Thursday, September 18, 2008

Kids these days...

Were I to show you the photos of a handful of kids, could you tell anything about them from their pictures? Let's try an experiment. What impression do you get of these kids?

What kind of people do you think they are?No, really. Think about it a minute. Look at them, consider them. What impression do you get?Nerds? Geeks? Preps? Jocks? Goths? Good kids? Bad kids? What do their faces say to you? Their poses? Their expressions?(Scroll down... Nota bene, if you've a particularly weak stomach, you might want to reconsider reading more.)
Do they say "murderers"? Do they shout "cannibals"?Do those faces tell you that four of those kids killed, butchered and ate the other four after bathing in their blood?Because that's what they've done.You're looking at four, of eight, "Satanic" murderers recently arrested in the Yaroslav region of Russia, and their four victims. Though "victim" is perhaps a misleading term in this context. Clearly they're victims in the technical sense, being murdered by the others, yet all evidence so far points to the four as would-be members of the cult formed by their eight assailants. But let's back up a bit, first.Specifically, let's go back to July 2006. Voronov (bottom row, rightmost column in the above)—going by a variety of names in their group, from "Raven" to "Hitler" to "Ethiopia"—confessed that they had been out walking and drinking in a cemetery at that time when Ogolobyak (second from left, bottom row) suggested they dig up a fresh grave. Chistyakov (not pictured) found a shovel and they began digging by turns until they reached the coffin, which they broke open and pulled out the corpse of a young girl. Ogolobyak cut open her chest with a knife and removed the heart, which the group later ate. He commanded Makovkin (second from left, top row; known as "Doctor Got") to dismember the body, which they later disposed of in the forest near the cemetery grounds. The body was later discovered by authorities, or at least the headless and limbless torso, minus heart and breasts; as the fresh grave had been restored, the body was not connected to it and remained an open, unidentified murder until the recent arrests.They seem to have repeated the act a year later. They became more frequently active on Walpurgis night this year, the eve of May 1st, when they gathered and crucified a cat in a wooded lot not far from Ogolobyak's home—or, rather, his parents' home.In June they began carrying out raids on local cemeteries, esp. the Leontevskoe, one of the oldest in a city itself a millennium or more in age. According to a representative of the churchyard, the attacks happened at least once a week—monuments destroyed, crosses ripped from the ground and broken, hundreds of them not even counting the mere wooden items, and bodies and graves desecrated.During this time they were also actively proselytizing. Baranov (not pictured; "Klyk") was appointed as "information gatherer" for the group—drawing their information from (where else?) the internet, with sources that leave no wonder their teachers gave the opinion that all had been of "below-average intelligence". One document, for instance, that they distributed, which was also found in the possession of one of the victims at her home (Pukhova, leftmost, bottom row), is called "101 Rules of being a Satanist" and can be read at its original home at http://nskpunk.ru/articles/33—if you read Russian. It is a ridiculously stupid and even immature document, which imagines "Satanism" is about buying/wearing "black jeans, black T-shirt and black Cossacks, with a goat-head pentagram on the shirt", about having "long black hair" (wear a wig until it grows out!, no, really, Rule 17, and by Rule 18, dye your hair if it's the wrong color, only black—like Satan!—will do; by Rule 19, blonde may be beautiful but it just isn't "bleak enough" to be Satanic; by Rule 21, you may not shave your head, only hair that is "long, black and greasy" will make you "look bleak and awful"), and many another stupid thing. Rule 23, for instance, explains that you have to have the pentagram on your shirt so that you won't "be confused with a fag"... No, I'm serious. That's what it says. "что бы тебя не путали с пидором, тебе нужна пентограмма." (You avoid the awful fate of being confused with, instead, a "biker", by the simple fact that you don't have a bike. Lovely reasoning, no?) Rules 24-28 are also "clever"... "24: The pentagram—this is just an inverted star in a circle, standing on it's neck. But you don't need to know this, just remember the word. 25. The pentagram is your mentor: it comes directly from Satan and sanctifies the blood of innocent virgins. 26. Or you can buy it in shops that sell souvenirs to the Pinks. 27. The pentagram, your most important weapon in the fight against enemies! 28. It can also be used to open beer bottles. (Еще ею можно открывать бутылки с пивом.)" Jumping: "44. The most advanced form of Satanist is the Satanic-magician. 45. In order to become one, it's necessary to read many books that you can find in the bookstore on the shelves for 'magic,' 'esoterica' and 'fantasy'. The best books are those of Papus, Crowley, Castaneda and Nick Perumov. You need to remember or write down all the strange and incomprehensible words you find in those books!" (Not actually learn anything, note, just be able to jabber words you don't understand; gibberish is good enough, right?) Because, remember Rule 48, the "Satanic-magician must constantly use as many of these words and expressions as he can remember in conversations, or no one will know he works. 49. He should choose at least one of the words, like 'voodoo' or 'tantra' or something, and say 'I practice ...', as this makes it sound like he does something. 50. But be sure you figure out what that word means first, so you don't say something stupid like 'I practice egregore', which won't work." I like 51, too, where you see that when two "Satanic-mages" are gathered together, they try to one-up one another as to who knows more of these sorts of terms and expressions, for knowing the words equates to the amount of "work" you can do. Points 52-54 finish out the grade of "Satanic-magician" by observing: "52. There are different techniques for success in this. For example, you could say that the subject is too complex to explain, or that doing so to the uninitiated might kill them, it's so grim and terrible. It's better to say this when talking to the uninitiated however, not to other Satanic-magicians, as they too know how to lie. 53. The most common way is to say that your knowledge came from a very rare book in a private collection. When choosing  a title, the more unintelligible the better, and ideally two hyphenated words, like 'Azag-tot' and adding the words 'black book'. It will come out dark and terrible: 'the Black Book of Azag-Tot'! It sounds powerful. 54. No! Not the 'Black Book of Arda'! That won't work. And never say that you're an elf, dwarf, vampire, asur, etc. It just won't work." Sage advice. The next class is the "Satanic-philosopher" who is basically the same as the preceding only he tries to remember the names of philosophers rather than barbarous names from fantasy and occult books he's shoplifted. But, as Rule 56 tells us, this is "easy, because they are funny names, like Plato or Shtirner". Rule 57 assures us of the necessity of decrying one or another of these authors from time to time in conversation by saying things like "x was, of course, a genius, but he was wrong!", for in that way "everyone will think you are smarter than x and respect you". That's all there is to it. But remember, "58. The most difficult Satanic philosopher is Nietzsche, and you definitely have to bring him up; otherwise people might think you haven't read Nietzsche, and that won't work at all!" But I'm not going to translate the whole damned thing; it gets worse, but this is already far afield of what I sat down to write about, so let's get back to our point, and take the above as illustrative of how these people think. And realize that while parts of that read almost like satire, they took it in dreadful earnest. This is the mentality.And this is the crop of that sowing.In June, four kids disappeared: Olga Pukhova (leftmost, bottom row), 16 y/o; Barbara Kuzmina (second from right, top row), 16 y/o; Andrei Sorokin (rightmost, top row), 16 y/o, b/f of Kuzmina; and Anna Gorokhova (second from left, bottom row), 17 y/o. A large scale search was carried out for two months, directed by the regional governor himself, Sergei Vahrukov.On August 12, the remains of four dismembered and disembowelled corpses were discovered on a vacant lot in Yaroslav, barely 250 meters from where Ogolobyak lived. They brought them out of the ground piece by piece: hands, head and feet—then the butchered torsos, with the hearts removed, the breasts and genitals cut off. Their heads had been scalped. Dyed-red hair littered the ground above the mass grave. Nearby were the remains of the still hanging, maggot-riddled cat, as well as, a bit farther to another side, a dog's corpse with slit throat, and another, odd, cross, with a scythe propped alongside.Later the same day four suspects were taken into custody, and within a week, four more, seven boys and a girl, from 17 to 19. The slaughter transpired over the course of two nights, apparently on or near the summer solstice in latter June. They were called to Ogolobyak's house in pairs, under the pretense of initiation, drank till intoxication and then were lured out into the wooded path where they were killed by being stabbed each a full 666 times, while Baranov read a prayer, and his girlfriend, Xenia Kuznetsova (leftmost, top row; "Kara") was baptized in the font of blood spewing fresh from the victims. The murders were apparently to effect her initiation.After death, the corpses were mutilated, and a bonfire kindled at a nearby tree over which were cooked, and later eaten, various parts of the slain's anatomy.The evidence and confessions seem overwhelming, yet at least one of the investigators is saying he does not feel these idiot kids pulled this off alone and believes the "mastermind" is still at large. His logic, however, is somewhat lacking. His basic argument seems to be that these kids can't be "true Satanists" because they didn't follow proper procedures and rules for sacrificial offerings and so forth—one wonders how this member of the mayor's office himself is aware of such technical issues of sacrificial offerings to Satan—declaring that they must be "illiterate, homebrew Satanists, not initiates" (неграмотными доморощенными сатанистами, а не инициированными). Far be it for me to question an "expert", but he seems to be missing the point: the kids' own confessions describe how they half-assed all this b.s. from things they found on the 'net; their teachers said they were idiots—their actions confirm it. Only this guy is imagining some larger, organized cult at large of which they're a part. He needs to actually read the stupidity of those 101 rules rather than just observing they were being passed around. Experts—harrumph! : /But he may have some reason to suspect others. Medical examiners note that the dismembered bodies are meticulously butchered, with skill as if experienced or professional at it—something not expected of idiots like those arrested. And It is not, alas, the first time something like this has happened in Yaroslav. In the mid-90s, when these current accused were far too young to have had a hand in it, two people discovered the body of a 12 y/o boy on a shop roof in the market district. The next day they were sitting near the same site, discussing the incident of the day before, when they witnessed a young girl fall to the same place from an upper rooftop. When the roof was examined, implements and etchings of ritualistic nature adorned the surface. No one was ever arrested for the deaths.Makovkin was extracted—literally dragged—from a local mental hospital at his arrest, where he had committed himself days after the murders. Doctors had allowed him to stay for observation, but had noted they believed his condition simulated. He informed the investigators as they took him into custody, "Сатана поможет ему уйти от ответственности. Я ведь принес ему много жертв." ("Satan will help me avoid culpability: I've brought him many sacrifices.") Another of the assailants, when asked why he'd done this, said "пытался обратиться к Богу, но это не принесло ему денег. Я помолился Сатане, и дела улучшились." ("I tried to turn to God, but that didn't give me any money. So I prayed to Satan, and things got better.") It was not made clear in the article, but one might assume the latter remark to have come from the leader, Ogolobyak, who is a former choirboy from the Petropavlovski cathedral.The expected backlash of this will be the targetting of the goth. culture: already a topic of discussion this year in Russian law, the sets the groundwork for implementing the proposed banning of all such things from stores, schools and most any public, and possibly private, place.Hopefully it doesn't spread into an all out ban on people dressed in black with long black hair—or there goes my plan to visit Russia!Seriously, though: WTF is wrong with these people?

Sources:NewsRU.com: Sep 16, 2008 18:46.KP: part I, Sep 9, 2008, and part II, Sep 10, 2008.Listening to: Retribution Gospel Choir, s/t album, track 9, "Kids"... "Those damn kids, don't they understand you can't do shit like that?"

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

WSB

Apparently it is Burroughs' Day. This morning I was reading and came across Timothy Leary writing about a fictional "William Seward Burroughs Memorial High School"; now logging on here this evening, I see this lovely image:

WSB

with an equally lovely sentiment, and one all too suitable to the day. Sad to think the old chap's been gone nearly eleven years now. In memory, enjoy some "Words of Advice for Young People":

Now, some of you may encounter the Devil's Bargain, if you get that far. Any old soul is worth saving, at least to a priest, but not every soul is worth buying. So, you can take the offer as a compliment.

Saturday, June 7, 2008

The Crave

Realizing it's been a while since I've posted anything here, and longer yet since I posted any music—the primary attraction of this blog, certainly—I thought I ought to rectify that. But I haven't been writing, or releasing, much lately—only so many hours in a day! (isn't that the saying?)—which presents a slight problem for the idea of posting new music.

One of the benefits of being barking mad, however, is that one's never lacking for sources of inspiration! Contemplating this very problem, for instance, I happened to look down and see the side of the box that housed the tiny travesty of a meal I'd just had, and observed what, I suppose, is their current marketing slogan, in the way of a question: "Have we satisfied The Crave? 1-800-THE-CRAVE". "mon Dieu! Absolutely not!" was my initial reaction—no, seriously, the French and all (it happens)—but then I had a thought (yes, unbelievably, that happens too [stop laughing!—no, really, John, stop laughing]) and realized maybe they had after all... though hardly with the victuals.

Rather, "The Crave" is one of the best known (and one of my personal favorite) piano works by ragtime / jazz pioneer Ferdinand Joseph Lamothe, better known as "Jelly Roll" Morton (1890-1941). I will include a recording of the man himself playing it below for comparison.

But what does that have to do with my dilemma? (Thanks for asking.) I decided to see if I could make a convincing string quintet out of "The Crave". I'll let you folks decide whether I was successful in the endeavor—but if I wasn't, it's no worry, as I still learned something: to wit, how surprisingly annoying it is to try to notate Jelly Roll's rhythmic phrasing in midi! This frustration is reflected in the string arrangement being a little less than half the length of the piano recording included here. It is still faithful to his composition, only I've worked from a more pared down version of the song than the one he's playing below (that version is the one recorded by Alan Lomax in 1938, and comes from disc 6 of Jelly Roll Morton, The Complete Library of Congress Recordings (Amazon: CD or MP3), track 12 [out of 128 total for the set]; in it, he plays a more elaborate version of the piece, with variations).

Enjoy!—and feel free to dance if that tango spirit gets to you. (That's a first I think—I'm pretty sure I could never before be accused of writing dance music.)

Monday, March 10, 2008

"Reality television in 1757"

Quoted from Alex Ross:

"Chuse a day on which to represent the most sublime and affecting tragedy we have; appoint the most favourite actors; spare no cost upon the scenes and decorations; unite the greatest efforts of poetry, painting and music; and when you have collected your audience, just at the moment when their minds are erect with expectation, let it be reported that a state criminal of high rank is on the point of being executed in the adjoining square; in a moment the emptiness of the theatre would demonstrate the comparative weakness of the imitative arts, and proclaim the triumph of the real sympathy."

—Edmund Burke, A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful, cap. XV, "On the Effects of Tragedy".

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Oration on the "Dignity" of Man—no, not that one

Inspired by an old post of the Laudator temporis acti which I ran across today, I thought I'd take a moment to share a bit of hope and cheerful optimism from the ancient world concerning the role and state of man.

Palladas, ever a charmer, left a bit of verse that's come down to us in the Greek Anthology (X, 45), known generally as "The Descent of Man". Frustrated by the vain puffings of fellow humans of his own time on the topic of the majesty of man, he sought to recall to mind a few details so often forgotten by them, or seemingly so:

Ἄν μνήμην, ἄνθρωπε, λάβῃς ὁ πατήρ σε τί ποιῶν
    ἔσπειρεν, παύσῃ τῆς μεγαοφροσύνης.
ἀλλ᾽ ὁ Πλάτων σοὶ τῦφον ὀνειρώσσων ἐνέφυσεν,
    ἀθάνατόν σε λέγων καὶ φυτὸν οὐράνιον.
ἐκ πηλοῦ γέγονας· τί φρονεῖς μέγα; τοῦτο μὲν οὕτως
    εἶπ’ ἄν τις, κοσμῶν πλάσματι σεμνοτέρῳ.
εἰ δὲ λόγον ζητεῖς τὸν ἀληθινόν, ἐξ ἀκολάστου
    λαγνείας γέγονας καὶ μιαρᾶς ῥανίδος.

 

If you would recall, o man,
just how your father sowed you,
you'd bridle your vain pride.

Yet the dreamer Plato's deception
has taken root in you,
calling you immortal,
a heavenly plant.

“You come from dirt;
how are you proud?”
So one might ask,
arranging the figure more pompously.

But if you seek the truth,
you were begotten
of unbridled lust
and an unclean drop.

But he was hardly the first to say or think it. A couple of centuries or so before him, Aurelius (Τὰ εἰς ἑαυτόν, βιβλίον δʹ, μηʹ, δʹ; c. 174/180) quipped “ἀεὶ τὰ ἀνθρώπινα ὡς ἐφήμερα καὶ εὐτελῆ καὶ ἐχθὲς μὲν μυξάριον, αὔριον δὲ τάριχος ἢ τέφρα.” ("Human (lives) are always cheap and ephemeral: yesterday, a little ejaculate; tomorrow, embalming or ashes.") In roughly the same time period, a passage of similar nature appeared in the Mishnah tractate, Pirké Avot,

Akavya ben Mahalal'el used to say, “Reflect on three things and you will escape the hand of sin.” (1) Know where you came from; (2) know where you are going; and (3) know in whose presence you will have to make an accounting.

Where do you come from? An unclean drop.

Where are you going? To dust, worms and maggots.

To whom shall you make a reckoning? To the King of the King of Kings, the Holy One, Blessed be He." (Pirké Avot, 3:1)

 

עקביא בן מהללאל אומר, “הסתכל בשלשה דברים ואין אתה בא לידי עברה.” (א) דע מאין באת, (ב) ולאן אתה הולך, (ג) ולפני מי אתה עתיד לתן דין וחשבון.

מאין באת? מטפה סרוחה

ולאן אתה הולך? למקום עפר רמה ותולעה

ולפני מי אתה עתיד לתן דין וחשבון? לפני מלך מלכי המלכים הקדוש ברוך הוא

(פרקי אבות, ג׃א)


Okay, fine; so maybe they weren't so cheerful after all.

Saturday, October 20, 2007

Zogis

I have often heard of, and indeed seen, many—examples of "fundamentalist" types taking elements of their belief or practice rather too literally, but I must say this is the first time I've seen yoginah being quite so overly literal:

Zogis
शवआसन—śavāsana, the "corpse" posture (Photo: Tyler Hicks/The New York Times)


It's "Zombie Yoga"; more images and examples of which may be found on Flickr under that tag.

My only question: Is this intended for the health conscious or spiritually-minded zombie—or just an example of kitschy marketers ("The event was sponsored by Skyhorse Publishing to promote The Zen of Zombie: Better Living Through the Undead")? Perhaps someone misunderstood "viral marketing"?

Monday, October 1, 2007

The Gloom that Came to (va)sárnap*—the study of a song

(*: With apologies to HPL. Vasárnap is the Hungarian for "Sunday".)

Yesterday, on a whim, I decided to have my player create a playlist of all the tracks I had containing the word "Sunday" in their title. Two discoveries emerged from this: 1) it doesn't make for the most "uplifting" of playlists; 2) I have many more versions of "Gloomy Sunday" than I realized. For the curious, the playlist:



Mark Lanegan, "Ugly Sunday"

Heather Nova, "Gloomy Sunday"

Johnny Cash, "Sunday Morning Coming Down"

Sarah McLachlan, "Gloomy Sunday" (live)

Broken Poets, "One Sunday"

Serge Gainsbourg, "Gloomy Sunday"

Colin Meloy, "Every Day is like Sunday" (Morrissey cover)

Lydia Lunch, "Gloomy Sunday"

Nick Cave, "Sunday's Slave"

Diamanda Galás, "Gloomy Sunday"

Juliana Hatfield, "Some Rainy Sunday"

Sinéad O'Connor, "Gloomy Sunday"

Mark Lanegan, "Little Bit of Rain"

Vlado Kreslin, "Gloomy Sunday"

Nick Cave, "Ain't gonna Rain Anymore"

Paul Whiteman, "Gloomy Sunday"

Tom Waits, "A Little Rain"

Kronos Quartet, "Gloomy Sunday"

Bess Rogers, "Sunday"

Björk, "Gloomy Sunday"

Morphine, "Sundayafternoonweightlessness"

Billie Holiday, "Gloomy Sunday"

Steven Stapleton and David Tibet, "Mothering Sunday (Legion Legion)"


[Yes, the observant among you will have noticed three tracks have been slipped in which don't include Sunday in the title. I had more "Gloomy Sunday" tracks than I had of the others, and not wanting to stack them together one after the other, I pulled a couple of other tracks out to pad out the list; though, trying to remain thematic, the additional tracks' theme spins off from the rain motif of the Hatfield track.]

Listening to that put me on a course contemplating the song and its (unfortunate) history. The original lyrics, you may notice, have nothing to do with Sunday, written instead as "Vége a világnak" ("The world has ended") by Rezsô Seress following a devastating breakup with his partner. They were originally as follows:

Osz van és peregnek a sárgult levelek
Meghalt a földön az emberi szeretet
Bánatos könnyekkel zokog az öszi szél
Szívem már új tavaszt nem vár és nem remél
Hiába sírok és hiába szenvedek
Szívtelen rosszak és kapzsik az emberek...

Meghalt a szeretet!

Vége a világnak, vége a reménynek
Városok pusztulnak, srapnelek zenélnek
Emberek vérétol piros a tarka rét
Halottak fekszenek az úton szerteszét
Még egyszer elmondom csendben az imámat:
Uram, az emberek gyarlók és hibáznak...

Vége a világnak!

— Seress, 1933.

It's Fall and fall the yellowed leaves
as love leaves earth, all dead.
As wailing, weep the Autumn winds,
my heart expects no Spring again.
But to no avail my misery,
and my tears go all in vain,
as people are heartless,
greedy and fucked...

Love has died!

The world is finished, ended all expectation
as cities are crushed and shrapnel sings,
red-speckling the meadows with human blood.
The dead in abundance litter the streets
yet in silence I will offer this humble prayer:
    "Lord, people are weak, they make mistakes..."

The world has ended!

(me, 07/09/30; corrections welcomed)

The couple would later reunite, though only briefly before she committed suicide, leaving behind a two word note: "Szomorú Vasárnap", "Gloomy Sunday". (Though that's the popularized title, "szomorú" can represent a broad range of meanings in English, from a simpler melancholy to despair and hopelessness.) A friend of Seress', the poet László Jávor, went on to write a verse under that title which matched the rhythm and music of the first, and it is his text which has formed the basis of most English versions of the song. Originally:

Szomorú vasárnap száz fehér virággal
Vártalak kedvesem templomi imával
Álmokat kergeto vasárnap délelott
Bánatom hintaja nélküled visszajött
Azóta szomorú mindig a vasárnap
Könny csak az italom kenyerem a bánat...

Szomorú vasárnap

Utolsó vasárnap kedvesem gyere el
Pap is lesz, koporsó, ravatal, gyászlepel
Akkor is virág vár, virág és—koporsó
Virágos fák alatt utam az utolsó
Nyitva lesz szemem hogy még egyszer lássalak
Ne félj a szememtol holtan is áldalak...

Utolsó vasárnap

—Jávor

On a dismal Sunday, with what white flowers
I waited, my dear, praying for you,
chasing my dreams. That Sunday morning
my sorrows and coach returned without you.
And every Sunday since is sadness—
with but tears to drink and feeding on heartache.

Dreadful Sunday.

This final Sunday, my darling, come away;
the cleric will come with coffin, bier and winding-sheet.
There will be flowers for you then, flowers—and a coffin.
    "Under flowering trees, I leave the last time.
    My eyes will open for one last little look—
    Don't fear them, even in death I am blessing you...

    that last Sunday."

(me, 07/10/01; as above, feel free to correct)

Typically, in the English editions these lyrics were modified to be more "positive"/"happy ending"-ish (the origin of pop music, according to Diamanda Galás), thus the "third" verse that will be familiar to most who know the song, the passage that reinterprets—and thus renders innocuous—the whole song as if it had been but a dream.

Sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless
Dearest, the shadows I live with are numberless
Little white flowers will never awaken you
Not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you
Angels have no thought of ever returning you
Would they be angry if I thought of joining you?

Gloomy Sunday

Gloomy is Sunday, with shadows I spend it all
My heart and I have decided to end it all
Soon there'll be candles and prayers that are sad I know
Let them not weep let them know that I'm glad to go
Death is no dream for in death I'm caressing you
With the last breath of my soul I'll be blessing you

Gloomy Sunday

    Dreaming, I was only dreaming
    I wake and I find you asleep in the deep of my heart, here
    Darling, I hope that my dream never haunted you
    My heart is telling you how much I wanted you

    Gloomy Sunday

In the several versions that appear in the above playlist, all but two use that text (though Lunch rightfully omits the fraudulent third verse). The English exception being (naturally) Diamanda Galás who chose to perform the more uncommon (though more faithful) translation of Desmond Carter:

Sadly one Sunday, I waited and waited
with flowers in my arms, for the grief I'd created.
I waited 'til dreams, like my heart, were all broken,
the flowers were all dead and the words were unspoken.
The grief that I knew was beyond all consoling,
the beat of my heart was a bell that was tolling...

saddest of Sundays.

Then came the Sunday when you came to find me—
they brought me to church and I left you behind me.
My eyes would not see one I wanted to love me...
    "The earth and the flowers are forever above me—
    the bell tolled for me and the wind whispered, 'Never!'
    but you I have loved and I'll bless you forever...

    last of all Sundays."

The other exception is Serge Gainsbourg, who performed the Marèze / Gonda French translation of Jávor's text, which is also thankfully* free of the English "happy ending", though Gainsbourg does sing the second verse twice to match the three verse structure. [*: No, of course I don't mean "thanfully" in that it has an unhappy ending, only thankfully in that it tries to be faithful to the source, instead of interpolating a verse that entirely changes the meaning and nature of the work.]

Sombre Dimanche, les bras tout chargés de fleurs
Je suis entré dans notre chambre le coeur las
Car je savais déjà que tu ne viendrais pas
Et j'ai chanté des mots d'amour et de douleur
Je suis resté tout seul et j'ai pleuré tout bas
En écoutant hurler la plainte des frimas

Sombre Dimanche

Je mourrai un dimanche où j'aurai trop souffert
Alors tu reviendras, mais je serai parti
Des cierges brûleront comme un ardent espoir
Et pour toi, sans effort, mes yeux seront ouverts
N'aie pas peur, mon amour, s'ils ne peuvent te voir
Ils te diront que je t'aimais plus que ma vie

Sombre Dimanche

Though she varies her lyrics slightly here from those used in the recording on my playlist, I was still delighted to find that someone's uploaded a video of Diamanda performing the piece:

As for Seress, he would go on to commit suicide by hurling himself from a window of his apartment on January 11, 1968; he was 68.