1. |
Power's Out
03:27
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The city quivers from its own power
Luminescent to blinding—does it benefit to acknowledge?
Untapped and glowing—will it cease to grow if it remains unseen?
Just absorbing in your silence, you will see and comprehend the pulsating globe of light emanating from here
And if you touch it, what will it become? More, more, more
And if you grab it, it will manifest more, more, more
Electric, enormous, peel open your chest
Currents connect in the openness of collective resilience
And for the briefest millisecond we can more than feel this shared strength
With a quiver, the realization sputters
With a nod, we move on, fizzling
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2. |
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The train is picking me up.
Your toes disappear into the ashen walk.
You sat there, hands pressing, you sat there.
Ripe antiquity scents the air.
The wings are descending on us to lift while our legs become one with ground.
Scream silent, we’re ripping, scream silent.
Her breath entangles us.
Shedding of skin, we all have beast hearts.
Mistresses of disguise cloaked in the night
Until stillness ensues smoke like fog backlit by the palest pink.
It is a place to melt into the earth. It is a place of exhaustion. It is a place of sorrow. It is one of my many homes.
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3. |
This is Old
05:46
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This is old. We are old.
The repetition of digging out veins used to cause spurting blood.
And now, even veins are tired.
Blood has dried. The cracked remnants, the bed that used to cradle the waters as they rushed, as they rushed and fed, as they rushed and fed and drank.
This is old. This is old in its dryness, in its disuse, in its overuse.
Hugging knees into chest, wrapping arms around, hugging into ourselves like hugging a long lost-and-found friend
We must comply. We must surrender. We must comply. We must surrender. We must comply. We must surrender.
This is old. This is old in its teasing, in its taking, in its blooming, in its dying.
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4. |
Beneath the Aged Tree
07:51
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We will teach you. We will assume the roles of mages. You will teach us.
Curiosity and hunger—catalysts for foolishness.
We have pierced our own eyes. We have smeared this blood into ears.
Yet screamed “Listen to us! We are here!” We are here.
Notice our shape beneath the aged tree. Notice our sound amidst the buzz of silence.
Notice until you are capable of embracing.
Advanced, so advanced, until the black earth expands and swallows us in a gulp so delicate you might miss it.
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5. |
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I’ve drunk of your spell. I’m drunk off your smell. Shadows play. We breathe fire.
Turn, twist, turn, feet sunken into fossiled earth.
Penetrate the mother bones.
Tail between legs, a bowed head, I praise when I raise my molten skin
Tail between legs, a bowed head, I praise when I raise my molten skin: Look, look what I’ve done!
I’ve drunk of your spell. I’m drunk off your smell. Shadows play. We breathe fire.
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6. |
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Mud-caked and crawling, fire whizzing by
Collapse is avoidable but collapse is welcome.
Resting in openness
Protection comes with loss, so I won’t protect.
I will tear off this skin.
Magick to save or to maim.
If you threaten to eat my guts, I will fold into a ball and roll away.
Disappearance into the deepest sea
Escapism—an excuse
Escapism—a specialty
Magick to preserve or to spoil.
Programmed on the left bank, programmed on the right bank
When the currents in between beckon and absorb
Sell me! By selling myself and shutting my lips, I am, I am!
I am protecting. I am enabling.
Sell me. Sell me! I am protecting. I am enabling.
I am your destruction. I am your destruction. Conjuring! Conjuring!
In order to give or end life.
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7. |
Start Running
06:24
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Harboring an acute sense of the damage radiating from our bones.
It’s just a scratch they’ve miracled away, the festering stench beneath the skin.
But you can feel the heat that never turns into an itch.
You can feel the disintegrating core — the hardness never comes.
It only ripens, softens, rots, then implodes.
The fear they’ve given to you like it’s a gift —
Attempts to contain end in the charred remnants of a box that never could hold something so powerful
It crawls and cocoons you, then extends into everywhere.
Consuming, angering, grieving.
This beautiful cloak of gray nonexistence swaddles those who never needed swaddling.
So you can lay them where they belong, close their eyes in the darkest corner of another world.
Let it steer you with your invisible majestic antlers pointed at your prey.
Pathetic and needy, let it pulse through your veins!
I will eat it! I will suckle it from your arteries! Until it builds and hardens, sealing the exit!
This can only end in consumption, anger, and grief. You will be the destruction of birth.
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Silver Godling New Orleans, Louisiana
Silver Godling is the project of Emily McWilliams. All photos on this page by Teddie Taylor - teddietaylor.com - and Craig Mulcahy - craigmulcahy.net.
FOR FULL DISCOGRAPHY, please visit emilymcwilliams.net
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