1. |
Eternal Cycle
01:36
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In eternal cycle the wheels turn
the suns move
cells pulsate and multiply
information is transmitted
with errors that transform,
evolve, form islands of stable structures,
form islands that can self-replicate,
with errors that transform
to increase complexity,
magnitude,
beauty of crystal genius,
in endless line of growth and collapse,
reborn to burn,
as the suns move
as the wheels turn
in eternal cycle.
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2. |
Cycles I: The Great Flow
04:39
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3. |
Cycles II: Old & New
04:06
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4. |
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5. |
Cycles IV: Decay
03:34
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6. |
Cycles V: Nightrest
03:49
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7. |
Cycles VI: Connection
06:01
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8. |
Intrauterine
03:52
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Once upon a time this was heaven,
this was real, this was human
Once upon a time.
Once upon a time this was heaven.
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9. |
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The smoke of childhood lingers, it
weeps beneath arches of memory,
sugar-glass temples of deception,
window to that past of ever-sun.
White autumn strokes,
cries in a peopled mist.
Where now does the path lead?
Downwards, and soft ever-flowing.
We gaze behind,
upwards to those stone shadows which once we touched,
ever out of reach,
ever more distant.
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10. |
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Agh! Oh how I burn,
for that which will never be mine.
Shivering thin branch, me.
My forebearers weep.
Agh! Oh how I burn,
for the corridor is long and black.
Lined with closed doors,
a crisp light around their edge,
voices ever beyond.
My forebearers weep.
God! Where are you?!
There was no answer.
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11. |
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I drift in crowds.
I glimpse the dark echo of my face in a window.
It looks old.
I am old.
How did this happen?
Cells fragment.
They hold aloft loved structures,
this dusty cathedral,
monument to our every experience.
This web of tiny animals,
our always-friends
who live and die for us,
yet never know us.
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12. |
Doorways
04:06
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This is everything I am,
and all I have done.
What is a life but a line upon which we are a travelling speck.
We draw these.
For all of my life I have strove to create.
Filled with music, visions, words, concepts,
ever battling to wrestle these monsters into a reality to share,
ever pressed for time, peace, money,
always a struggle, results always inferior to my ability,
and now I am old and poor and alone.
I look up, with tired eyes at my paintings, my music, my poems,
the wall of this once-childhood room.
My work looks back,
and I feel loved.
This is everything I am,
and all I have done.
I make a mark, and walk on to yet greater ground.
I have no other purpose.
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13. |
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14. |
Flight of the Phoenix
06:38
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Mark Sheeky Crewe, UK
Mark Sheeky is a surrealist artist from the North of England. His music began as synth, game influenced, music then experimental classical piano and art rock/art pop, and surrealist rock music.
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