Global Greenhouse ~ Modal Logic

Stretched out into widescreen.

Original 2007 video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FGmhe352kME
Details by Tom Byrne:

An initial video from a play-with-music 'The Last Days of the Secular State' by Tom Byrne - composed by James Hodkinson & Tom Byrne - played by Modal Logic. Video by Splairgin' Glit.


Behold, the new transparency
Provided by technology!
A digital democracy,
Where we can all prevail!
But voyeuristic tendencies
Grow from such opportunities
As vapours cloud the clarity,
The heat goes off the scale!

Our cyber-dream, once visualized,
Now virtually is fertilised
Takes root and buds and starts to rise,
Is this what we desired?
In this strange new humidity
Lost is all humility
With nature's plan for you and me
Mutating on the vine.

Our hothouse dream
Spawned to set us free,
But glazed the walls
and glazed our eyes,
We can no longer see!
Our global schemes,
Bursting at the seems
Webbed our fingers,
Webbed our minds
No space, no air, no dreams
No space, no air, no dreams.

The fruit we've sewn will propagate,
Initiate, intoxicate,
We grasp for more, now it's too late
We too have taken root.
Now what with us will come to pass:
Though we are pressed up to the glass,
Transfigured faces to the last,
So joyfully contained,
So willingly restrained.




Our porous minds coagulate
No empire, tribe or nation-state
Has managed to anticipate
This monolithic Man.
A Global Greenhouse -- souls are bound
And memes both silly and profound
Build cultures on this fertile ground
Controlling all they can.

Our hothouse dream
Spawned to set us free,
But glazed the walls
and glazed our eyes,
We can no longer see!
Our global schemes,
Bursting at the seems
Webbed our fingers,
webbed our minds
No space, no air, no dreams
No space, no air, no dreams.

The meme filled minds communicate
The memes mutate and resonate
Religious movements propagate
With stultifying speed
The Greenhouse warms the planet mind
And archetypes, no more confined
By reason's ice, by science's grind,
To tales and dreams - are freed.

Our hothouse dream
Spawned to set us free,
But glazed the walls
and glazed our eyes,
We can no longer see!
Our global schemes,
Bursting at the seems
Webbed our fingers,
webbed our minds
No space, no air, no dreams
No space, no air, no dreams.

Category:

Music

Tags:

• tombyrne
• prog
• progrock
• rock