THE OEDIPUS WRECKS GIG

THE OEDIPUS WRECKS GIG, CAMDEN TOWN, CIRCA 1997

Nota Bene. Oedipus Wrecks were a three-piece, energetic too, in the mould of Nirvana, who played gigs just before the Millennium in London and the surrounding area. We took our name from a friend of the band called “Dr. Calculator Ptom,” whose wit we have to thank for that name that so suited us. We were, or I was, aiming for Doors lyrics and Nirvana riffs. The genre I had in my notebook and my mind was Grime already in those days as a mid-Atlantic equivalent of grunge but in the end we were said to have foreshadowed Doom. Oedipus Wrecks was basically about still singing along when The Lords And The New Creatures getting real had been too horrible and disgusting. I’m going to show you the lyrics to the set-list interwedged with paragraphs of prose about the surrounding time, and pertaining to a crepuscular twilight zone.

I

SECRETS IN THE MUD

This is the sound of getting totally fucked.

Of when you first get your notebook sucked.

Of changing gold into Glastonbury mud.

Of lying down in a field with your bud.

This is the music through whom we aspire.

This is the rule book that is thrown on the fire.

This is the jam where the trousers are down.

This is the wine-shop on the edge of town.

Chorus: Glastonbury, you should be free, and all you have in your big city,

you hit my G, you make me see how I want to see,

lights go down, lights come on,

and all my sadness seems to be gone,

although I still love to be what I dream I am.

[guitar solo]

THE ISLAND OF PENGUINS

One night, two friends and I from Dr. Calculator Ptom’s school attained the island of penguins, out night-walking in Eskdale, on a camping trip in the Lakes. It was a vision in the truest sense of the word, both in its containment of the divine, as in our being three gathered in the name, and in it possibly being born of Rimbaudian derangement of the senses. I am then said to have proved the island of penguins with the first verse of the first song at my first gig. The problem, however, is that if the line (or maybe two lines) belong to the house I should possibly be made to be Anon with it all these years later. Then again if you take the line/s away from me surely that would mean attaining the island of penguins has become a regrettable event – which nobody wants to see. To this day it still hasn’t been sorted out. The line came into being for me one day when I was reading Rimbaud, and was never intended to be proof of the island of penguins. In the meantime it transpires that the island of penguins might’ve been observed on the other side of the universe!

II

OCEANS SMILE

Oceans smile with liquid eyes

and fill themselves with rain.

The tide goes out and leaves me

lost, the last thing a glass gene.

Follow me to the resurrection

while the blind get crucified.

My weapon’s only loaded in my eyes.

Death will come on silky wings

but I for one will not go.  

A soul is endless, oceans open

and keeeeeeeps a perfect O.

Follow me to the resurrection

while the blind get crucified.

My weapon’s only loaded in my eyes.

Go drink the ocean with your tea

cup, give your heart far out.

If oceans smile with liquid eyes

then they'll give you a shout.

Follow me to the resurrection

while the blind get crucified.

My weapon’s only loaded in my eyes.

Too drunkenly I sail the water

on Rimbaud’s smoking boat.

With whiskygills primed in fire

I sail the waves to Boot.

Follow me to the resurrection

while the blind get crucified.

My weapon’s only loaded in my eyes.

(reconstructed via the new, synchronised word)

MEANWHILE

In the meantime, Dr. Calculator Ptom (who named the band but didn’t play) liked the movie La Heine, where there’s a gorgeous bit of urban poetry about society falling from a high-rise building, thinking to itself “so far so good, so far so good” all the way down. I had some poetry myself, or thought I did, inside me, as well as writing what I thought were good words to the songs.

III

VITAL SIGNS

Smile like a smile just to smile,

cast to Heaven for a while...

let's rip holes in the boat,

throw the captain overboard,

throw the angels off the bridge,

death comes and stops me getting

bored of life's soul-machine.

What we need is energy,

show me all your vital signs,

what we steal is what we need,

what we need to feel alive,

for I'm alive with vital signs.

Back to Hell to plunder wings,

let the ritual now begin,

come and ride the waiting beast,

ride it gone into the fire,

ride it to the waiting feast,

my baby's waiting to get higher,

to get higher, to get higher...

what we need is energy,

show me all your vital signs,

what we steal is what we need,

what we need to feel alive,

for I'm alive with vital signs,

yeah feel alive with vital signs.

Come again there's much to do,

don't you know that I love you?

IN THE MEANTIME

Meanwhile, Dr. Ptom and I were part of a group of intellectuals, a circle, who watched weird films like Eraserhead and The Warriors. We even kissed so willing we were to try new things. We would have tried out a new alphabet had we the opportunity. Dr. Ptom was a poet too… he had one about Zeus and the conjunction of souls I liked but knew I did not understand.

IV

KILL

My eyes sting,

my teeth are bleeding raw,

too much thought

to make me sick.

Stinky clothes

and mouth become

my skin and all

these fruits I want to kill.

Give my hope,

surrender to the tide,

you can take

my remains;

but I must go,

to wash the poison

from my eyes,

before, before, before I kill.

THROUGH THE WOODS

On the night we boarded a train not knowing where it was headed, we fell asleep, and were woken at dawn, in Luton, by the conductor, who let us off not having a ticket and sent us back the same way from which we came! We ended up sleeping in a suburban wood, under leaves, when we got back to Radlett! I remember mostly that it was cold! We could still find a portal under the leaves and open it and find stairs that lead down into dark earth, and follow them down and find the Nobel Prize Ceremony inside… all sorts of besuited gents sitting down. Or we could take the route of New Realism instead.

V

MOTHER IS DEAD

Fuck this, fuck that, fuck me yeah,

I wish that I had been there,

been there to saaaaaave Jesus,

I'm sure he meant to please us.

Mother is dead,

mother is dead,

mother is dead.

We're young and filled with semen,

we're going to break some hymen,

we'll make the cops turn in their badges,

we're going over all the edges yeah.

Mother is dead,

mother is dead,

mother is dead.

EMILY’S GARDEN

Emily was my first proper gf; and one night Dr. Ptom, another lad and I went round her house to see her and two of her friends. We were about 14 or 15; and as soon as we got in the house, Dr. Ptom and I went straight out into the back garden, where there was a trampoline, and started to send a green parrot through the conch to outer space, so to speak; and we started cackling like hyenas; and the end result was that it was the end of my relationship with Emily.

VI

SNAKE SNAKE BUTTERFLY

Snake snake butterfly, lay me dead & close my eyes.

Angel serpentine, she waits on the Other Side.

Give me your alibi; give me chains to stop me fly;

give me night to soothe my blinded eyes:

so I can see the secrets of the skies.

We must rise, freedom falling from our eyes,

unlock doors, it's a perfect time to die,

and it's okay ‘cause baby we'll go insane

but don't reach out too far for the flame.

Snake snake butterfly, lead me to the Other Side.

Angel serpentine, she waits on the Other Side.

FAREWELL TO THE DAY

I remember well when I had to say farewell to the day. We were down at Will Fenn’s holiday house in Devon; and I was tearful that I was moving on; and Dr. Ptom said “there’s going to be a massive, John-shaped hole in my life now.” I am 44 and still hear his voice on magic alphabet radio, or the intercom, or whatever you want to call it! Although he didn’t play an instrument or write the music, he wanted to invent a word-chord synthesiser to go in our band (which was otherwise a three piece.)

VII

THE GHOSTS LAMENT (THE GUZZLER MEN)

I'm the only one left, left to shoot my

own gun. This is the dead land. Crack a smile

and curse the sun. Death awaits to fuck me.

Give me bliss and give me kisses. Death a-

waits to save me. The ghosts lament, the ghosts

lament. Come on baaaaaaaaaby, you know it's e-

asy, don't say maaaaaaaaaybe, let's go crazy. Death

awaits to fuck me. Give me bliss and give

me kisses. Death awaits the same me. The

ghosts lament, the ghosts lament, no more ghosts.

||||.

TOAST

The latter song, looking back, sees the sublimation of The Lords And The New Creatures into a singular, pronominal act of Romantic, first person lyricism. “I’m the only one left,” it went; for I was smuggling The Lords And The New Creatures. But I never intended to literally curse the sun if that is even possible; for the chorus was written first, the bit you’d think was the curse, then the verses came second and I was just trying to make it rhyme. It did strike me about twenty years later that it might’ve looked like I was trying to curse the sun, but that was never an intention at the time. The song was also the one that was used for my brother’s sheet where pictures grew, pictures seemingly depicting that lyric, and he says <BEE> might soon ensue from @ in the international language alphabet. It’s a shame we can’t use the sheet where pictures grew. My presentation on Oedipus Wrecks would benefit from it but I am forbidden from showing you my photograph of it even though it was my discovery because it shouldn’t be online. In fact, the whole business of my being the new Syd might necessitate a revelation of the sheet in the presentation, but as I say I am newly banned from showing it.

VIII

HEAVEN KNOWS

Heaven knows and walks away -

but what it knows it will not say.

It’s impossible to make a cowboy film in space?

Heaven knows and turns its face!

Heaven’s filled with silver eyes.

Heaven’s hills all harmonise.

I hear its angels when they call...

Heaven knows and lets them fall!

[reconstructed]

BEDROOM

I remember when I had started my new school Oundle going back to see Dr. Calculator Ptom in Radlett and playing a new song I had written since the loss of my virginity and acid virginity too. I was in a new band called Secret Chord H, and this new song was called ‘Dream With Open Eyes’ and was all about love. One commentator in Ptom’s bedroom where I played it said my voice had gotten a lot better.

INVINCIBLE LOVERS

I’ll tell you how strange and wild

With wanton promise comes she

On an unknown hour

Like an uninvited guest

You’ve somehow brought to bed.

All night we’d

Sit and think of history

As if it hadn’t passed,

The great wars and the ancient peoples

And all the silly fears.

We’d think of how much we’ve changed

And how much we’ve remained the same.

We’d think of moments of mine

We somehow shared and how I longed to live

In circling illumination of all those moments,

Fragments gone.

And softly I wished

To expand history back into the past

And never to move again an inch forwards.

And to run through the memory of Time,

Ancient, timeless galleries.

Often we’d sit and think of speaking

Or retiring to bed or even sleeping.

Always we’d realise we never had

Time enough to waste or spend.

So we gloried in ourselves

Like invincible lovers,

Always boundless in new being.

And if I seldom spoke in sad regret,

She would turn and smile

As if to boldly offer

‘Come take my hand,

And we’ll wander across no-man’s land.'

(1998)

AUGMENTING THE END

The reason I am augmenting this with a love poem from when I moved schools and hugged Flora in the corridor is that with Flora there was something Oedipal going on that I failed to lick. It was to do with my mother’s flower-press ending on cannabis, and a system therein, as contrasted with a love poem for Flora but I shouldn’t spell it out.

I KNEW THAT SHE LOVED ME

I escaped last night

into a heightened dream

from a dull and longing sleep

and the stars murmured

their cool ballad

to the approaching sky.

Secrets hung like ghosts

in the corner of my wanton world

all blurred and drugged too deep

and I knew that she loved me

from her invisible motions

and the dagger in her soft reply.

The questions concealed in her eye.

Her smile a luring prison.

Her blink a beautiful danger.

Her breath a poisonous magic.

And I knew that silence

would soon let slip its whisper,

knew that fantasy

had never been so real

and I knew that she loved me

because I knew everything.

I knew.

WHAT’S IT ALL ABOUT?

Back to the problem: it is that I proved the island of penguins with my first verse but the lines belong to the house, which I didn’t know, and so should remain Anon – but at the same time if you take the offending two lines away from me, you make attaining the island of penguins a regrettable event. According to a different Tom, Dr. Tom Pollak, who was there at both the island of penguins and the Oedipus Wrecks gig, the only way to win this fight is to go Anon in the dead of night and it will make you feel alright because you’ve done the right thing. Then you will be graced by sensations of pleasure, waves of happiness, healing energy, like the holy glow you get from your first Glastonbury Festival. That’s because you’ve done the right thing. But it might be too late: once the toothpaste is out of tube you can’t put it back in. Either way it should blow your mind that said “island of penguins” might have been observed on the other side of the universe.

INFANT JAZZ POEM

Sometimes perhaps 

down opening quiet

I am drawn down 

long and alone

and my friend and 

my foe recede 

into deep sleep

sudden and still 

like a dawn behind a 

screaming veil 

where silence

is born and all that's 

loose and tight and 

all that's light is light 

like first morning 

with no night

and wend my way 

so slow to Freedom

and soft Infancy-lunacy 

with harp-sure eyes

so I can live 

the last poet's 

last poem.

NOTE ON THE BAND NAME “OEDIPUS WRECKS”

My friend Dr. Calculator Ptom named the band upon hearing my songs. He used to say gnomic things like “the universe is a projection of the mind.” “The G note is green on the guitar fretboard.” “Born Slippy is evidence dance can have a soul.” “Poetry is untranslatable because of the music.” “Death is God.” “Early Oasis is good for bittersweet, comedown energy.” It was his brilliant idea that we board a train not knowing where it was headed in the middle of the Night in London. By now he is Dr. Calculator Thomas and the song is ‘Born Slippery.’

AN INWARD PRAYER

“The initial task was to widen the area of consciousness” - Allen Ginsberg

Blessed are all these miles of madness

bumbling around us

Blessed is Night w/ its centuries

of bright, burning eyes

Blessed is the secret of an inward prayer,

whispered to your soul,

disguised w/ shadow

Blessed is the joy

when tears break from their blue chains

and shatter from your eyes

Blessed is Brahman

and the holiness of Things

O Brahman! Regard me

w/ mine own eyes!

(Atman is Brahman

as the sun its light

cursed the wiseman to God

w/ his final breath)

Blessed is Buddha & Samadhi & Christ

and blessed am I for blessing them

Blessed is connecting to the

Big White Dream

in moments of vast, empty enlightenment

when suddenly wakened

you open reception

to Dark Dream Radio & the Infinite Broadcast

and blessed are its electric currents

(the channels of rhythmic ecstasy)

for Music, Sex and Idea

are the elements of miracle

& grasping your mind

in instant static pain

the sudden rush of apocalypse

like the visitation of God

or the angel in your eyelid

Blessed is falling through leering madness

& waking again a naked boy

Blessed is the sadness in things

and blessed also its joy

Blessed may be the end at last

under the sea

below the soul

in the upside-down

Oceans above us

(all that heaven sends is rain)

& blessed is the rain that heaven sends

it is the life for the poems around us

Blessed are the Four Pillars of Time

Milk Water Whisky Wine

milk is the silver semen of birth

water is the heavenly liquor

whisky is embedded in the soul of the poet

& wine swims through the heart of the gods -

O drown me in the heavenly fluids!

Blessed is the poet

struggling through headache

strung out in harmonious rhythm

like a chain of music from star to star,

beating to joy in a New Beat heart

Blessed is sin if it kills Ignorance

Blessed is the redness of blood,

The madness of kissing,

The promise of moments

Blessed is the wavering emergence of Now

The friendliness of meeting a stranger

The strangeness of meeting a friend

Blessed is the promise of words

That someday I may dispose of language

Blessed is peace

as blessed is 'FUCK!'

Blessed is the miracle of life

Atheist and holy in one

Blessed is choice and every decision

And choosing never to choose at all

Blessed is the rapture of the slender moon

And the danger in her wanton thigh

And blessed are we for our daring tongues

For being in love w/ being in love

Blessed is our small advance

beneath an ocean of weeping stars

for time is all that time can prove

Blessed is Discovery, Invocation and the dark

Blessed is pain for it shows you can feel

And blessed is death for it means you’re alive

Blessed is wandering the cruel edge

and seeming a fool in quest for height 

Blessed is the rambling bardic child

Who never strays from his heart

But on vast miniature journeys through space

He arrives at Conclusion

W/out even thinking

Blessed is thought as absence of thought

So in the great, dark Over-soul of night

Above us all and counting time,

That thought behind

The back of your mind…

Let’s just say you looked into my eyes

And saw the scars of dreams had opened

And saw the glimmer of the gates unlocking

And saw the nobleman nod his assent

Tell the master calling for me

The servant shall not be disturbed

He is drowning himself in the laughing sea

And has seen the snake slowly recoiling

And has felt the womb of conception calling

And has found the Sea of Words

No let’s just say

I came and saw

And you almost heard

My soundless word

Blessed is word as absence of word

Last words change all the rest

And last longest,

Last word

Death.