Big Sleep
1996, 12:00
Voice, Tap Dancer and String Orchestra
Written for Esther Apituley
Lyrics
I was born through a circle;
circle on a blackboard.
Hands up.
Oh, bell’s ringing.
This is my room but I can’t sleep.
There’s a bracket to my right
and a bracket to my left.
Hands up.
Oh, who’s counting?
This is my room but I can’t sleep.
Can’t sleep, can’t sleep, can’t sleep.
All my lines, all my numbers.
I’m so connected but I can’t sleep.
This is a world of no change.
This is a world of ‘this-is-it.’
One swipe.
Oh, I’d be happy.
This is my vision but its never complete.
I am not some go-to.
No need to be jumping lines.
Two after one.
One after nothing.
It’s not a living but its living to me.
No need to be jumping lines.
No need to be computing no sines.
Two after one.
One after nothing.
This is my vision but I can’t sleep.
Can’t sleep, can’t sleep, can’t sleep.
All my lines, all my numbers.
This is my room but I can’t –.
I was born on a white wall;
grid in a big hall.
Laid out in a series
‘n counted out.
Counted out and counted in around SoHo.
so-so-so the story so far is left ajar;
we’re takin’ it out for a text spin
the door’s cracked, we’ll be back but now we’re station breaking,
jacked in for an inside out 360
turnin’, flippin’, rippin’, clippin’, churnin’, drippin’
from the doubled up downbeat tripping
don’t worry, we adjourn but return
to learn how it all turns out
we leave the storyline open to some imperative narrative gropin’
unzip my mind, unzip my brain
rationality’s loss is our personal gain
splitting, splicing, cutting, dicing
slicing up the tracking and tossing what’s lacking
packing firecracking syncopation
high-jacking oration and give the message to the tower
all systems are down ’cause we’re tapping the power
zapping channels not invented,
dogging trails not scented
if you’re lookin’ left and right tryin’ to sight any thread of a tale with a head, don’t forget what I said:
you take a ride, you turn it wide, you can get your fender dented
give up flagging down any sign
of rational-minded scripting
this ain’t no course in ‘hold-the-ketchup’ encrypting
this ain’t no wrap-it-up rappin’ designed solely to elicit clappin’
read between the words and your fingers start snappin’
we’re stretching out on the changes
tripping time, playing strange, out of range
flying blind to the dangers of
syllabic leaping and tossing and spinning and crossing up the rhyme,
stop on green and speed up at the stop sign
unzip my mind, unzip my brain
rationality’s loss is our personal gain
unlock your head, let your tongue unwind
sign away your common sense on the dotted line
No reason to think to straight ahead.
No reason at all.
Jumping to conclusions that logic can’t reach.
I was born on a white wall.
Well-lit or not lit at all.
Rather be a line among lines of lines.
Six thousand, two hundred and fifty-five lines.
Line after line after line after line after
line after line after line after line after
line after line after line after line after
line after line after line after line after line.
His process is mystic, mechanical.
Hard to pin him down
when a word is not a word.
x is a line, why is now out-of-mind.
I was born on a blackboard;
blackboard, it was full of sines.
A is to B,
five days a week.
This is a world of no change.
This is a world of ‘this-is-it.’
One swipe.
Oh, I’d be happy.
I am not some goto.
No need to be jumping lines.
Two after one.
One after nothing.
This is my vision.
This is my division.
All us lines-our days are numbered.
© 1996 voLsap Music, Amsterdam