Cronus (with Steve Godin)

by Panopticon Eyelids

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Regarding a collaborative work by Panopticon Eyelids and Steve Godin

"Before there was Casa Del Popolo there was a spot called Artishow, run by a loose cannon whose exuberance for the whole thing was only matched by his ineptitude. Coldest gig ever, in the history of gigs was a Phÿcus show played on the coldest day in February, dude having had his heat cut off by Hydro-Québec, who rarely pull the plug on anyone that time of year. I remember seeing Steve Godin play there, a rousing set of treated homemade percussion. He was opening for a bunch of dude's doing pub-rock arrangements of Bach tunes. I shit you not. There is no deeper zone than Montreal.

That Godin's Electrik Night's Volume 2 is the best "deep zone" release of 2003 is incontestable. It sounds like the 2nd Loud Toilet cassette minus the moan vox. Godin even collaborated with Zoviet France. But, besides his musical and visual arts work (he co-designed with Chris and Cosey their cassette and CD cover of Allotropy) Godin has been active in Montreal's Spoken Word scene. I'll admit to not knowing much about this particular facet of Montreal's arts world but trust me when I say the Godin's work in it surely out-weirds Fortner Anderson or Kyle Kelough!

Panopticon Eyelids, best Alien Altars tribute act you'll ever see, no strangers to weird them own selves, have produced a fine body of work running multiple gamuts and shearing a mind lobe or two. That this is the closest they'll come to making a "fourth-world" record is by no means insignificant. Minus Jon Hassell of course and thank god for that. If you find David Toop to be interesting than I suggest not really checking into Panopticon Eyelids. If you like "fourth-world" records this is the best one. I tried to convince Mr. Evans, Salut Frenchie! CEO, to just straight slap the EG Records logo on this release to trick people like you: Weirdo's that like David Toop and buy "fourth-world" records with tracks titled "Eating the Kids".

Our old pal Cronus, Godin's tragic protagonist, whose sorry tale is recounted here in detail, needs Panopticon's warp to get him through, it seems. It's as if the Eyelids are goading him on. Sébastien Fournier's intro guitar solo, sounding like a rough-shod Carlos Santana outtake from Abraxas, sets the tone early here, with Morel feeling out the scene on polyrthymic coffee-tin-on-homemade-xylophone accompaniment in an antinomious key native to the secret race of mine-pygmies of Noranda, and before long we're Eating the Kids and having castrated battles so fierce it comes through the stereo system and induces a most timerous listening experience. This is also the scariest "Fourth world" record ever.

If poor Cronus were alive today, fittingly, his infanticidal acts would be caught on closed-circuit tv and reflected infinitely through the media-scape. In fact, Montreal'd be a good place for him. This record would then simply be the soundtrack to the Journal de Montreal's coverage of Cronus, having reduced their off-season hockey section down to 13 pages from 15, who, in a fit of the highest caliber photo-journalism would have splashed across their pages Cronus dining with les Hells, shooting the shit with members of les tricoleurs at Club 360, bumping lines of coke off the valley twixt the tits of Spring herself at Guy Laliberté's Formula One party and perhaps most shockingly, late day strolling with Karla Homolka, near her home. ("KARLA EN PROMENADE AVEC CRONUS") Karla being, of course, the trope of repressed Ontario-girl-dome, Cronus being a mere Titan, from that pre-psychological time, when repression didn't exist and eating one's kids, even if that Kid is bloody Zeus,who would go on to lord over the gods, is simply just a matter of survival.

With David Toop, Eno, Nat Hentoff and Ian Pennman all refusing to write liners for this release, I am stuck with the task of assessing and conveying this remarkably weird work. So, here it goes.... It is best understood as such: vengeance is a sick, ugly and vicious circle and the moral of the story is that when castrating your dad, either physically or psychologically, remember to discard the member properly cuz you just never know what demonic race of gigantors his semen will have wrought and how the blowback will effect you down the line!

Postscript: Cronus is not to be mistaken for Chronos, the Greek God of time, who, whilst baked many a sunny afternoon, we've all been known to regard with a cocked and red eye and simply said, "fuck you!""

Alexander Moskos
The Journal of Total Antinomy
June 6th 2007


released June 22, 2007

A concept record in collaboration with Steve Godin, spoken word artist, intrument builder and electronix wizard.
Salut Frenchie!/Carved In Lava Records #1.
Limited editiion of 200 CDR in a gatefold style cover with a 16 page booklet including the text, collages and liner notes.
Recorded and Mixed by Sébastien Fournier.
Cover artwork by Billy Mavreas.
Booklet collages by Félix Morel.

Steve Godin - Vocal Narration, Poem, Synthesizer and Electronics
Sébastien Fournier - Guitars, Voice and Electronics
Eric Gingras - Bass and Synthesiser
Michel Meunier - Guitars, Voice and Electronics
Félix Morel - Drums and Tonal Objects



all rights reserved


Panopticon Eyelids Montréal, Québec

Panopticon Eyelids is a Sci-Fi Prog Punk band formed in 2002.

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Track Name: Prelude

From the annals
of ancient time,
this story has been sung,
It is said here again,
may it not be forgotten.

This is about
the strength of a God.
who was Son like Father,
who became androgynous,
a cloaked Angel,
without feathers.

bards will sing,
a sad song for the
Lord of the Eternal Night.

By its word might,
may arrogant men,
become humbled,
for them, here too,
is the strength
of a goddess’s tongue.

young ears to this lore,
and maybe, just maybe,
there will be
fewer victims of war.
If the moral remains,
it will free my chains
from gravity,
before mankind’s
last thought,
is removed from vision.

This oratory reveals
a mysterious mindset.
A legend,
that remains in symbols.
A role,
that will shift personalities,
in order to explain
my cursed duty.

In the eye
of whoever
awaits death in fear,
I am the Grim Reaper.
But that’s a phoney identity,
from lack of comprehension

I am Not!
a Spectre of Gore...

Yet, I am wrapped in myth,
I hang as no constellation.
I remain on earth,
with a sympathetic reason,
I wander.

The stage direction,
in this working,
is earth and Saturn,
psychological behaviour.
Track Name: The Early Days

It was Gaia, my mother,
who put me on the task
of castrating my father
and God, Uranus,
who is now without rule,
in the sky, where he
remains as a master

When my father
reigned as King,
He was not always set
with the hatred,
that eventually
set his fate.

In fact,
he was an optimistic
kind of guy.
He hung over us,
Giving us a sense
of protection.
Satisfaction to him was,
that everything is fine,
in his dominion.

Mom thought
he was promising,
like a clear blue sky.
Always in awe
of his craftsmanship,
on how he made
the starry night sky.

She thought him
to be humorous,
when some nights,
he would play with his
skin some more,
with streaks of light.

In the days
of their youth,
there was
plenty of wilderness
and no population
on the earth.

Mom ripened into a maiden,
and Dad came down
to the horizon
and touched the edges
of mom’s skin, very softly.

Her caves became moist,
The fire in father loins,
became a bio- chemistry
that swelled his sex
He mounted Gaia
and fertilized her,
with an electrical surge.

Gaia trembled from his thunder.
In Gaia’s belly, we ripened,
and were born,
as Cyclops and Titans.
How I got my name,
was mom’s doing.

She was tending to a black bird
with a messed up beak.
The obsession
was a focus during the
onslaught of labour pains,
and made me an easy delivery.
The pet name
that she had given me,
was Crow Nose.

But mortal tongue,
as etymology will show
gets a little crazy,
with cultural growth
from the root,
my name is known as Cronus.

As whom I unveil
my identity.

Mom treated us
all as equals.
Dad, thought
about the Cyclops,
a little less than
us Titans, because,
we could look up
to him, whereas,
the Cyclops, it seems
were always looking down,
at the ground,
for the other eye.

Now time
is an event I made,
from watching dad
slowly move his stars
across the night sky.
His art he said,
was to occupy space.
I thought it was
only a schematic plan.
that could be
a method of
explaining the distance
between then and now.

Dad looked at me
and said with a whisper
that rustled the trees,
“Don’t you get smart with me.”

So as time went by,
we got to know
our other Titan,
as brothers
and sisters,
together we roamed the land,
and frolic as lovers.
That’s when Rhea, my sister,
took my hand as my wife.

Mom was without a strife
about our pleasures,
she could now spend more time,
tending to the woodlands,
mountains and pastures.

Dad was on a routine,
day and night.
But then, something
was happening,
there seem to be more clouds,
during the daylight.

It was one night,
I started to think with a drink,
if Uranus was spilling his ink.

I was transfixed on a red star,
when Rhea came to my side,
with a frown, and spoke
to me about, our father’s
mental breakdown.

She was talking with mom.
Gaia said to her, how dad grew
to dislike the Cyclops.
I replied, with mortal introspection,
the thought was predictable,
Since they were all simpletons,
with only one eye,
and busy looking for the other one.
But, Dad should know,
what’s above so below,
It’s possible that God’s
have faulty semen.
Bah! a low mortal trait is repulsion.

But, Rhea said
it was a mood not right!
he talks to mom about us too.
How we stay up all night,
with our merriment,
then sleep half the day away,
without noticing him
carrying the sun.

In his eyes, we’re all
good for nothing’s.

Well I said, isn’t that what
the Golden Age is all about,
doing nothing but having fun!
Ah! What do you think
about that ?

I guess you’re right Rhea said.
With an agreeable smile,
she put my hand in her crotch.
She was wet as dew,
with a look I knew,
I got virile, gristle
with a purple head.

There was a truth
in Rhea’s words,
as the days and nights
we were all preoccupied,
with our adventures.
But, I noticed that,
Mom looked a little hurried,
and not at rest.
Again to Rhea she did confess;
your father is in a irritable mood...
I’m not having a good harvest
the days have been
cloudy ever since.....

And so it was,
and night time too.
there were no stars about.
and I had nothing to do.
Track Name: The World Turns Over

Then, the world turned over,
and the Golden Age was no more.
My fathers clouds,
rained with fury,
he stormed the earth demented,
it was the worst time to worry.
Mom skin was swelling,
and her cysts, burst into lakes,
We had our hands full,
saving animals and
mortals from drowning.

Once I had a moments rest,
Mom appearedin my dream,
she showed me a chest.
Inside like the phase
of the moon,
was a her harvest sickle.

She said the sickle,
was in the mines
of Mount Othry,
I know she said,
you like to do the job
with efficiency.
The hint was a little dirty,
but it would make
a God King of me.

My dream was broken,
by a deafening scream,
Beyond the valley,
I looked with horror,
at the western
mountain range,
Dad had rounded up
the Cyclops,
and the other Titans too,
and was forcing them back
into mothers womb.

If I may say here,
for future generations,
the truth of my story,
I was without a thought for glory,
When I ran like no tomorrow,
to the mines of Mount Othry.
it was how I loved my mom,
her suffering,made me crazy.
When I found the chest,
the lid was marked with an "h",
the stem had been
crossed, like a "T"
Inside the sickle lay,
on top of tablets made with clay,
In lay, of an Assyrian hymn,
invoking the current of Saturn.

I returned,
to my parents resting place,
and hid under the bed.
Mom was unconscious,
and dad stormed in,
quite deranged in the head.
He frisked himself stiff,
and was going to fuck mum again,
I sprang up
from under the bed,
and surprised him instead.

Within a blink of an eye,
the sickle slashed,
and on the floor his genitals lie.
As quick as a flash,
I grabbed my trophy,
and threw it into the sea.

My father was stunned,
and collapsed to his knees,
the end of his reign had come,
the clouds dispersed,
and out came the sun.
Track Name: Post Castration

The result of my deed,
opened mom’s womb,
and the Cyclops
and Titans were freed.
The blood from the genitals,
became the furies, giants
and the water elementals.
(I kept fire, thinking
I’ll need it later.)

When Uranus’s penis
landed in the sea,
the foam made another Goddess,
of which the mortals adopted,
as an idol for Love and Beauty.
My dad was cursed
with androgyny,
and remained
as the sky for eternity.

Mom remained lovingly tender,
with father, she started to heal,
when they slept together,
on the still horizon.
But I was now king,
and when everything
was content again,
I was spending evenings,
charting the stars.
One night, I found
the one, called Saturn.

Rhea was my perfect mate,
she copied
my astronomical notes,
and gave copies to the fates.
Amusing me,
they made another category,
from my charts
and called it astrology.

They danced
the celestial spiral,
and started
their spinning wheel,
that made the thread
for mortal destiny.

During my 29th year,
and the 9th month of Rhea’s
first pregnancy,
Gaia, one day said,
“Cronus my dear,
it’s time for your oracle.”
The messenger came,
one day later,
in the guise of a bird,
and told me my fate in my ear.

“What goes around
comes around.”
Then the bird died in my hand.
Track Name: Eating The Kids

You and I are going to
have a little talk!

I’m a little concerned
about the Cyclops,
and some Titans,
crowding up our kingdom.

Maybe we should shut
them up in a cave
away from here.

I think as well,
that I should tie you to the bed,
while I have my pleasure.

With tears in her eyes,
Rhea protested,
“Are you demented,
like your father ?”

To preserve my rule,
to which I am worthy,
I put a spell on her, for my sake,
because my sense of security,
was at stake.

So things were done
in this fashion
when Rhea gave birth,
in succession with five children,
I devoured each one.

There is something in the taste,
of my children,
as gods and goddesses,
libertine or chaste,
they had my qualities,
good and bad.

Better keep that knowledge,
with dear old Dad.

Another reason I ate them be,
so that the mortals should only,
make offerings to me!


(Last night
I dreamt,
I am in a well.
In the earth are tunnels,
Catacombs, that go on forever,
the veins of ancient rivers.
Here, no age progresses,
in this dampness.
Where, souls dance,
and whisper warnings
in the dull light ,
of the Sibyls dwelling.

I make a fire,
but, I am not warmed by it.
The flames animated faces,
of all ages and races,
appearing in frightful form.

My ears sting.
from bitter voices,
and weeping processions
behind the funeral hearse.
Blasts from guns and bombs,
impact of metal
and heads through glass.

The vision,
is unceasing.
No stone left upturned.
The painful screams,
from disease,
flesh that is burnt,
and stillbirth.

The old women
are talking in whispers,
that hiss and crackle,
with oral venom,
about the impure
mad men,
Chanting malicious
invoking, the dismal
of winters.

On a stake,
a black cloak is hung,
I want to cover myself
from the dampness,
my hand,
passed through the sleeve,
but, the cloth’s defence
is none.
I have no happy relief.
My fingers are bone.......)


I do not go out much,
since I’ve become a God King.

I don’t touch the earth,
or see the sun.

Mom and I
seem to be out of touch,
and huffs at my lack
of feeling.

She knows I ate the kids,
a secret I try to conceal.

Suspicions were mounting,
when her charms fail to heal,
a home, gloomy
and haunting,and Rhea
from a depressing spell.

I look in my mirror,
I have a morning look
that could kill.

I’m bloated, my skin colour is pale,
and the youthful look in my eyes,
has gotten dimmer.

My face is a hairy mess,
a beast at worst,
and my perspiration,
emits a foul odour.

What’s that I hear,
another baby’s cry...

Rhea’s given birth I fear,
to another God I must

I rush to the bedroom,
to devour the curse.

Between Rhea’s legs
it lie, in swaddling cloth,
covered with blood
and afterbirth.

What the Zeus is this!

It slid down my throat,
but hit the stomach with a thud.
After, I was constipated
for weeks, and pissing blood.

The irritation reached its peak,
hearing the Curette’s
banging their shields!
Partying like
absent minded mortals,
when they should be
working in the fields.

If they don’t
make offerings to me,
I’ll cook them as animals!

Where’s another bottle of Metis,
this wine will ease my
mental trouble....

I don’t give a fuck,
if every one thinks I’m a prick!

When Gods have wrath,
our despot ain’t subtle.

This wine has turned sour......
I’m feeling sssssick!
Track Name: The War

Zeus! Poseidon!
Demeter! Hades!

Stronghold on Olympus!
This is your Father speaking!
Why a council of war against me ?
Lay down your arms!
Send the 100 Handed
and theGiants home!
We can talk this out!
I promise to treat
your mother better,
than a whore!

Zeus! Poseidon!
Hera! Hades!

I am your Father and God of all!
I have a burning spear,
and a raging fire,
in my hypothalamus,
By my might you shall fall!

By this virus,
of rage in our blood
made me god protector
to consume you all,
so that we would not,
have this war!
Now, ten years of squirmishes
is enough, no more!

Zeus! Poseidon!
Hestia! Hades!

Don’t try to outsmart me!
or be besieged by fire
give up your coup d’état!
You are just a model government,
plotting against my supremacy!
But I am the military!

What is your strategy!
I am your Leader!
Don’t you look stupidly at me!
Before now,
there has never been a War.
But victory is glory,
at the light of tomorrow day,
The summit of Olympus,
will be mine, legend will say,
I was ruthless,
in keeping my authority.

No more child’s play!
Archers load your bows
with arrows black,
Put fire into the valley of hay,
burn every living creature
in the way,

Troops afoot!
Get ready to attack!

But in the midst of the assault,
A great cry was heard,
I saw panic grip my army,
they were slaughtered
before me.
Cursed by the prophecy,
I watched the soil
and water turn red.

With courage and pleas,
I tried to return those
who fled...

Don’t be gripped by fear!
Don’t Abandon Me!
Track Name: Redemption

The war was over.
The oracle has been executed,
I am the only witness,
to see carnage,
upon carnage
on the battlefield.

Living silence,
for dead ears.
Smoke, hung in the air,
the earth moved,
with voracious maggots.

So what has God’s
lot spoiled, for eternity?
A wrathful life paved
with decay?
Have I evoked death for

While I was burying the dead,
in the valley,on Mount Olympus,
my offspring are dividing
the spoils.

My men, I shall wander
without rest,
my kingdom is neither,
air, water or soil.
My rule is done.

I have failed as your God,
I have been the foolish one.
By my power,
your lives were spent.

Oh Mother Earth,
take these warriors
into your bosom
They are honourable!
I, accept exile, to repent my sins.

I spade incisions of love
in your skin, to bury them.

“And so it shall be done”,
Gaia said.
You are still my favourite,
among the Titans
even though
your heart, fell putrid.
But, I remember
when I suffered
from your father,
It was my son with the sickle.
who loved me, and gave
me honour.

You knew the oracle,
in face of defeat,
you stayed with your men,
till the end.
Such loyalty, is rare
like acts of compassion.
With Rhea, you were insolent,

But, you kept her as your companion,
when any woman,
would have given your doom.

The fates wove a continuous
thread for you,
because you gave them time.
Your acts went
to mortal depths,
what truth may be divined,
is in the heart,
where love for life is kept.

Your offspring
know these aspects,
and have given you
the Western land,
with their respect.
Knowing too,
there is a problem at hand,
the theatre is set,
as gods and goddesses,
we have set examples
for mortal man,
now men will be against men,
shedding blood without end.

Gaia put her words at rest,
and handed me the cloak,
that transforms flesh,
to skeleton a scythe,
fastened to a staff of oak,
and a job without contest.

My word is nin,
on the 13th card of the tarot,
look upon me,
as change is stability.

Like Uranus,
I am androgynous,
I shall wander for eternity,
as the last god,
every one will see.

How ever
a person’s life should end,
be assured by me,
if any man or woman
has a fear to die alone,
I Cronus,
I will spend the last moments
of life with thee.