Converge
The Dusk In Us

"I never knew the reasons why,
Somewhere we just both stopped trying,
But when you said that you were dying,
I said that I loved you,
There is no place in this world to hide."

For the Twilight of the Gods, Richard Wagner is not needed, but rather the Converge in a state of grace. The Dusk In Us welcomes you with artwork faintly reminiscent of a Dantesque Doré. A decaying statue, bathed in acidic rain, slowly corroding in the whims of the reigning chaos. Almost as if it were the symbol of an existential failure. A surreal earthquake that absorbs all the small lacerations of society. The shadows advance like agile predators, they have no pity, thirsty for light, devouring every subtle ray. The Dusk In Us is the implosion of man. It is the attempt to navigate between the torments of a fragile psyche and the traumas of a post-apocalyptic vision. It is the response to alarming anxiety, the crushing panic attacks, the craters that fragment everyday life. When I held you for the first time, I knew I had to survive. It is the poetic and poisoned lyricism of Jacob Bannon that sucks all the mad architectures of Converge to the bone, while they are busy being... Converge.

In the eye of the cyclone, there is extreme reasoning. Eye of the quarrel open wide as the wound. The beast moves methodically, it may seem schizophrenic, but it leaves nothing to chance. Born into such a cruel, cruel world. Survival can be such a cruel, cruel curse. When it ventures forward, it is never hesitant, it has an iron step, every stride a decision weighty as a boulder. The dictate is to evolve and transform to survive. How to do it? With the cold blood of a reptile and the calm of Arkhipov who channel the pain and anger of others into their veins. The world's a trigger seemingly without end. The suffering gaze struggles to keep its sight on a fiery horizon, hoping it may calm down, just for the time needed to interrupt the flow of a relentless hourglass. The beast, for once, wants to see beyond the blinding glare. The only flames should be those that burn within her. It's the fires that we quell that save us from our hells. The present is castrated by a dark and chilling gloom, the murk and marrow are all that we know, but must not represent a surrender for the future. However, the frost dries up and frightens, creeping slyly into the bonds that want to breathe instead. Breathlessly. But they want to breathe. We are just cannibals, If there is nothing left to love. The thorns piercing a feeble attempt to awaken from slumber make themselves felt. We bleed, we heal, we scar. Everything is done to not become amorphous replicants. To exist.

The Dusk In Us is the antidote. It is the cure birthed by Converge who refuse to be mere ghosts destined to vanish into distant dreams. I just need to leave, just have to find a way out. I just have to run, just need to fight my way out. If madness is buried, yet pulsating, behind a scathing facade, the hunt is on for the heart of the beast. A rotten heart, infecting and atrophying everything it encounters. We must not forget the other heart, that heart that must never stop beating. A heart that after 27 years shows no signs of faltering and is absolutely not ready to be forgotten. The torments will never cease, but neither will hope. It is enough to become aware of what we are. Easy to say, difficult to understand. They, the Converge, are still trying to do so, shaping yet another multiform creature.

"Dusk lives within us, darkness won't give up. Dusk in us."