less vigorous limbs The balls, the balls, he’s bound to them Belongs to their space beneath the upper Caught on the long surrounds That hang in use Flinch at a pinch Gangle in halves Drawing their keen and steady direction From the power That is the face To the double pendulum
9.
Blenheim 05:24
A cliff-top romance summoning up every well-used recourse. This is the palace, this is the park, this is the way, this is the way. Shake off sheepish fetters to return to the fine country house. Pay or display. I’ll take your choice. There is a human body face-down in the roses There is a crime beneath every fence Drive me in your car, drive me in your car Sink or sing the swan song, sink or sing the swan song Survey the fine estate, survey the fine estate It must be here somewhere, it must be here somewhere So few people for so many rooms. Are you sure that this is the way it was supposed to be? There must be a draught. The invasion of art nouveau has left us wanting. A touch of class. Oh, Commissioner, you are spoiling us. There is a human body face-down in the roses There is a crime beneath every fence Drive me in your car, drive me in your car Sink or sing the swan song, sink or sing the swan song Survey the fine estate, survey the fine estate It must be here somewhere, it must be here somewhere Can you hear it? Rain is sinking through soil. Feel the brightness seeping or sapping. Proximity to anything is an interesting phenomenon, every time. There is a human body face-down in the roses There is a crime beneath every fence Survey the fine estate, survey the fine estate It must be here somewhere Sometimes there is something. Doubt has the least innocuous power. Survey the fine estate, survey the fine estate It must be here somewhere There will be an investigation and we all dread it. Survey the fine estate, survey the fine estate It must be here somewhere Without the grounds: intruder. This is not a story. Survey the fine estate, survey the fine estate It must be here somewhere A final heading: misdeeds. Clench.
10.
Rags 08:17
Musty red mock velvet A platform for the dirty blue For the rag of dank absorption For the wafer-thin mattress that cushions A bitten fleece of weak reward To smother little deaths And other spillage, seepage, discharge From the world These are the remnants that recreate The place that we bring with us The refuge that pursues us And waits for information A platform, a stage, even For the re-enactment The preservation The perpetuation Of the static myth Of the self A curtain to draw across the deeds That no-one really pries for A blind to wind around the signs That no-one thinks to try for A spirit too mean to care to be seen A soul disowned by physical entity Dirty and practical That is the way it is supposed to be These are the remnants that recreate The place that we bring with us The refuge that pursues us And waits for information A platform, a stage, even For the re-enactment The preservation The perpetuation Of the static myth Of the self

credits

released May 1, 1999

Lloyd James: voice, guitar, keyboard, flute, drum machine, other sounds.
Joanne Owen: bass, flute, other sounds.
Dan Knowler: voice (track 1), guitar (track 5).
Mariabob: voice (track 1), violin (track 5).
Lo Spettro Di Se Stesso: treated bass and harmonics (track 8).

Recorded and mixed by Naevus at Wooden Lung from December 1998 to February 1999. Remastered at Wooden Lung, August 2007.

All material (c) Naevus 1999/2008.

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Naevus London, UK

Lloyd James: voice, guitar. Ben McLees: bass. Hunter Barr: drums. Sam Astley: guitar.

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