Sillie Billes: mob of young cubs yelling their guts out.
[Regarding “The Vampire of Nazareth”] Forthwith, choir boy opines messages of hopeful despair, the rumbling and noisome trucks in the background, then [at 0:45] the mammoth maw opines such gospel of death as to faint the older ladies in the pews… the music as thundering wagon-wheels in its repetitiveness in its repetitiveness in its repetitiveness
Note the strings ambling in the background…. angels hem and haw, awestruck aweSTRUCK at the devil’s choir that enters [at 3:00]— “We offer the sun…?” [Regarding “A Great Mass of Death”] thunder in a physical form, an arrogant demonic seduction– those horned ones know you want them and attempt not to try… [at 1:45] a human voice, then another, a lass, then those of the demonic again, and loud and louder and loudest
[On “Pyramid God”:] celestial harps fallen beyond light, the drunken raspish Satan sings a regret of sorts– it’s theatre, but done, and done, and done so the truthedness emerges as victorious in its battle of forces of language and lies–
[At 3:45:] now we’re quiet, but bouncing, and only that to get to the next slaughter– the wagon-wheel percussion* again– it ends, and the after-reverberation reminds him of the awfulness of good**
[Regarding “Five Pointed Star”:] Belial belching, dyspeptic.
[“Oceans of Grey”:]
–Up the boars!
–Three cheers for Spiros!
–We’ll hang Christos on a sourapple tree.
Old Sotiris started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing around the door.
[“The Undead Keep Dreaming”:] the quiet choir, the pounding outside the church front door– the chorus sounds worried, it does
[On “Rising”:] mourns something alien, and well beyond us kyrie eleison, Christie eleison***
[“Apocalypse”:] again the dyspeptic choir, its symphonic praise [“Mad Architect”:] builds and builds its impending critical songs… and pounds, madly in time, a German conquest… [“Therianthropy”:] mad reviews of memory, those needed things gone– your cello demarcs its region of choice….
This is, in no means at all, Mozart’s Great Mass… or– only after he’s fallen fallen fallen way down beyond our views and those of the Frock….
And, as the Guinness departs the glass, he writes