Isabel: a Report to an Academy

Realising happiness and joy is just a construct of a self deception
Should it keep you from lying?
Plato once said: "Carve me a head!
Necessity is the mother of invention."
Did it keep him from dying?
I think you got a problem
You got a problem
I think you're thinking too much
Dont trust a music teacher who is quoting Nietzsche
To bear the silence of the scotch
I think you got a problem, you got a problem
Darwin didn't love you very much
But he gave you evolution and the
institution that is your artificial crutch

Go back to sleep, this is the age of the deep slumber
Don't be afraid of the blue skies
Enter the merry-go-under
And see your life through the eyes of Isabel

Are you the ghost of Vermeer with a
table leg staring into the light From above?
Are you a burning giraffe on the
borderline making a mantelpiece for a dove?
Are you a basket of bread for the
afterlife on a cabinet, or a bed stand?
Hail the hallucinogenic toreador of kitsch!
Isabel, show me life, I'll follow the lights into the hole

Go back to sleep, this is the age of the deep slumber
Don't be afraid of the blue skies
Enter the merry-go-under
Through the cracks in the glacial mass
Where the seagulls collide
Look away, Isabel!

Wonderful, wonderful nib
Pointing up like the manicured finger of Magritte
Could I write me out of solipsism with some chalk on a floorboard?
The yellow lemon stairs to a dead end, inexplicable lady friend
Name the unnamable object with a word - a word, little parakeet!

Call her, call her, tell her that you love her madly
Tell her that you need her badly
Tell her that you want to be forever
Call her, call her, call her from your ivory tower
High above the virgin's bower
Immolate your naked limbs and dance alone

I think it's time you wake up!
All the faculty members are here
Come and see the final lecture
We'll examine the Rorschach redemption of life
Juvenile dementia
When the temporal perception is lost
I will guide you through the pictures
As we ride through the mouth of Hieronymus Bosch

Go back to sleep, this is the age of the deep slumber
Don't be afraid of the blue skies
Enter the merry-go-under
Through the cracks in the glacial mass where the seagulls collide
Look away, Isabel!

Lined up by the washing machines, Bleacher Street in wuthering streams
Madeleine crumble submarines will
preserve all the finest of fabric for the fall
Lie supine out in a sprawl, carve your name into a snowball
As you drift down the moon river

Quiet like a fly on a windshield in the schoolyard
Another thesis on Heidegger gave you a voice
The structural transformation of the public sphere you dismembered
To some extent, you were careless then, like Salvador
You lingered in the praise of the classroom, you were dreaming
Carrying The body of Bertrand Russel through the streets
Then a lightning came out of nowhere, you were sober
You saw the students had evaporated from the seats

Isabel, show me life, I'll follow the lights into the hole