King's Crossing Coast To Coast

[plainclothespat]

What is being said at the beginning of King's Crossing and who is saying it. It sounds like two different voices and the one sounds like Elliott, but I don't know what's actually being said or who the other voice belongs to. Also, at the end of Coast to Coast what is being said? It sounds like it could be from a play, and knowing how much Elliott liked the Beatles he could've used I Am The Walrus as inspiration when they use King Lear at the end of that song. Anyway, if you have any ideas, let me know.

[McCoy]

At the end of Coast to Coast it's two poems being read. They were both written by friends of Elliott specifically to be read during Coast to Coast.

[llaurens]

The poem on “Coast to Coast” by Nelson Gary:



EXILE IN PARADISE’S TOURMALINE



Deacon of the invisible light in darkness

Indwelled to endow the lion’s share

Of golden rayed mane’s emanations,

To bright-eyed thronged masses, together in solitude

Seeking the secrets of near impossible

Intimacy, the miracle of oneness:

So is the unfulfilled, but nonetheless peaceful sanctuary

Of the Host of Hosts, the Creator, cloistered,

Somewhat sepulchral; thus exile and paradise

Eclipsed supernatural consensual in omnipresence.



Perpetual?



How do I scope, let alone define the region

Of boundless perimeter without peer or relation

To the pounding pulse of substance,

But at shell and core of emptiness, the infinite

Possibilities of nothingness, the gaze

At desolation unto oblivion to explicate

Through work, action, the harvest of wisdom.

To perceive is to be a perceiver with a perception

of the infinite possibilities of nothingness,

its sum over histories, preserving its purity

by perspicacity. Attainment of this perception

is the cornerstone of creativity’s foundation.

Imagination stretches until it leaps in belief

Only then does fabrication rip open

Baring bold, beautiful vision of truth’s relief

To behold, only to be shared with the fold

In exodus during this dark night of the soul.

If I could again find the beloved one and talk,

I’d then find the all, for she was the flutter of the flock.



Here, in mystical union, with my better half I am in eternal ardor

for she’s the instrumentality of cosmic splendor altogether;

I, meager minstrel player,

blessed with Seusspearean meter,

abide in her abode’s Holy of Holies, inner sanctum,

in erudition, meditation, prayer, the act of creation;

but love’s gravity pulls this ripe fullness

toward the strange attractor of the outsider’s emptiness

in parallel distribution to achieve equilibrium

for her to receive substance, hidden mirth’s

consummated revelation, the word, my spirit’s passion.



I am intimate with the discerning heart at heaven’s door,

its holy rhythm of opening, closing rapture

causing elliptical rigor of harmonious, sunwise measure,

raising high the roof beams, sweeping low the floor

in celestial symphonic song cyclic movements of cadence

from birth to death, catalogued in transitional moments’ radiance

and darkness, the organic clock of nature

engineered by her mind, heart’s best timekeeper.

Mathematics, physics, all logistics

find in her each their own highest aesthetic.



I receive enlightenment from contemplative calculus

that is reasoning toward understanding the catalytic

integral of order, but in the thick of it,

I have no peace for lack of symmetry,

sensing the absence of ecstasy’s revered reverie

in relief, for upon a foundation of stability

visionary inspiration is to be fulfilled

by intimate interaction of creativity

of bodily pillars initiated

in solar plexus by a flutter.



Without heavenly bodies’ radiation,

what is the sky’s complexion?

Without ascent and descent,

what by flying then is meant?



Cold, calibrated loneliness engineered

from my love, but, too, my fear

contributed to inflicting the great disappear.

If I despair, I swing from the pendulum

with a moody tick, until I chime ebullience

of vermilion rust in these unheard words.

In the end, what is there, but a moment of breath?

And in this, the pomegranate vapors of perfume

from open heirloom of hope

you let flow in seedling drops

sensuous and wet? Delectable

fragrance; clarity

crystalline taste of amethyst from

unbottled, unbridled violet hour.

Splash, secrete, stream, let me shower

you with diamond ember prismatic tears

—I love you, always...always.

Didn’t you know I was kidding

when I was working, quipping

to you in sardonic tone:

The secret of intimacy

is

absence makes the heart grow fonder,

familiarity breeds contempt.

So you just stay away from me;

oh didn’t you know me any better?

Couldn’t you see through the post-modern banter?

[llaurens]

Embittered perhaps by the loneliness, the exile

I forced upon you—I hope not worsened

by the wormwood in your absinthe—so

I could flourish

in a kingdom to steady my caprice,

ward off, bring to cessation my cowardice

but do know night and day at keyboard

was I commiserate with your cobalt spark

engraved in Divine Sanskrit all the way

down to the flavor and charm of its least quark,

desiring to give you all the while

my eternal reflection’s smile

on you in the erotic eighth dimension.

what my hyper-criticism in self-examination

could not countenance between paradise and exile.

My behavior, perhaps, egregious, underhand,

unforgivable my speech that walked

disembodied from the vulnerable

nascent bliss in the wilderness

you held out to me

in the palm of your hand.

Emanate

your presence,

and let me strive

in the indigo shadows for your tolerance.



When fog rolls in, clouds unfold

your selfless wings’ feathers

that float from arabesque pillows I sold

to be consumed by the snow white cold.

If only the plaster could hold, withstand

the flame, then this fountain torch

would know no shame and be outstripped

only by the sun that burns with the glory

and honor of your immortal, holy name.



In the twilight, the Morning Star’s glow,

unmistakable! Keeping my word, I go

with cerulean suede Tiffany bag

filled with ancient tourmaline of philosophy,

wisdom’s diadems, the jewel-smuggling trade.

Stones polished, then in consciousness

through experience laid

by the twins of history and prophecy,

and manchild of the moment,

who crafts them with love’s redemptive

powers of preservation and transformation.

Their sublime sagacity splits both jewel jackal

and thief in a decision almost too tough to tackle:

to be either emerald with envy

or emerald with naiveté while fortune does divvy

with chance in the opulence of opportunity

And I take mine

from one green world after the next.

No, I don’t take bets.



These chiseled, almost sculpted notes,

this, but the silent nomenclature

pages of the calendar’s future psalms.

Let them register from priceless indices

rolling over to calm

the grand, sweeping design of beatitudes’

rate of exchange in chance,

free-will’s meritorious motive for change,

within the blueprints of fate’s range mapped,

unrolled from its sealed scroll in meditative trance,

revealed at the windows by your face as you dance

looking out past the rain into deep space

by which to each is granted, given in grace,

a measure of faith

for master works to be completed, appraised bless-ed

on the scales of gevurah and hesed,

the counterbalance of judgment and mercy

on eyebrow scales weighing a sublime simile of

jasper-emerald-sapphire baubles.



I am, but a faithful servant to the wall’s inaudible calls

at this feast of silence that serves the din alms

with synthesis of digestion in music’s intestinal halls:

Firebird Suite and Symphony of Psalms.



Now, that I’ve rediscovered you

let me break the symmetry

of this party’s perfect ennui

by presenting you this epiphany

in gems thieved back from old men

who misused them to stone Stephen

and write Adonais into the pale hue.

[sombre winds]

I didn't think he wrote it specifically for Elliott. Llaurens, do you know?

[McCoy]

http://www.lummoxpress.com/journal/j002/smith.php

Most definitely written upon Elliott's request.

[sombre winds]

http://www.lummoxpress.com/journal/j002/smith.php

Most definitely written upon Elliott's request.

Thanks for the article. I really like what he said about Elliott and Valerie. Is this posted in the main board? I haven't read it before.

[McCoy]

Yea, I think it's been linked to twice, because I found it this time in a thread I'd never seen before.

[solveig]

still life in a darkened room
will be flooded with light
and it might make you uptight
but you won't die from exposure
there's so many people
there's so many people
there's so many people
you got to settle the score
there's so many people
too many people, no, no, no
i'm just enchanted now
some other time
if you're seeing something here
that you're not supposed to see
you'll be charged a penalty
and you'll pay forever
i've been working night and day
building sets on a lot
in a land that time forgot
captured here in my camera

[my*maya*papaya*]

that's why...

[Billy Shears]

still life in a darkened room
will be flooded with light
and it might make you uptight
but you won't die from exposure
there's so many people
there's so many people
there's so many people
you got to settle the score
there's so many people
too many people, no, no, no
i'm just enchanted now
some other time
if you're seeing something here
that you're not supposed to see
you'll be charged a penalty
and you'll pay forever
i've been working night and day
building sets on a lot
in a land that time forgot
captured here in my camera

Such a beautiful song...

[solveig]

:yes:

longtime favorite

[plainclothespat]

billy shears is a sick name...beatles fan much?