Posts Tagged ‘Demon’

That’s a lot of work. I sortof miss doing the fun stuff, like designing the covers and labels I used to do, but that’s even more work. Here’s the list of the main compilations from DJ Lurk in chronological order.

  1. 1996 – DJ Lurk – Excursion on the Version (1 x 90 min cassette, mixed)
  2. 1997 – DJ Lurk – Volume 0 (1 x CD)
  3. 1998 – DJ Lurk – Volume 1 (1 x CD)
  4. 1999 – DJ Lurk – Volume 2 (1 x CD)
  5. 2000 – DJ Lurk – Volume 3 (2 x CD)
  6. 2001 – DJ Lurk – Volume 4 (2 x CD)
  7. 2002 – DJ Lurk – Volume 5 (2 x CD)
  8. 2003 – Deceptikons – ElektroBubbleGum (2 x CD, mixed)
  9. 2004 – Deceptikons – Obey (3 x CD)
  10. 2005 – Deceptikons – Destroy All Monsters (2 x CD)
  11. 2006 – Deceptikons – Universal: Past, Present, Future (3 x CD)
  12. 2007 – Deceptikons – Soundwave’s Old Sk0ol Hip Hop Mix (1 x MP3, mixed)
  13. 2008 – DJ Lurk – Angels + Demons (2 x CD)
  14. 2009 – DJ Lurk – UP and DOWN (2 x CD)
  15. 2010 – DJ Lurk – FESTIVUS: Grievances and Strength (2 x CD)

Doing some last minute audio cleanup on The Airing of Grievances and the Feats of Strength for release later this month. Anyone else out there still have old physical media? Big Love from DJ Lurk.

A Hole in the Futon

Posted: May 25, 1995 in Poetry
Tags: , ,

Demons stroke my face
There, there now – that’s not so bad
As I lay here, shaking
Pushing all the stuffed animals
Onto the bed, in a pile
To somehow try to compensate
For the lack of you on the futon,
Because you’re not here
You could be anywhere
But the demons are,
Those old familiar fears
That you always smell first.

The rain came down
Like cartoon anvils,
Spending itself on the cement
In an assault on the town.

The parachute-less troops
Gathered in the low-lying spots
And took over the streets
In order to regroup.

Rioting raindrops,
Seething and churning,
Swallowing curbs and sidewalks
And the floors of a few shops.

En masse, they moved
Like a swarm of fluid ants,
Chewing up the asphault,
Around, under, and through.

They occupied the intersection
Several steps from my domicile;
A congregation of soldiers
Moshing in misdirection.

The storm drain was debris overrun
By the midnight attack,
Mouth buried in what was handy,
Gagged by the silver-headed ones.

They celebrated down the gutters,
Their comrades swept down from the hills,
Retreating, they left for the ocean
Until their cries became gutters.

Discontent and garbled threats
Of heavy grey clouds yet to come,
Of their shock troops, the hail.
Big drops, little drops; they’re all wet.

Promises of thunder, their drummer boys
Their standards of lightning
And the wind-demons who bear them;
This I hear in the storm’s noise.

I stood in the lee of my apartment
Water draining from my hat and jacket
I watched the fury of the rain banshees
With a certain amount of excitement.

I love the rain and the wind; all weather
Which drives people inside to read books.
They boil kettles and build fires –
An opportunity to be together.

But I like to be outside in the dark
Of wildness and wetness and the glory
When the streets are reclaimed by the Mardi Gras rain
And the world’s turned into an amusement park.

Humbled in an Easy Chair

Posted: January 24, 1994 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Tonight the old feelings
come back;
the old feelings
of enemies — long ago
when humankind believed
and could see their mistakes
unclothed as Demons.
They crouch in tree foliage
and prowl like cats
or gargoyles on the roof;
they know they work through dreams
and they know we have forgotten
our humble beginnings
in the depth of an easy chair.

They come to crack skulls open
and to tinker with your subconscious,
safe in your self-imposed anesthesia
of TV dinners and microwaves,
of ottomen and furniture never used,
of blinders and bit and reins
grown familiar;
you’ve grown resigned.

a bottle of wine and a sunset,
a beach a place to sit;
this is what I’d like to do
with you to believe.
I believe you can summon dolphins
and that you’re a spirit, an angel.
I know of our fears of demons
and of blue bathroom windows,
ouiji boards and my piano playing.
I live to see you cry and argue
and almost break: then
there are my arms for comfort,
my tongue for talking and my ears
for listening and understanding.
I’ll catch you from harm
by falling against you at the same time;
we’ll teeter but we won’t topple.
all of the sunsets are painted on a canvas
big enough to share: the sky
– and I’d like to share it with you.

It was a time of Dragon’s fire;
Twas then the souls of Kings were born
From darkness, fear of Demon’s ire
There rose a hope for those forlorn.
The simple men whose lives were led
With doors barred shut and fires high:
Those women who did fear to tread
After the dark had seized the sky:
These common folk, no sorc’rous king
Did bring the Magic to the World,
But not in Swords or Magic Rings,
But in the form of boys and girls,
Who, taught the strength of father’s might,
And told the lore of mother’s art,
Grew tall and strong against the night,
Grew wise and bold and good of heart.
This plaque which no one sees the same,
Is said to be a craft of Elves
To whom the tricks of Magic came
With ease; it is one of their spells.
Yet others call it Dwarvish make,
Their skill with metal’s not unknown,
But who had such the time to take
And sink this plaque in fireplace stone?
It took not Dwarf or Elf to cheer
The Hearth, the heart of every room,
It is the men and women here
Who saved us all from Demon’s doom.

Hoka Hey

Posted: November 5, 1991 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

A candle
Burns
With a certain virtue:
Demon, saint
Hesitate;
Damnation speaks
I am
Revealed in
Flickering shadow
Heaven
Slender shining
Tear streaked
Patience beast
Dancing
To the sense
Of smell
Sing praise
To the arch
To the pedestal
Nod the fire
Dream the sleep
Of kings.