THE NARRATOR
HELL NOTES
I love THE NARRATOR’s work so I was excited to read this! HELL NOTES is inspired by ‘the woes and wobbles’ of Dante’s Divine Comedy. Similar to the Divine Comedy it seems to be split into three sections, ‘eating the head’, ‘the untitled purpose’ and ‘circle of surrender’.
The book is accompanied by a song called Everything Man. The lyrics spill through the pages opening up its dimensions.
The notes are a short storybook that wanders through somewhere, maybe? The places of the mind can be infinite.
Is it fantasy, is it reality? Is it a spirit, one that runs through us all? A question, an answer. Confusion, disarray.
I’m just a human condition with conditions
Bad luck that won’t leave you alone. Sitting at the gates of hell, not even able to be let in. According to Dante, the dispassionate ones are condemned to linger eternally at its gate. How obvious could the craving of your own oppression be?
Visceral when you can be the surroundings but still be yourself. Absence, presence. Absence or presence. The flesh of what, when desire is your own deceit.
If it was easy, if it was clear. Terrain that wakes to authentic attachment. Glowing and flickering in dimness. Swarms resonant with one’s breath: my breath.
Sullen and dismantled, fallen down and crumbled. Truth is how you show truth. Against reinvention and for becoming more and more the self. Votive angel gatekeeper’s actions at the gate.
Where are you going? The day’s about to end…
The book is accompanied by a song called Everything Man. The lyrics spill through the pages opening up its dimensions.
The notes are a short storybook that wanders through somewhere, maybe? The places of the mind can be infinite.
Is it fantasy, is it reality? Is it a spirit, one that runs through us all? A question, an answer. Confusion, disarray.
I’m just a human condition with conditions
My rules look like yours
But I want a little more
Bad luck that won’t leave you alone. Sitting at the gates of hell, not even able to be let in. According to Dante, the dispassionate ones are condemned to linger eternally at its gate. How obvious could the craving of your own oppression be?
Visceral when you can be the surroundings but still be yourself. Absence, presence. Absence or presence. The flesh of what, when desire is your own deceit.
If it was easy, if it was clear. Terrain that wakes to authentic attachment. Glowing and flickering in dimness. Swarms resonant with one’s breath: my breath.
Sullen and dismantled, fallen down and crumbled. Truth is how you show truth. Against reinvention and for becoming more and more the self. Votive angel gatekeeper’s actions at the gate.
Where are you going? The day’s about to end…
