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Coil – Musick To Play In The Dark, Volume 2

Label: Chalice Format: CD,2LP

Coil - Musick To Play In The Dark, Volume 21. As I reclined in my sketchy little world and allowed the gasses to go to my head, I became overpowered with the notion that I was being carried away. Silly flashes of Communion-like images of alien beings lifting me and placing me against soft chrome and spraying my skin black metallic and an underlying fear that maybe, just maybe this could all mean harm. Deliciously un-bothered, past that first tiny stab, I relented and realized that my ideas of invasion and possession are only valid at the movies, or at least where the victim might be unwilling to participate. Still I knew that I was away and gone from my world into another. There was comfort and there was fear, and there were three hosts standing mildly by to negotiate.

2. The three figures, one tall and one small and one in fine white velvet circled and swayed and commanded many panels of lights and glows and sounds. As they did not appear to me to have overly large foreheads or bulging glassy eyes, I lay quiet and patient. All around me machines whirred into actions and there was some discussion which did not concern me at all. I must be dreaming I must be dreaming I must be dreaming. Hooded, in white which reflected the special black sonics and carried the only real light there was, my three hosts moved all about, busy and intent and the power that emanated was sonically transfered to my awareness via great rumbling booms of thunder that I could not be all that sure of. What divine privilege it is to be so free from fear and free from expectation and to relinquish myself to a curiosity such as I had not known for over thirty years. Their voices I didn’t attempt to translate, their message I cared little to hear. Everything clearly did not revolve around me, and that was just fine.

3-4. The three figures, one tall and one small and one everchanging, had convinced me. A Japanese nightporter came to my side and offered a chalice to my lips, a mask for my face. I drank and then I breathed. I slept at once, now barely aware of them, not threatened, marginally curious still, utterly calm. The chemistry began and bubbled all around me. These sounds were pleasant and I rested with confidence that it would all be for my ultimate good to stay still. My hosts, without moving, without requiring movement of me, my hosts took me down to some serene place to have a look at things I would otherwise be frightened of. A little re-living, if you will, of times better forgotten. Allowed to look on like this, with the beats of my heart eclipsing the last beats of his, of theirs, of mine again. I could not look into the eyes of the dead this bravely, but for the churning gurgling of my hosts’ million sound vials which gave me a constant reminder of being monitored. They let me look, remember, relive, and then we moved on. They let me be washed in this amazing glow of dark illumination and took their readings. What if you send someone to Hell in such comfort that they cannot be touched? Your Hell or mine?

5. The three figures, one tall and one small and one never constant, were presently joined by one in simple pink shadow. An absolute Glenda, an undeniable prescience of femme endura. She became his voice, and put my hands in his and tied up the pink ribbons around our wrists, while loosening the noose from around his neck. His words in her voice gathered up every tear I have ever lost and bathed me in some sort of forgiveness though if it was mine or his, I have still to learn. My hosts were giving me a gift, this I clearly understood, and was grateful for. Illusions perhaps, illusions indeed, but they were letting me see what could be. What was possible. What was necessary to stave off the madness that does pull and tear at me in real life.

6. My hosts, one tall, one small and two with spiral tendencies, looked on and recorded data as it came and when it was needed. I was largely disregarded for all physicality. It was as if they could have carried out this measure without me even being there. They left me in a state that I only needed to know of their existence, needed to hear their noises through my shut eyes. I was entranced, my heart was slowed sufficiently. They let him talk me right into a sort of dreaming as if I was asking him the questions that he would have to ask me if I were to know the answers he might end up telling me after I had asked him long ago “… just to please explain. Just tell me one thing…” The pinkness soothed away the nip of anxiety I was not even aware of. I could feel the hosts repair the tiny mistakes. I could feel them put right some of the wrongs. Dressings on my wounds which would never heal, but nevertheless, felt better now. That I participate in this I came to realize, was only a sideline. They had their own search. The thing they sought was far more than me.

7 . My hosts, one tall, one small, and one who shimmered in memories dismissed the nightporter and turned their backs on me, the vials, the dials, the instruments of information. Are they finished with me now? And would they expel me back to the world they plucked me from, would it be a different world? The machines are coming back in louder now. And the verdicts and the judgements. Whatever they have extracted from me, and whatever they have given me back, I would make this exchange again and again and again. Feathery support all about me, like being lifted on the wings of doves, I know they have what they wished, at least what they had expected. I know I am not harmed. Safe, changed, safe. My hosts, one tall and one small, and one now in white have given me a memory of childish hands holding a mason jar full of captured lightening bugs which will give still enough illumination to lead me home. They have given me back my guards. There are three guards at my gates, past, present, future. They take up pillows to place me on, my bandaged and mummified version of me. My hosts sing me a lullaby, but I may be done with sleeping. I perceive it is not really a song for me and I smile. I am not the center, I am not the only one, and I am not alone. Angel wings spiral me down to my guards, my three precious gates. The laments are not for me, though looking through my sadness, my hosts have glimpsed just one more proof of the sadness of this world.. They have paid me dearly. We will all pay more. I flutter home…

Time Machines; I rather think that it is the CD they played us while proving ultimately that it’s all really none of our business, or it is just business or whatever. No matter, it is all better than the best drugs, and we are incredibly fortunate to share this span of time with these beings called Coil.

-Lilly Novak-

For more information on Coil visit Brainwashed.

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