1. |
Sea Of Stars
03:08
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Would Jupiter be a nice place to live I wonder
They say that there are green planets out there but light years away
Is there a cosmos where peace is preferred to violence?
When you look at cities at night from an airplane they look just like the stars..
maybe stars are cities in a universe in which joy resides
Oh earth , you wondrous, wounded star will you survive?
I see Aquarius twinkling from afar
Is anybody out there?
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2. |
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The Miracle Of the Dead Trees
The Miracle of the dead trees
Was that they were still alive
Not only in the minds of man
But deep under ground
Expanding in silence
And holding the soil
In their embrace.
Have you noticed that
Roots resemble crowns
And that their branches
Are but extensions of the hidden
Which feeds and nourishes them?
Just as the cradle of existence
Remains invisible to the external eye
We see but the tip of the iceberg.
The shape below remains concealed
In spite of divers and drones
We are united with the energy
That guards and nourishes us
From below and above
But which we are blind to
Not for lack of vision
But for the lack of insight.
The magician’s game
Was to highlight the trivial
To perform his magic act
In the dark
Leaving us to believe
That the trick was the truth
But as the concealed iron heart
Of our former sun beats
Beneath molten lava
The hidden bones in our bodies
Keep us upright.
Our diurnal landscapes
Are but charm bracelets
Offering beautiful objects,
Symbols mirroring
The genuine
Into a cheaper hue of gold.
And Man is the negative space
Within the relevant.
We are the shadow of the shape
We seek
And our focus needs readjusting
To the cause
Instead of the effect
And so the puzzle pieces
Will fall into place
Revealing the true picture.
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3. |
Solitude
02:59
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4. |
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I believe we are super heroes
In writhing amnesia
Riddled by arrows,
Bound to a lie
Blind to the abyss
Our wings torn, with halos of doom
Dressed in black, shrouded in gloom
We are super heroes with x ray vision
That confine themselves to the collision
Of mundane experience with petty power
And everyday yellow press trash towers
Preferring the security of a regular job
Than saving the world from a lynch mob.
We could vanquish all evil
With a toss of our heads
Shape shift to wizards
Take dragons to bed
It’s all at the tip of our tongue not the sword
But we ignore our capacities
Of the unexplored
Kryptonite rays
Ablaze in our hearts
And instead trail the dull shine
Of phone and computer parts
Listening to the complex lies
Of apes that revise truth
As an advertised
Bluetooth phone booth
We are super heroes in turmoil
Thrashing and crying entrapped in the mortal coil
Depressed, overweight
Cancerous centaurs
Stuck in the wardrobe like dinosaurs
Await news of a miracle
Praying for Dumbledore
Or a deadpan batman
Blind to the fact that we are Aslan
Weakened by denial, the sub dial
Of our minds that can pierce stone
But we bemoan our fate
Worry that its too late and
Take another Xanax,
To calm our panic
We who fly to the moon
And have Einstein’s theory
Truly underestimate our own glory.
I believe we are super heroes
With spectacular powers
We collapse and rebuild
The mightiest towers,
Crumble walls with a single
Sentence and fight successfully for independence
Let the green lantern shine its legacy
Over the bestiality of mans fall
The writing on the wall shining bright
On his monstrous destruction site
And recall our original mission
The transition,
Of alchemy
To restore
As we were before,
Our magical features
The law of the heavens
Our teachers
And return to our predestined fate:
To be beautiful creatures
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5. |
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6. |
Who Am I
02:51
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Who am I?
Who am I?
My Egyptian father
My German Mother
My Italian Grandfather
My Russian grandmother
Who am I?
My Egyptian father, a daughter
My German Mother, a sister
My Italian Grandfather, a lover
My Russian grandmother, a wife
Who am I?
My Egyptian father, a daughter, a feminist
My German Mother, a sister, a pacifist
My Italian Grandfather, a lover, an activist
My Russian grandmother, a wife, an artist
Who am I?
My Egyptian father, a daughter, a feminist, a musician
My German Mother, a sister, a pacifist, a poet
My Italian Grandfather, a lover, an activist, an author
My Russian grandmother, a wife, an artist, a singer
Who am I?
My Egyptian father, a loyal wife, a daughter, a super bitch, a feminist, a hot cat on a tin roof, a musician
My German Mother, a sad story, a sister, a pacifist, a happy ending, a poet, a breath of fresh air,
My Italian Grandfather, an innocent mistake, a straight face, a lover, a bookworm, a Tiger mother, an activist, a beatnik, a nomad, an author, an old woman, a sex bomb
My Russian grandmother, a young soul, a never ending story, a nervous giggle, a helpless shrug, a hot mess, a wife, an artist, a singer, a lost soul
Who am I?
I am all of this and more. We come out of chaos and our ships sail a wild sea. Up and down and up again. Up and down and up again. We are the captain and the pirate, the hangman and the savior.
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7. |
The Glory Of Innocence
06:11
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Do you remember how safe you felt as a child?
In the arms of your mother
On the shoulders of your father.
Basking in the glory of innocence.
They were King and Queen
And you knew that nothing could ever go wrong.
Do you remember how beautiful it was?
Watching the afternoon sunlight slip along the wall,
With the cat purring on your lap,
Licking your face with its rough tongue,
Fairytale books spinning their yarns of stories
With the smell of pancakes floating in through the kitchen
And the clinking and clanking of pots and pans announcing lunch.
Feeling hot and sweaty and watching the cars fly by
On the way home from a romp in the park and
Knowing that a hot bathtub filled with soapy bubbles would be waiting
And you knew the whole world was waiting for you.
Oh the pure joy of birthdays with their cream-laden cakes and candles and chocolate everywhere.
Do you remember the smell of the ocean and finding your first seashell, with a tiny crab hidden in its depths?
Being stung by a bee in the grass.
Buying your first comic book
Discovering superheroes
Watching Scooby Do and Aqua man and Daniel Boone
On lazy Saturday mornings
Eating cheese sandwiches and running through the forest in sneakers
With your dog.
Finding blueberries and hearing foxes in the distance.
Do you remember carving your first jack o lantern on Halloween,
Trick or treating as a Ghost and coming home laden with large brown paper bags filled with candy corn, apples, Reese’s and Hersheybars.
Playing in the sandbox when your mother calling not to come home and you going anyway and the staircase dripping with blood and your neighbor being carried out, her red hair torn and disheveled.
Running into poison ivy and having the blisters covered with pink calamine solution and lying at home with your library books
And hearing the fat lady from downstairs screaming and yelling at her children.
Do you remember Lassie, Little Joe and Skippy the Kangaroo and your parents fighting while you were watching TV thinking you wouldn’t hear?
Do you remember your first bicycle and how you knew that you were finally a grownup on your ninth birthday when you got your first kiss?
The trust you felt. The hope,
And you knew that nothing would ever go wrong.
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8. |
Homesick
03:23
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9. |
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Ich wünschte mir es wäre immer Nacht
Ich würde auf dem Rücksitz eines Taxis liegen
Und ließe die Lichter endlos an mir vorüberziehen
und würde mit dem Fahrer Kaffee trinken
und in seine Welt versinken.
Die trunkenen Menschen vor den Clubs
Verschwinden lassen und ihre „Hoch die Tassen“
Es gäbe weder da noch hier
Und der Mond glänzend, leuchtend
wie eine Silber Tier
Würde gnädig auf mein Antlitz strahlen.
Den Schall und Rauch vom Nachmittag vergessen
Verblassen und verschwinden
Und endlich, endlich wieder Frieden finden.
Das Radio leise spielen hören wie
Das flüstern zweier Schwestern
Und das Geschehen von Gestern fallen lassen
in den schwarzen grauen Häusergassen
Zwischen Halleschem Tor und Gleisdreieck
Ohne Tasche und Gepäck
Zwischen dem gehen und dem kommen
Verschwommen Regentropfe spüren
Durch die Fensterritze und der Wagentüre.
Die Pfeife des Kutschers und seine
Leder Weste riechen und mich in meinen Mantel
Weiter noch Hinein verkriechen,
Warum ist die Finsternis so schön
So viel edler als das helle licht
Ich weiß es nicht.
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10. |
Strange Times
04:05
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Night Mares
Galloping through the dark
With roaring manes
Shriek into my sleep
And hurl me from my
Dream into reality
But only fiction makes sense now
Reason slips back and forth
From one corner to the next
Devious as a cat with a bad conscious
Always sliding by unnoticeably
Just when I ´ve realized its not where I am
It’s gone, again hiding in the shed
Vomiting into the rat’s race.
Why do I feel so forgotten in the face of evil
Where have all the heroes gone
But I don’t believe that God is dead
He is my neighbor feeding the cat
The grumpy grocer with his ancient baseball bat
The firefighter risking his life
And the mayor’s wife
I don´t believe that God is dead
He is the crazy lady wearing a wig
The nurse with the scabs in her face,
Leftovers from wearing a mask all day
And her innocent daughter
I don´t believe God is dead
He is the politician that cares
For the poor and the rich man
Who shares more than he can
Write off as a tax deduction
I don´t believe God is dead
He is a concept to aspire to
Not a religion or rigid faith
But a good hard look into your own face
And soul, have you met up with the
Challenge, what was the toll?
Did the scale tip or flip to your side?
But my dog howls
And the water sprouts up out of my
Sink into a boiling cascade that nobody drinks
And sometimes I feel as if I´ve
Been crying for years
Tears of wrath and distress
That suggest hopelessness
Fury is what I feel most oft the time.
Fury at the deceit, the cheap mime
The lies and the injustice
The moldy steak cut out of a dying cows thigh
Served on a golden platter
Garnished with rotting cheese
And sold as a delicacy
In our society
In which the bees are dying
On a scale so large
That the universe seems
Dwarfed by its obscenity.
Little bits of shiny metal
Swooping over my head in the sun
Are they the North Korean invasion or just
Poised forks ready to drop the bomb.
And yet I don´t believe that God is dead
His spirit is the beauty we had
And the hope still there
And an end to the nightmare.
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11. |
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Danielle De Picciotto
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Danielle de Picciotto Tacoma, Washington
Born in Tacoma, Washington USA
Currently residing in Berlin,
Germany
Works as interdisciplinary artist in the fields of music/ art / film/ literature/spoken word performance
Co-founder of Berlin "Loveparade"
Cooperations with German Cultural Goethe Institute in Hong Kong, Milan, Rome, Tokyo, Berlin, Prague, Sarajevo, Mexico City, New Zealand, Australia
... more
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