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Sound and Fury Nick Cave. Seven Psalms. Illustration: Duchy Man (for Sound and Fury, from Magazine AM:PM). Nick Cave. Seven Psalms. Illustration: Duchy Man (for Sound and Fury, from Magazine AM:PM).

How to become a rottweiler and die trying

(Nick Cave. Seven Psalms)

How Long Have I Waited?

That day I did not read the obituaries. I always read them, at breakfast. But not that day. That day like so many others I woke up with the feeling that half the world had died.

Almost at nightfall it came to me Seven Psalms, Nick Cave's most recent album—with Warren Ellis on it, as usual. I started to knit a bit while it unloaded. Knitting and thinking stupid things. Knitting and thinking stupid things. Weave and think. Weave.

Stupidity #1: If I were a dog, I wouldn't feel this the way i feel I would feel it happily, with joyful regret.

Stupidity #2: The Point sweater It doesn't come out like before.

Stupid #3: Nick Cave never answers my letters.

Stupidity #4: If I wanted to become a dog, I would die trying.

[Weave. Think stupid. Weave and think. Weave].

9:42 p.m.

I started listening to the album. He had been waiting for him for a long time. I listened calmly. Undaunted. Wrapping the fingers in the little piece of yarn. Avoiding words like someone who avoids a dire prediction, like someone who knows they are about to receive bad news. Words spoken with a prophetic and almost solemn cadence… Ah… sleeping sees it. He didn't want to hear those two words together. Not separately. He didn't want to hear those two words.

sleeping.
Sees it.

I repeated them softly. I do not know why. Better. I was very predisposed to dig. These paleontologies of the spirit are usually terrible when what is sought is below an evasion stone. When what is sought is to lose all humanity, all feeling, all ties.

At the end of the first theme, I felt a certain sense of regret. A sick dog feeling. Of a dog that loses its owner, and not the other way around.

The overhead shot of the room was very common:
“That wall where there is a red curtain.
A red curtain.
A little piece of yarn.
I leaned against the curtain.
Carbon dioxide.
-Earphones.

The rest was almost darkness.

The first psalm had passed through the air like carbon dioxide. Headphones on. Light off. Dark room. Except for the little yellow light I have next to my bed. Dusty feeling.

I still don't know what he was avoiding. I don't know what the fossil was.

Have Mercy On Me

Everything is a prayer. Every human act is a prayer. It doesn't matter if it's pronounced or not. It's all a Have mercy. Everything is a Miserere and a bent knee. Everything is a May this end soon. And a penitent act. Everything is a deliver me. Everything is a praise and a bring me home and a Forgive me this time. And I closed my eyes and asked —I don't know who or how— that I be granted the gift of stopping feeling, that my soul be turned into one of those trained dogs that only bite and eat and have enough sense of smell to recognize danger and avoid itMy hands, tied behind me]. But Nick Cave was spitting his spoken word, and I was clinging to the little piece of yarn as if they were the beads of a rosary.

[I don't want to feel I don't want to feel I don't want to feel].

Some dogs become addicted to the market. They sniff out of withdrawal and nothing else. They sniff out danger because they know the pleasures of danger.

[Bread and water was my portion].
My death, it almost bored me

So often was it toldBut I guess there was nothing left to say.

feeling of mass [It is just and necessary, it is our duty and salvation].

—If you're going to kill me, do it; I'll tell you where it's faster. But don't bleed me. It is not necessary or fair.

My death, it almost bored me

That second of silence at the end of the song was worth my weight in gold. Almost nothing. Just enough to sink me.

I must have swept the dust off Dido's sternum the last time I let music walk that way through the house. I don't know, sweep it up, sweep it under the rug. Snort it. Those dead return and curse.

The whole house turned yellow, except for the yellow light next to my bed.

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I Have Trembled My Way Deep

I honestly didn't expect an album from spoken, although I had already read it in some news. I did not expect those spoken prayers. I didn't expect seven psalms and an instrumental.

Warren Ellis always shows up to make things worse. It always goes through the violin bow between my neck and the red curtain. Warren Ellis always threatens with sweetness and makes deaths matter. Nick Cave is a Thunder 380, he will kill you because he is accurate and deadly.

Warren Ellis threatens and makes you want to fall, that death be pleasant. It makes you not worth your own weight in gold. Fateful mixes. One does not know what to expect. [Do you want to become a dog? I'm going to turn you into a dog without a shadow].

"I just want to rip out my heart and throw it away."

Fatigue. longing for salvation Shadowless dog. […upon my breast…]. How much desire can someone have to save themselves...

[I don't want to feel I don't want to feel I don't want to feel]

my heart, my love. What a noise this house makes, how solid is the yellow feeling of wanting to be invulnerable. Meek Rottweiler trying to remember what makes him sad.

[This is not a good idea, girl]

Noise. Noise. Noise.

Then the crying.

***

I could have turned off the music in that instant. I could have gotten out of bed. I could have lit a cigarette or a white light. I could. But I could not.

A tired man asking for peace.

A pack of rottweilers starting to echo inside my blood.

I Have Wandered All My Unending Days

I had to smoke a cigarette.

Splendor, Glorious Splendor

I have always been struck by the way in which Nick Cave solemnizes the words until they become prayers. This didn't start in Seven Psalms, of course. All of Nick Cave's records are religious in a very personal way. I don't know if it's the anguish, which always sounds like a prayer. But Balcony Man it's as pray as Splendor, Glorious Splendor. In the same way that Into My Arms it is no less solemn than Have Mercy On Me. Cave lives inside a Miserere, although sometimes he sounds forgiven.

That particular song sounded like an anointing of the sick to me. To the last prayer

Such Things Should Never Happen

But it was not the last.

Think about the things that shouldn't happen.
[This is not a good idea, girl].

[I don't want to feel I don't want to feel I don't want to feel].

Love shouldn't happen, that's what I told myself, and I don't know why. It hurts here (I'm pointing my index finger at my chest, like my index finger is a Thunder 380).

No. These things should not happen. I'm not willing to make the nest again, or cry next to a box. I'm not willing to think These things shouldn't happen, but they do.

At that point I completely turned into a rottweiler.

I Come Alone And To You

Where says Lord you can say any name, any place, any shelter. Where says Lord it can say Home, it can say The arms of the boy I dreamed about last week and I don't know his name or who he is, but I want to kneel in his stars.

Nick Cave's God is my Anything.

my happy place My rest not so eternal. The eyes that I see in a place of dreams, the gray doves and the songs. The memories. The memories. The memories.

There are things that shouldn't happen [This rottweiler scream. This dog blood. This thing I don't know what it's called. This fossil I avoid as if its discovery will change the course of history].

Instrumental

But they happen.

***

That day I did not read the obituaries. I always read them, at breakfast. But not that day. That day —like so many others— I woke up with the feeling that half the world had died. And he was right. After the album, half the world had died.

The overhead shot of the room was very common:
“That wall where there is a red curtain.
“A red curtain.
—A little piece of yarn that had become a rosary.
"The fourth minus a girl, perhaps killed trying to abandon the fossils."
-Carbon dioxide.
-Darkness.
-Silence.
—A shadowless rottweiler leaning against the red curtain.

Avatar photo Wendy Martinez Voyeur of chess games. I'm afraid of clowns. More posts

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