1. |
63
04:14
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Based on Roz Kaveney's translation of Catullus 63, available for purchase from good bookshops.
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2. |
Deis Sanguinus
04:32
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Flesh parts to sharpened stone.
Manhood falls unwanted to the ground.
The Temple piles with withered flesh.
Unheeded. Unwanted. Male trash to discard.
We drink from a river of maddening water.
We are crazed, we are crazed, we are crazed.
Our hair in the dirt and blood on our thighs,
We dance to the bull hide,
We dance in her name.
Mother, you freed us from living that lie.
Mother, you changed us and made us divine.
Soft skinned and unmanned and known to receive
All manner of tribute from those who would see
Your glory, your madness, the mountains you rule
We’ll fuck like your leopards and scream at the fool
Who cums in our asses, drips seed to the floor
The bare rock will shatter, the flowers no more
The semen will wither by the light of the moon
And the drums
And the drums
Goddess, we carried you through the streets in her name
Crying for Attis lying dead in the glade
We danced for the strangers, took coin for your fame
Now we’re begging you goddess let Attis be
Remade
Remade
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3. |
Attis at Rest
04:02
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Blood dries on cool skin
Wounds heal in evening chill
Flesh burns in sacred fire
Attis, unmanned, lies in wait
Uncorrupted in the glade too late
To take a husband’s vow at mortal demand
Now she rests unseeing at Cybele’s command
The pine bough spattered with the sacred blood
Of the soft skinned men who know we should
Be something different, something holy,
Something pressed to service of the
Goddess who will let us be
The women that we need to be
I’ll gladly give my worthless balls
To be reborn and sanctified in blood
Sap quickens
Blood flows
Flesh withers
In rites untold
Attis’ rest will reach its end
Attis’ flesh will rise again
And she will succour us
She will usher us
Below the ground,
Into the darkness
Waiting for a rush of crimson
To wash us clean
And make us whole
And let us be reborn in Attis’ love
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4. |
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Violence,
As soft as a mother’s hand.
Spectacle,
For lovers and the damned.
Our sisters lead us down below,
Their gentle touch encouraging caress.
Rebirth for us alone.
A bloody rite to let us come back home.
Copper stench of sacrifice,
Fresh shit stink of terror.
The bull lows in fear.
The knife shines in darkness.
Fresh wounds call out for our sisters’ succour.
A love that passes by the knowledge of all others.
The moment draws near,
A throat slit in sacrifice.
A stillness in the dark.
A moment pure and holy.
And flow.
The puckered asshole stench
As the copper burns into our eyes.
Blood slick skin and nervous sweat
Of newfound desire.
We scream as we cum.
Scream as we become.
Goddess fuck us whole.
Goddess fuck us holy.
We become, we are one,
As Attis we are whole.
Fuck me goddess.
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Without History Wales, UK
Without History is one trans girl, her bass guitars and her looper. Exploring trans history through neofolk and post punk inspired music these songs try to imagine the lives of our trans ancestors in all their messy queer detail.
Without History recommends:
Left/Folk and A Blaze Ansuz curated compilation in aid of Residential School survivors on which one of my forthcoming songs appears.
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