The New Rules To Abide By

by Project Lono

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A poem set to music, written during lockdown, from 'When We Wake We Think We're Whalers From Eden'

lyrics

The New Rules to Abide By

Now that all distances have vanished content yourself with nooks and crannies, where the wild hunt goes on for woodlice, spiders and silver fish.

Listen to the sounds of your own voice, hum a tune to test how the different rooms of your house change the timber and tone.

Distrust the news from the mainstream, twiddle your thumbs and shoo your ghosts out to roam the emptied streets.

They have been learning obscure languages to glean the truth from the horse’s mouth, from the puppet play of crows, the deeper secrets of stone.

When they return they will gather in the back bedroom to enact their pantomimes, you will need a torch or a candle at least to watch their shadow plays

And you will weep a little from the ache and longing for what you always assumed was real, the things you took for granted; things like places, comings and goings, meetings and encounters, the uninhibited touch of others.

Whenever you take the plunge to venture out your solitary footsteps insist on stretching before you then lagging behind, they’ll sweep one way then the other with the fluidity of tides.

Inmates will watch you with suspicion through their windows and the bolder sort may demand you justify what is essential.

Queuing is a new art form of occupying silences, observing proximities and scouring the gaps on the supermarket shelves.

Key Workers have become the envy of all, kings and queens of purpose, who still possess minutes, hours, even days of the week.

Everyone else marks the passage of time through the ritual washing of hands, holidaying in the kitchen then voyaging across the Great Laminate Plains in search of the remote control.

Patience is the new black and should be decorated as you would a Christmas Tree with fairy lights and baubles, place presents at its feet and worship it as your saviour.

Dismiss urban myths of warlords who live in fortresses of toilet rolls and who eat nothing but pasta, some of them supposedly have unicorns in their gardens adorned in the flags of old nation states.

Within your cocoon you must digest yourself into protein-rich soup, disintegrating all of your tissues except for the imaginal discs, those discs use the goo of your previous existence to fuel the rapid cell division required to undergo a radical transformation into a new physical form and a somewhat different personality after instances which would normally result in death.

credits

released May 5, 2021
Words written and read by Bob Beagrie
Music by SJ Forth

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Project Lono Middlesbrough, UK

Project Lono is a collaborative collective of musicians and poets experimenting with audio scapes that blend verse, storytelling, song, music and live and recorded sound effects.

The Shrouded Republic has been created by Bob Beagrie, Sara Dennis, Kev Howard, Peter Lagan, John Dunleavy and SJ Forth.

Band picture by Kev Howard. ... more

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