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TOP STORIES
Deep within the undergrowth of the human experience there’s the anger of another lie, the hurt of another betrayal, the unhealing blisters and sores being amputated like radiation martyrs. And if we peek through the wound...just beneath the inner-most layer of skin, we begin to see a pattern. A kaleidoscope of LSD colors, pulsing an increasingly finite rhythm, churning and spinning and spiraling deep into the veins.
The nerve twitches. Stepping up the vital current just beneath the surface. The veins paint a church mosaic against the warm light glowing through. The closer it comes, the more the muscles seem to relax, relieve the strain. Drop the body by the water.
In the end we find ourselves squeezing back the mnemonic triggers to fire the pistons of familiarity, but everything is empty and old and falling down. When we open our eyes and look around we find ourselves in some rotting room of our lives. We've severed the tender fibers of reason and feeling, and it's too late to stop the bleeding. We're hemorrhaging energy.
The music moves like an organic machine, feeding life from the synapses that sparked it's birth and spinning off into the grey. Feeding on the flies that feed on the machine.
Feeding on the parasites that feed on us and feed on you.
Steven TriP 04 októbra 2005 09:38