The opening track of GHOST_CODE by Rembrandt Keller.

Veni Sancte Spiritus,
et emitte caelitus
lucis tuae radium.

[Come, Holy Ghost,
send forth this heavenly
radiance of your light]

I sing myself...
Can anybody hear me?
My song's already there.
My body is a music.
My song's already there.

My blood!
My tongue!
My poem!
My soul!
My data!
My God!

The politician wonders where I am.
Here history goes,
And I'm the absent man.
Here history goes,
And I'm the keeper of the ghost code.

The statistician wonders where I am.
Here history goes,
And I'm the absent man.
Here history goes,

And I'm

The
Apparition.


[Sampled: "Veni Sancte Spiritus," the golden sequence of Pentecost, sung by the Benedictine monks of Santo Domingo de Silos.]

GHOST_CODE

0001.Invocation(TheAbsentMan)

The seventh track from GHOST_CODE.


Hang me in your hanging tree and bury me underground.
If your rope is long enough, I'll hardly make a sound.
Hang me in your hanging tree so all the world can see.
I'll grow into a hanging tree
So Someone New can hang onto me.

How do you carry all that doubt?
If you close your eyes, does the sun go out?
But you can't smooth the waves of the sea.
Just hang me in your hanging tree
So Someone New can hang onto me.

This rope can bind, this rope can choke.
This rope can knot, this rope can yoke.
But I am not bound by my head and my feet.
So hang me in your hanging tree
So Someone New can hang onto me.

When I leave my body, please lower it slow.
Dig it a hole and bury it low.
My arms will be roots and my hairs will be seeds.
I'll grow into a hanging tree
So Someone New can hang onto me.

I was born in sweet delight,
And I'll be born once more tonight.
But birth requires death, my dear.
So will you hold my heaven near,
And wear my life like diamonds on your heart?

0111.HangMeInYourHangingTree

The second track from GHOST_CODE.

What's the forecast, Reverend Gates?
Are you predicting hail,
Temperatures that boil the mud,
Or rain that salts the snails?

O Death! Where's thy sting?
Strange that a harp with a thousand strings
Would keep in tune so long --

How's the railroad, Reverend Gates,
Tied by Milky's Way?
The endless ride to endless sky --
An infinite Sunday --

O Death! Where's thy sting?
Strange that a harp with a thousand strings
Would keep in tune so long --

I hear your sermon, Reverend Gates,
In hurricanes and fire --
In spiderspun electric storms --
In nighttime's shrouded choir.

O Death! Where's thy sting?
Strange that a harp with a thousand strings
Would keep in tune so long --

O Death! Where's thy sting?
O Dea --

0010.What'sTheForecastReverendGates?

I didn't run away,
I migrated like a Dark Age invasion.

What time will I leave tomorrow?

I'll paint my room
And leave it for you
To sleep inside the sour fumes.
My masterpiece --
I can't look.

What time will I leave tomorrow?

I wrote my song by hand,
but mercy,
mercy,
mercy,
I wrote the damn thing in the sand.
Does anyone remember?

What time will I leave tomorrow?

I
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0011.WillILeave

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OHIJLMNQUVWXZKRYPTOSABCDEFGHIJL
PIJLMNQUVWXZKRYPTOSABCDEFGHIJLM
QJLMNQUVWXZKRYPTOSABCDEFGHIJLMN
RLMNQUVWXZKRYPTOSABCDEFGHIJLMNQ
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UQUVWXZKRYPTOSABCDEFGHIJLMNQUVW
VUVWXZKRYPTOSABCDEFGHIJLMNQUVWX
WVWXZKRYPTOSABCDEFGHIJLMNQUVWXZ
XWXZKRYPTOSABCDEFGHIJLMNQUVWXZK
YXZKRYPTOSABCDEFGHIJLMNQUVWXZKR
ZZKRYPTOSABCDEFGHIJLMNQUVWXZKRY
 ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZABCD

{background lyrics taken from the (currently) unsolved fourth quadrant of Jim Sanborn's "Kryptos"(1990) sculpture in copper, water, wood (petrified and non), plants, granite, and quartz, located outside of CIA Headquarters, Langley, VA}

This is not a drill --
Sirens in the street.

This is deja vu.
This is a dispatch from you.

They cracked your cipher.
They built your clone.
They wrote your language.
They got your codes.

They found your password.
They got your codes.
They solved your riddle.
They're in your bones.
    They're in your bones.
        They're in your bones.
             They're in your bones.
                  T dsda id89a83i2 fe8ahj0000000.

{Sampled: "Shop in Store" by Oval from 1995's 94diskont.}

0100.Kryptos

O no, we've gone too far --
O no, we've evolved --

Place me in Your strange embrace,
Your holy hallways, Your furnished rooms --
The endless dead are in my dreams.
They're haunting me. I haunt them too.

Place me in Your strange embrace,
Your plainest canvas, Your radiant Son.
The endless dead are in my mind,
Inviting me -- but I'm not done.

Deliver me from this electric world.
Remember me when all the lights are out.
Deliver me from all my crooked ways.
Remember me. . .

For J is the sacred number --
For O is a hymn unsung --
For Y is a race of strangers --
For C is in disguise --
For A is a choir of roses --
For T is a glorious rhyme --
For C is a wrinkled body --
For H is a limitless kiss --
For E is every secret --
For R is anonymous --

For I am Your hidden word.
For I am a knitted man.
For I am a million prayers.
For I am all at once.

0101.JOYCATCHER

I met a cowboy on the edge of Casper, WY o WY o WY o WY
I asked him where his shadow was.
He said he lost it in the war.

When all there was was breaking news,
He said to wear the world loose.

I said: How do you get by in America?
He said: Get lucky, work hard, trade your heart for the trends, love your friends.

I said: How do you make love in America?
He said: Very carefully. Like dynamite. Like down.

When all there was was breaking news,
He said to wear the world loose.

I said: How do you write a song about America?
He said: Don't.

I said: How do you get right in America?
He said: Go to the Badlands, throw a penny off a cliff, and hold your breath till it sinks.

When all there was was breaking news,
He said to wear the world loose.

I said: Is there a God in America?
He said: Why o Why o Why o Why o Why o Why o Why. . .

. . . oming.

0110.Casper

Drums across the sky --
I never saw the snare.
Flags in the window,
I couldn't find the General anywhere.
Cause I was learnin to read.

At home in the trees,
It was all a dream.
       That's to say:
                  It was real, just far away.

Terror in the city,
Angels on the news.
They wheeled in the TV.
I had gravel in my shoe.
Cause I was learnin to write.

"Baby don't you cry.
It's gonna be OK."
       That's to say:
                It was bad, just far away.

Bombs in the desert,
Bombs on the Fourth of July.
The parade goes in circles.
I got sick from the candy I tried.
Cause I was learnin to sing.

What else could I bring?
I knelt down to pray.
      That's to say:
             It's a shame, just far away.

Drums keep rolling on and on and on and on and

1000.TerrorInTheCity

I'm going back to Allegheny --
That's my home, baby.

Buried my gold on Rim Rock Mountain --
Don't need it where we're going, baby.

Old Elijah guards the river --
He'll never move, baby.

Kinzua waters wash the graveyard --
Ghosts, they swim, baby.

I'm pulling into Conewango Junction --
That's my home, baby.

I went down to the river to pray --
Washed my clothes, baby.
Got baptized.

My walking shoes ain't got no sole left --
You can't kill me, baby.
You can't kill me.

1001.Allegheny

The small town that nursed me has sold all their milk,
Sold all their sunsets for bullets and pills,
Preparing themselves
For nuclear disease
For industrial death
For watching TV.

The small town that found me in a basket they wove
Has burned all their wicker for something to smoke.
They're gathered in circles,
Displaying their wounds.
A party of martyrs
Committed to doom.

The small town that made me, I made it all up --
Practiced some memories of streetlights and rust,
Rehearsed me a fable
Of peasants and kings,
So my personal myth
Was simpler to sing.

Fancied or true, I miss the marquees,
The family trees,
The short spelling bees,
The doormat keys,
Garage sale debris,

                   The land of the free . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Rembrandt Keller

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