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Would you like to come home?

by Madam Neverstop

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1.
When did you look at your hands and decide they could no longer hold on? The year you were born, the comet Kohoutek appeared in a dull, dark sky spooking everyone into doomsday theory mode. Did your parents make you in a moment of panic? could you hear the apocalyptic pronouncements from the womb? was it the airplane noises that startled you as you began your initial descent into the world? When did you look at your trembling hands and realize you couldn’t stay here? when did the interstellar communications begin? Was it the comet’s vibrations? Was it a thought you couldn’t grasp? Was it something else entirely? Something I failed to say? How many other comets buzzed around you while you cursed the heavens, while you misplaced my love, while you lost your inner war and took off. How many I didn’t see how many, in your eyes?
2.
Cursed with clarity It’s fascinating how the brain can give the hand an unconscious order and make it reach for whatever the heart is asking for. Life is consecrated in the moments of suspense the shimmers of clarity: So, this object you hold not heavy, weary, but pulsating with life squiggle-dances and slithers it rises to the heavens your beggar fingers cannot contain it The heart says you cannot possess love the brain seconds the motion your knuckles loosen up the truth slides away from you it flees miles away from you, this diamond-like play of light blinds you temporarily … when you wake up it’s clear there’s no going back.
3.
Open Source Sacred I have come to tell you that you are free Take a deep breath: You’ve got to be able to pick up my movements with your eyes closed you’ve got to be ready to know when it’s time to strike without second-guessing. if I let go of your hand at this moment you will not be hindered by fear. You’ve got to really want this. Reality amounts to nothing more and nothing less than a series of mediated images and after a while you will begin to hear it… There is a dark side to it as well, a disruption that knocks the perceiver out of known flesh the ironic discord must become the way, death is the price of orgasm. And when you’re ready to go And when you are ready to let go you will reap the harvest you will break free you already are free.
4.
Arcane Encounter Feeling manifests itself in the form of frantic, unrestrained movements. Along the road it’s difficult to see all the highs and lows, but once the journey is over you can see everything clearly. I wonder how it is possible that there are billions of people in the planet who only have emotions they perceive as neutral and then there is us. Sometimes it seems to me there is no map to finding a way out of this. The numbness in your extremities reminds you of the inevitability of death a symptom of a broader shift in consciousness a spasm, a concept, a mode of being, a sigil, a raw material, which long resisted this impulse to let go but now prefers to be part of a mass transmission. Bright sun shining on us through white curtains I suppose when the journey is over we will know.
5.
Thoughts of Eternity Commercial break. //////// Allow me to remind you of the inner voice, humming like an old refrigerator, the tender breeze, the pale butterfly coming and going, the sheep gathering in groups to roam on open pastures, the waves of disappointment and irritation like invisible itches on your body. Things are never what they seem. Sometimes the world appears busy and complicated like a puzzle missing crucial pieces, a constant forming of bruises a sinister joke about capitalism or aging. There are lighthouses of all shapes and sizes their lights move slowly reflected on dark bodies of water which sing to you in perfect harmony: You shall not fear – You shall not succumb Wave upon wave with such mystical sublimity the desire feels attainable. Thoughts of eternity: If you feed them, they will become fiends instead of foes.
6.
Neurological Scramble Just when you think you have all the answers the sky shifts from pitch dark to light blue There’s a sudden flash of light behind your pupils. It penetrates the enclosure of the world and makes itself therein heard as a call: A panicked feeling A despairing collection of reconstructed experiences A quest A flashback An essence talking back sprouting / behind the skin on your fingers as you try to keep up. Keep it all on the inside. Bury a nail on it. Come up with some beautifully written text to explain the staggering visions that keep you awake. Lights out. Here we go again.
7.
A degree of critical agency You will not enter! – said the multitude but you had already stepped well beyond the parallel of this reality. The paradox for our story here is that you did not escape the chapel through psychiatric disenchantment and I did not say the prayers to safeguard our sanity, which would have emphasised essential differences between left and right cerebral hemispheres. It may have facilitated the degrees of separation. Instead, here we are, in limbo. I keep thinking you’re still here, my friend I take solace in my ability to keep my feet on the ground even as the ground disappears. Feeding crude data with needles to the crowd and watching as their blank eyes begin to form an answer: …They see you too. They nod: You may come in.
8.
Itinerary 04:45
Itinerary Do not let your wandering thoughts feed you guilt as the pain recedes you are in your absolute right to come and go as you please to enter paradise and take from it what you must. A twinge of fear a spectacle your collection of sunsets replaying all at once on your closed eyelids… what else do you see? Memory is nothing but a rubbish heap of details fleeing from your earlobes towards their own redemption / the intermediate state. As they transition from their former life to a new destination It’s necessary that you release them and by doing so, that you release me a transference of knowledge a summoning I wonder what lies behind / beyond May you know the truth and shine like a boundless light.
9.
Eloquent Interpretation Forgetfulness is a compass to safety: Stale winter air, a brilliantly clear, if not cold, day or was it summer the war between realities splits the planet in half right down the middle divides one thing from the other one memory from the next, each piece so full of love and heartache long coats and awkward silences a long row of questions no one dares to answer; One by one they pass in front of our eyes like pieces from a glacier sharp and crackling under the light. Are you okay? How are you doing? Are we far from home? Do you know your way back? The shallow water came in with the tide and began to cover the corners of those moments when we most feared we would lose ourselves. We kept going until the seagulls resembled insects and disappeared we kept going while the clouds came sporadically to life and drew marine species in the sky which then devoured one another and disintegrated we kept going until we knew not if it was water or ground below our feet It felt at times like we were going straight down, like we were falling. Forgetfulness is a compass to safety; A dream-like state where the sharp arrow of grief begins to sting less and feel more like the outer shell of a cocoon the narrative into an extraordinary, unequalled new form of existence. We forgot if it was you or us, We forgot if it was you or us, who got left behind at the shore.
10.
Phenomenon of release In the village you recognized as your own nature in the body you once saw as a favorable place In the eyes where you once sought compassion or approval In the caves where pleasure and pain came as sudden animal impulses nothing awaits you. In the promise of returning in the rooms where you paced backwards and forwards consumed by the desperation of your daily living in the hunger, rage and bitterness you made your uniform in the warm embrace of the many bodies who loved you nothing awaits you. In the streets of childish feats where you mind roamed freely In the temporary pleasures and alluring labyrinths In the piling dust of photos nobody wants to look at in the sudden moments of self-pity or self-indulgence nothing awaits you. A present event after a present event after a present event you cannot break into or out. In the heart whose grief threaded invisible chains through other realms to keep you from this, as the eyes open and close in spontaneous outpouring of sorrow, the realization arrives: Nothing awaits you here. Nothing awaits you now. NOTHING!
11.
Your will is our peace Sometimes I wake up and there is nothing. No bundle of leaves and angst No burning house, no temple open no liquid acid spreading itself through the streets no bills unpaid, no things unsaid no waves coming nor going with your name, as a matter of fact, no name. And no spine and no bones and no warmth where you used to lay. No soft and kind intermissions from no long list of rage. No tremor and no need for pills and no rush to go or stay. In such days I like to sit very still and enjoy the occasion there’s a beauty in this emptiness it expands like a tender mist towards all corners of me and it continues growing above the tallest trees until it covers everything in white shimmering light nature’s stupor and it is in this place that I feel closest to you I assume this is what it’s like a gentle moving on from the convulsions a caress of infinity that sets us free.
12.
Would you like to come home? Weeks passed, months, years passed, the sea level rose and the foundation of sand and rocks started to give in. Every room of the house began to shut down in loud shrieking noises and small spasms an orchestra of mourning and lament that nobody could hear because the sea, too, had turned into storm, in it the rhythm of death was even louder, a black fog had covered the shore and the waves, the moon saw this and crawled into its shell, and the beetles that guarded the shores disintegrated into fine green dust in one fearful movement. In this dark abode one could not see much the stars, millions of miles away hid in the crevices of the sky. A vision of you standing in front of a vision of me but it was two others entirely two who after a long journey cannot reach one another we turned around, each in their realm, and asked simultaneously: Would you like to come home? And in front of our eyes, no home to return to and behind us only sunken ships and coral.
13.
Praise be unto you Peace shall arrive like the sun emerging from the clouds, as the wind recites the numerous forms which your heart was pleased to take so as to keep you here. You, who settled within the limitations of a living being imprisoning your mind with daily made-up duties You, who rambled upon these streets inebriated with despair and chaos but chose to keep on walking giving yourself to countless trembling bodies night after night You who cherished the hidden caves under the parks and made them temples of adoration to anyone who felt like playing deity, and didn’t mind the emptiness of the aftermath. You, who in earthly hours dug with your fingers opening every portal in your flesh and once you found an opening wide enough stretched your hand and pulled out an unmentionable solution Praise be unto you. You who drank every omen and danced every feeling and fucked every melody and searched through every orifice and dwelled in every horizon until there was no more hope to be retrieved from your marrow. You who stood with your arms raised in enlightened intention one last time after having arranged all the pieces of a puzzle others would stare at endlessly to explain your reasoning. Around you three apes typical of the spirits of dawn and on your right the sunset and no goddess to your left You who didn’t feel the urge to stick around for the apocalypse and simply picked up your strength and disappeared Praise be unto you. I kneel before your memory shimmering rainbows appearing amidst the clouds I release you from our contract of mutual torment / and yes, love too I release what is there for me to release You, whose untamed heart now roams freely across a vaulted sky where we cannot reach you Praise be unto you.

about

A book of the dead written in cut-up technique, channeling the rituals of release and the traditions honoring death and transition of Latin America, as well as the Bardos of the Tibetan Book of the Dead and ancient Egyptian funerary practices and concepts of death and afterlife.

Would you like to come home? is a book in English and German, written by Elizabeth Torres and translated by Klaudia Ruschowski, with a preface by Oliver Harris, which is published simultaneously by Moloko Print in 2021 along with this album...

and it is this offering, a voyage of healing, transmutation and release, to welcome a new reality. Written, composed and produced by Madam Neverstop in collaboration with Brandon Davis, Marie Mark Andersen and Jevgeniy Turovskiy during the lockdown of 2021, in Copenhagen, Catalunya and Berlin.

Mixed and mastered under a full moon at STC studios in Copenhagen by Dr.Hansen.
Released by Moloko Plus Records in Germany.

www.molokoplusrecords.de
www.madamneverstop.com

Special thanks to Koda Kultur for the support of this project.

credits

released June 9, 2021

Written, composed and produced by Madam Neverstop in collaboration with Brandon Davis, Marie Mark Andersen and Jevgeniy Turovskiy during the lockdown of 2021, in Copenhagen, Catalunya and Berlin.

Mixed and mastered under a full moon at STC studios in Copenhagen by Dr.Hansen

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Madam Neverstop Denmark

Madam Neverstop is a multimedia artist and worldthreader.

Her work intertwines poetry, visuals and soundscapes, language and performance, combining visions and concepts across various art forms and media.

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