It does, it pains - yet - and yet - in spite of all the punishment of mind and body and all the rest, yes in spite of it all, you know, ah have to smile, yes ah do, why sometimes ah can't help smiling in the face of it all. / What is the process by which God arrives at a decision to, say, take all the water from place A and dump it on place B? Ah'm asking you.
It was as if she was consulting the silence to find me.
And the Ass Saw the Angel is more of a painting than anything else. Visually demanding, arousing your fantasy and sharping your vision only to blur it again, making you twitch and itch and take a closer look and scrutinize every single stroke of the brush (or every single word), for every single one is fascinating on its own, and then you step back again, doing your best to see the whole picture build up in front of your eyes and in your mind. But no matter what you do, you're never quite sure what's actually going on. And yet you're strangely drawn to it, whatever it is. At some point you realize you're trying hard to figure out something you know you never really will, and what you realize next is that you're being taken through hell, and that you're painfully enjoying it.
I remember I read the translation about two years ago, not knowing much about Nick Cave, and I remember being fascinated. Fascinated by the fantasy it must've taken to write such a novel. Being wiser now, at least concerning the author and his diverse career, I think there is much more truth behind the whole thing than one would guess. Now I believe that most of the pain there was real at the time, of course fantasyfied by Nick's both horrifying and beautiful fantasy and set off to other dimensions, but real nonetheless. I can well imagine it's how he actually felt. I see this young puppy-face of his, frowning in concentration nights and days, in Berlin, not at all caring what's going on in the city or in the next room. And throughout the book I've seen Euchrid, his anti-hero, with this face too. And their hair of midnight black.
I remember I read the translation about two years ago, not knowing much about Nick Cave, and I remember being fascinated. Fascinated by the fantasy it must've taken to write such a novel. Being wiser now, at least concerning the author and his diverse career, I think there is much more truth behind the whole thing than one would guess. Now I believe that most of the pain there was real at the time, of course fantasyfied by Nick's both horrifying and beautiful fantasy and set off to other dimensions, but real nonetheless. I can well imagine it's how he actually felt. I see this young puppy-face of his, frowning in concentration nights and days, in Berlin, not at all caring what's going on in the city or in the next room. And throughout the book I've seen Euchrid, his anti-hero, with this face too. And their hair of midnight black.
I cannot judge if what I see in the novel now is actually there, but what me led to the conclusions I ended up with were his songs. And it works the other way round as well, for it was the book which later made me see more in the songs.
And then, in spite of it all, you know, I have to smile, yes I do, sometimes I can't help smiling in the face of it all.
--And then, in spite of it all, you know, I have to smile, yes I do, sometimes I can't help smiling in the face of it all.
In the shadow of moonlight
and out of sight the traces of those who never wanted to fight
go out in a daydream
or so they seem
Down by the water no fish can swim no bird can fly no fish can swim / and when did you learn you were dead?
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