paroles de chanson Apocalypse - William S. Burroughs

APOCALYPSE!
Mariners sailing close to the shores of Tuscany heard a
Voice cry out from the hills, the trees, and the sky: "
The Great God Pan is dead!" Pan, God of Panic:
The sudden awareness that everything is alive and significant.
The date was December 25, 1 A.
But Pan lives on in the realm of the
Imagination, in writing, and painting, and music.
Look at Van Gogh's sunflowers,
Writhing with portentous life;
Listen to the Pipes of Pan in Joujouka.
Now Pan is neutralized,
Framed in museums, entombed in books, relegated to folklore.
But art is spilling out of its frames into subway graffiti.
Will it stop there?
Consider an apocalyptic statement: "
Nothing is true.
Everything is permitted,
" Hassan i Sabbah, the Old Man of the Mountain.
Not to be interpreted as an invitation to all manner of unrestrained
And destructive behavior;
That would be a minor episode, which would run its course.
Everything is permitted because nothing is true.
It is all make-believe, illusion, dream, art.
When art leaves the frame and the written word leaves the page--not
Merely the physical frame and page,
But the frames and pages of assigned categories--a basic
Disruption of reality itself occurs: the literal realization of art.
Success will write Apocalypse across the sky.
The artist aims for a miracle.
The painter wills his pictures to move off the canvas with a separate
Life, movement outside of the picture,
And one rent in the fabric is all it
Takes for pandemonium to sluice through.
Last act, the End, this is where we all came in.
The final Apocalypse is when every man sees what he
Sees, feels what he feels, and hears what he hears.
The creatures of all your dreams and nightmares are right
Here, right now, solid as they ever were or ever will be.
Electric vitality of careening subways
Faster faster faster stations flash by in a blur.
Pan God of Panic, whips screaming crowds,
As millions of faces look up at the torn sky.
OFF THE TRACK!
OFF THE TRACK!
The planet is pulling loose from its moorings, careening into space,
Spilling cities and mountains and seas into the Void,
Spinning faster and faster as days
And nights flash by like subway stations.
Iron penis chimneys ejaculate blue sparks in a reek of ozone.
Tunnels crunch down teeth of concrete
And steel, flattening cars like beer cans.
Graffiti eats through glass and steel like acid,
Races across the sky in tornados of flaming colors.
Cherry-pickers with satin brushes big as a door inch through
Wall Street, leaving a vast souvenir postcard of the Grand Canyon.
Water trucks slosh out paint.
Outlaw painters armed with paint
Pistols paint everything and everyone in reach.
Survival Artists, paint cans strapped to their backs,
Grenades at their belts, paint anything and anybody within range.
Skywriters dogfight, collide and explode in paint.
Telephone poles dance electric jigs in swirling, crackling wires.
Neon explosions and tornados flash through ruined cities.
Volcanoes spew molten colors as the earths
Crust buckles and splinters into jigsaw pieces.
Household appliances revolt!
Washing machines snatch clothes from the guests.
Bellowing Hoovers suck off makeup and wigs and false teeth.
Electric toothbrushes leap into screaming
Mouths, as clothes dryers turn gardens into dust bowls.
Garden tools whiz through lawn parties impaling the guests,
Who are hacked to fertilizer by industrious Japanese hatchets.
Loathsome, misshapen, bulbous plants spring from their bones,
Covering golf courses, swimming pools,
Country clubs, and tasteful dwellings.

At my back – faster and faster – I always hear hurry up!
Energy ground down into.
Please its time closing.
Sidewalks and streets by billions of feet and tires
Erupt from manholes and tunnels break out with volcanic force.
Let it come down!
Careening subways faster and faster stations blur by.
Pan whips screaming crowds with flaming pipes.
Millions of faces look up at the torn sky.
OFF THE TRACK!
OFF THE TRACK!
The planet is pulling loose from its moorings,
Careening off into space spilling cities and
Mountains and seas into the Void faster and faster.
Skyscrapers scrape rents of blue and white paint from the sky.
The rivers swirl with color.
Nitrous ochres and reds eat through the bridges,
Falling into the rivers splashing colors
Across warehouses and piers and roads and buildings.
AMOK art floods inorganic molds, stirring passion of metal and glass,
Steel girders writhing in mineral lusts burst from their concrete
Covers, walls of glass melt and burn
With madness in a billion crazed eyes.
Bridges buck cars and trucks into the rivers.
The sidewalks run ahead faster and faster,
Energy ground down into sidewalks and streets by billions of feet and
Tires erupts from manholes and
Tunnels, breaks out with volcanic force.
LET IT COME DOWN!
Caught in New York beneath the animals of
The village, the Piper pulled down the sky!