Circles End
In Dialogue With The Moon

"Tarots and the North" (twelve writings each paired with a Major Arcana by Luis Royo)

"X. The Moon"

It is a mean game of mirrors that awaits the crews of dark and mighty vessels, determined to sail the deceptive reflections of the icy Norwegian waves, to exhume the buried treasures on Circles End island. Sweet motifs and alluring rhythms capture the ear, concealing the sudden ambushes of ravenous whirlpools and mad currents, until a phrase of Homeric memory echoes among the sharp rocks, making the greedy and eager souls of the crews leap: "No one has ever passed here with the black ship without hearing from our mouth the sound of honey, but he goes after having enjoyed it and knowing more things."

Everything is indistinct. It is therefore difficult to understand whether it is an invitation or a threat that seems to come from the voice of Karl Riis Jacobsen, authentic scion of sirens veiled in mist, busy swirling with sinister demeanor above the heads of numerous adventurers, now attracted into the coils of an epic progressive universe. The enigmatic singer is the only guide capable of orienting himself in those arcane places, where a tenacious climbing and polymorphic jazz shrouds the trunks of a rock mottled with the deepest roots, giving an idyllic and lush appearance to a realm indeed far darker than what the superficiality of the gaze can capture.

The surviving sailors of an expedition, set sail in 2001, recount having witnessed the construction of architectural wonders under the meticulous direction of Gø;ran Kristiansen's funky bass ("The Fine Line"), heated debates between two guitars intent on predicting the trajectory of clouds driven by the whim of jazzy winds ("Startled Eye"), as well as the cries of a solitary nymph, comforted by the gentle caresses of Lars Christian Folkvord's violin ("Long Gone"). According to some statements, the formal liveliness of the instruments would have mercilessly sunk in the sleepless frustrations of the bass, which, casting aside carefully crafted masks, would not have delayed revealing a spasmodic bitterness, vented in front of the pallor of an indifferent moon ("Driving Beneath the Moon..."), but immediately disguised at the arrival of Kristian Landmark's synthesizer ("...Into the Sun").

The undisputed protagonist of such picturesque narratives remains Karl, hypnotic and astonishing in his vocal interventions, both in the distressed guise of a witness of the odious limits to which human nature is chained ("The Dead Is Me"), and in that of a refined tragedian, engaged in directing dramatic scenes, interpreted with contagious pathos by the guitars of Trond Lunden and Omar Emanuel Johnsen ("Soliloquy", "This Day") and enriched by the simple yet decisive supporting role of Jarle Pettersen's drums ("El Mar / La Mar").

Three years after compiling these data, transcribed in the volume "In Dialogue with the Moon" by a host of seasoned mythographers, further reports have arrived from the cold waters of the North, thanks to the unexpected discovery of the logbook belonging to the sloop "Hang on to That Kite", in which the peculiar characteristics, substantially different from the previous ones, of a "bountiful land" illuminated by the bright hair of a generous sun are illustrated, nurturing and tending the flora typical of the remote Canterbury valleys. All this grants truth to the words of that magical tribe of sirens, finally able to offer sailors the promised and beneficial "sound of honey", free from treacheries and deceptions, to which the double definition of apex and epitaph of the artistic experience of such fantastic creatures fits, forced already the next day to bid farewell to our arid horizons, leaving the sea orphaned of their fascinating conversations with the moon.