On the Many Deaths of Amanda Palmer (8 page)

Whichever interpretation is settled upon, this story's tone and interpretation of Amanda tells a story in itself, and as such its very existence suggests much about the nature and breadth of the Palmeresque as it is currently evolving. And that is why I have chosen it.

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One last point: the names on the gravestones were all those of artists that had in some way or other worked with Amanda. Initially this was taken as sign that the author was familiar with Amanda's recordings and stage show, however it was later found that they were all amongst the
Artists I Support
section of her My-Space page at the time of her death, and therefore could easily have been found by anyone doing the slightest research.

 

TEXT NUMBER THREE

A poem written upon the unexpected revelation that Amanda Palmer was in fact the Devil Incarnate

One day last week I saw Amanda Palmer

And yet six long months had passed since she had died

And though her visage bore the scars of all that time spent in the ground

Still I recognised Amanda in her eyes.

And I could tell she knew me too, for she was smiling

Or was it just the deathly grin of Fate?

And so I stood there, quite uncertain, and I pulled on my moustache

As she beckoned me to join her for something of a debate.

Well I wasn't going to turn down such an offer

For not often is one visited by the dead

So I made my way towards her, and I proffered her my hand

But she just laughed... “Don't you presume so much,” she said

“Oh I'm no longer that Amanda Palmer

I've come here to reveal the Truth to You

I am the very architect of all sorrows You endure

I think you know me as the Devil, how do you do?!

For often do I long to walk among you

To join your eager reverie of despair

And from time to time I cast myself in lowly human form

That I might walk your streets and breathe your soiled air

Oh yes, I've worn a hundred thousand faces

My names have been too many to recall

But this Amanda Palmer, she was much more fun than most

I must admit, she will indeed prove memorable

But let me get to what must be an urgent question

Why am I here? Why have I come to talk to you?

Well I've been watching you young man, seen how you question everything

And thought I might pop up and offer you a clue...

Don't get me wrong, for this is not a friendly gesture

Oh no, I shall never be a friend to any Man

But your eagerness to know will sow the seeds of your destruction

So I thought I'd pop up and offer you a helping hand

For I've seen you out there looking for an honest soul

In a lying world where everyone's a whore

Well here I am, Your one and only honest soul, on a visit from the Damned

Your servant, and oh-so much more.”

Well I was stumped and just a little bit bewildered

And though I tried, my tongue was tied, I couldn't speak

And Amanda just looked deep into my frightened little eyes, and she said

“You don't believe in me yet young man! But you will! Now if you please, follow me!”

And with a bitter claw she grabbed my arm and dragged me

Far far away from all my company and friends,

She said: “There's something I feel that I must show you, young man

A kind of tour of all my children and their sins

“For you know, there IS a God that reigns above you

Though he is unconcerned with all your petty little games

And just between you and me, off the record, naturally,

The Bible is His word, just as it claims

“But Your God Above has long since lost all interest

And St Peter sits beside a rusty gate

And as he awaits his Lord's return he blames his loneliness on You,

I know, I've been up there, and taught him how to Hate.

“And before He left, Your Lord came down below for a visit

Said he was moving on to see more interesting things

He said to me “You were always my favourite Son,

You made it fun,” and he smiled as he offered me his keys.

“Now at first I played the role with patient subtlety

Not realising quite why Your Lord had gone

But then I saw the seeds I'd sown, so very very long ago

Had taken root, and grown thick branches, and I realised I'd won.

“But let's go back, back to not long after the beginning

Let me show You how all these things have come to pass”

And with a gesture of her hand she banished every sign of Man

And I stood in a wilderness of trees and grass.

She said:

“This is how it was soon after the beginning

And to start with it was such a simple deal

All this above was His, all that below our feet, was mine

And You guys dancing on the boundary with Your new-fangled Free

Will.

“Well, I wasn't interested in You at all to start with

Frankly, I just didn't give a damn

I was busy in the core, smelting down my metal ores

To build foundations for the realm I call a home

“And He seemed to be quite happy with His playthings

As You pranced about picking berries and hunting boar

But then I heard You come a-scratching on the roof of my foundations–

You were pilfering my precious metal ores

“So that was the first curse that I sent You

For You never realised that these things were mine

And no matter what You made, be it elegant or fierce

It would follow my intentions in good time

“Every broach became a beacon for my Vices

Each arrowhead a channel for my will

Attracting Pride and Envy, Greed and Lust and Wrath

Oh, so effortlessly was Your future sealed

“And up there on His throne He saw it coming

And I think He quite enjoyed the little game

For I heard Him laughing smugly as He tinkered with His toys

Inventing something new to help You on Your way

“And so He gave You Beauty, and the artfulness to catch it

And to free it from a block of wood, or stone

And, to be fair, You caught on quickly, with Your pigments and designs

And I could feel You slipping further from my realm

“So I pondered and considered and constructed

Until slowly I devised the perfect trap:

An elaborate concoction called Religion, in a hundred

Different drafts, scattered right across the map

“And every draft had its own unlikely stories

And every story had its heroes and its damned

And in Your tongue, I called Him God, And I called myself The Devil

But that was flattery on both counts, You understand.

“He gave You Faith, but I gave You Delusion

He gave You Love, but it was I who gave You Lust

He gave You untold riches in the next life, or so he said

But I gave You gold, and in gold You can immediately trust

“He gave You Contentment, but I gave You Glory

He gave You Restraint, but I gave You Desire

He gave You the quiet satisfaction of being one with Yourself

But I gave You Adventure, Invention, Ambition and Fear

“He gave You Music to seduce You from my passions

I gave You Writing to contain Your wildest fancies –

He turned my writing into poetry, I turned his Music into Dance

And so We pulled and pushed across the weary centuries

“So He and I, like spiteful playmates, spiked the potion

With ever more exotic complications

Until the mixture grew too rich to drink, too thick to pour

And bubbled mischievously with explosive implications

“Then We retreated, and We watched, and We waited

We had agreed there would be no more interference

For the scene had been well set, and the game was now afoot

And We gambled on the outcome with great impatience

“And how We smiled to see You tending to Your talents

Distilling many powerful notions from the mire

For the rest was up to You, and Your brilliance shining through

Would leave us gasping both in Awe and in Despair

“For it never was a game of Good and Evil

You could never draw its lines in Black and White

There were never simple choices; but a thousand different voices

Each one calling “Follow me” into the night

“And many of You led, and still more of You followed

And the thing that You call Culture soon evolved

But with Culture came Division, with Division came Derision

And so the story of Your Becoming slowly unfolds:

“Every temple was built upon the blood of cousins

Each palace was stained with greed's betrayal

And Your cities' bold foundations crushed the graves of many nations

As You congratulated Yourselves with vainglorious tales

“For War it was that begat Civilisation,

And Civilisation it was that begat War

And the two danced hand in hand across the Millennia,

Spreading Beauty and Disaster – ever demanding more

“And then there came those incredible Artworks

Far beyond even Our greatest conceptions:

There was Music that blended the compassion of a fool

With an arrogant man's bold assertions

“There were paintings that flooded the senses

Miraculous visions, exquisitely drawn

Almost painful to behold, they were so keenly seen

So desperately driven into form

“And so We marvelled at Your spirit, and We marvelled at Your Soul

And Your capacity to see beyond the Real

And yet the more You were surrounded by the spoils of your crimes

The more their dark foundations were concealed

“Creation and Destruction, Beauty and Death

To name the one is to define the other

Justice and Insanity, Holiness and Vanity

The parade of Hypocrites goes on forever”

And here she paused, as if lost upon reflection

Of the most dramatic import of her words

And with a gesture of her wrist she beckoned in the mist

And I was swallowed in its billowing twists and turns

But then, suddenly I saw it was a thousand million ghosts

A seething mass of limbs all writhing and straining

As if a parody of carnival grotesques had gone berserk –

For She was showing me the Hypocrites parading

And so I watched as many centuries of denial drifted past

Until finally she spoke: “Please forgive my visual gimmickry

I know there is no need to impress you with such tricks

But I offer you these scenes in casual sincerity

“For Your curse, the curse of Man, is that You seek to understand

But the closer that You look the less You see

And whilst You're staring at a pin-head, searching out the Soul of Man

A whole world of unimagined answers passes by

“Oh it's all a matter of perspective, you understand

You cannot see what you're looking at without looking away

And these tormented Souls that drift, forever cursing their desires

Deny themselves a life, for fear of losing face

“These are not the spirits of the dead or damned

They are the everyday folk of your modern land

Alive, but not alight, they pass the time

“And then at night their dreams are filled

With every fear and taboo thrill

Before they wake, and once again they stand in line

“And then this quiet dissatisfaction

Slowly eats away inside them

Until they wake one day to find their heart is hollow

“And all that they can feel

Is resentment and betrayal

Though towards whom and by what they do not know

“And soon they are condemning