The Bizarreness of Kate Bush

she’s a slinky weirdo and a half…

“Wuthering Heights”

here are the Wuthering Heights lyrics:

Out on the wiley, windy moors
Wed roll and fall in green.
You had a temper like my jealousy:
Too hot, too greedy.
How could you leave me,
When I needed to possess you?
I hated you. I loved you, too.

Bad dreams in the night.
They told me I was going to lose the fight,
Leave behind my wuthering, wuthering
Wuthering heights.

Heathcliff, its me–cathy.
Come home. Im so cold!
Let me in-a-your window.

Heathcliff, its me–cathy.
Come home. Im so cold!
Let me in-a-your window.

Ooh, it gets dark! it gets lonely,
On the other side from you.
I pine a lot. I find the lot
Falls through without you.
Im coming back, love.
Cruel heathcliff, my one dream,
My only master.

Too long I roam in the night.
Im coming back to his side, to put it right.
Im coming home to wuthering, wuthering,
Wuthering heights,

Heathcliff, its me–cathy.
Come home. Im so cold!
Let me in-a-your window.

Heathcliff, its me–cathy.
Come home. Im so cold!
Let me in-a-your window.

Ooh! let me have it.
Let me grab your soul away.
Ooh! let me have it.
Let me grab your soul away.
You know its me–cathy!

Heathcliff, its me–cathy.
Come home. Im so cold!
Let me in-a-your window.

And another unfortunate interpretive dance with “Babooshka”

What Dreams May Come…

To be or not to be, that is the question;
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to — ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life,
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th’oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th’unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch[1] and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

(Hamlet)

Múm “They Made Frogs Smoke Til They Exploded” Fatcat Records

by Ingibjörg Birgisdóttir insane insane insane

We are the music makers

“We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of the dream. Wandering by lone sea breakers, and sitting by desolate streams. World losers and world forsakers, for whom the pale moon gleams. Yet we are movers and the shakers of the world forever it seems.”
by Arthur William Edgar O’Shaughnessy

The Scritch-Scratch of Busy Little Hands

A strange little film about a young boy’s escape into his own world to survive Catholic School

An Adventure

Äijö (Värttinä)

A hypnotically frightening group of women singing about snakes.

FEELING GOOD- by Nina Simone

check out the graphics…

Day-Mare by The Dreamatist

Just had one of those awesome days that don’t come knocking every day. wrote a beatnik poem to celebrate.

“Day-mare”

and the light came in through the taxi cab window
and it was leaf shaped and steamy on the glass
and I was late as usual- asked for so many wrong directions
till a postman found me- and jumped in my cab-and knew my destination by heart
and the day-mare deepened in the lucid dream- there were stairs and dark passages

and then it was words
and faces illuminated by office lamps
and the sane sane sound of exchange
and the drip drip drone of the whirring fan
and the words “yes” and “for sure” and all those affirmative insubstantialities that mean…

and the train was full of odd smells and wet feet
and the handshake was embarrassed at its own familiarity
and my half digested tea stirred itself like witches brew inside
and Nina Simone crawls out of her grave dressed in velvet
and the saxophones made of bone play “I’m feeling Good”

and I’m feeling Good
and I’m feeling Good
and I’m feeling Good

Edgar Allen Poe

It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream.

THE TELL TALE HEART- by Edgar Allen Poe (1950’s animated short)

The Tell-Tale Heart is a wonderful animated short film of 1953 based on Edgar Allan Poe short-story. The story told by a mad man has a dark visual with a perfect work of narration by James Mason. It is a UPA Production and was the first cartoon to be X-rated (adults only) in Great Britain under the British Board of Film Censors classification system.

A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM- Edgar Allen Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

DEATH KITTY AND THE FAT MAN- Animation by Weebls-stuff.com

even the grim reaper has a soft side…

PABLO NERUDA- sonnet 81

And now you’re mine. Rest with your dream in my dream.
Love and pain and work should all sleep, now.
The night turns on its invisible wheels,
and you are pure beside me as a sleeping ember.

No one else, Love, will sleep in my dreams. You will go,
we will go together, over the waters of time.
No one else will travel through the shadows with me,
only you, evergreen, ever sun, ever moon.

Your hands have already opened their delicate fists
and let their soft drifting signs drop away;
your eyes closed like two gray wings, and I move

after, following the folding water you carry, that carries
me away. The night, the world, the wind spin out their destiny.
Without you, I am your dream, only that, and that is all.

BJORK talks about her dreams

Carlos Castaneda

“Dreaming is the vehicle that brings dreamers to this world,” the emissary said, “and everything sorcerers know about dreaming was taught to them by us. Our world is connected to yours by a door called dreams. We know how to go through that door, but men don’t. They have to learn it.”

ISOBEL- Bjork

Frida Kahlo

I never paint dreams or nightmares. I paint my own reality…

P.H. THEME (acid test) by le peuple de l’herbe

a trippy claymation video by the trip hop group…The People of the Herb

THE SUICIDE OF FRIDA KAHLO- by Trek Thunder Kelly

from link