Factrix, Cazazza
California Babylon

Resolving through derision in an esoteric manner a human condition devoted to inhumanity can transform for many the headache caused by the sonic overload into permanent encephalitis, given the magnitude of invisible, sonorous, and non-sonorous information that overwhelms us because we only have a dual vision to analyze the data.

Let’s be clear, for an animic barbarism, "de magnà e beve" is more than enough, but as a friend used to say, "we are not meant to live like beasts." Thus, the nausea of a transcendent leap, just to start, causes continuous retching for our ego, where initially, unconsciously, the unpleasant news of the wretch that we are arrives, and the consolatory adjustments we tell ourselves in the mirror make the vanity of "the fairest of them all" sink, worsening an immediate realization of reality. In a few words, we sit on the toilet, now undergoing alchemical transformation, realizing that our shit, like everyone else's, stinks, and not everything that glitters (brown) is gold.

Anyway, there’s an opportunity to flush at the right "notes." Thus, several things can happen as side effects of the sonic revelation: one may devote oneself to more unrestrained hedonism and not give a damn about accumulating sestertii for the afterlife; one might take it badly and become a serial killer; another might take it "well" and plant a bullet in his head; one might go into depression and start taking psychotropic drugs that mischievous doctors can't wait to prescribe; someone might take it up the ass (or/e in the mouth); another might fall into the new age net with those addled meditations; one plays the lottery and "waits and hopes."

And I could go on forever with the onanistic idiocies the pseudo-human being has invented to escape the deconstruction of identification with the carriage-body. I know, it's not easy to change completely and start all over differently, but the "good news" is that there's only the one road to follow which leads to Rome.

In short, the evolution that awaits us is (big and bitter) trouble, but, as I repeat, to settle stardust for an eternal perspective, forget about diplomas, degrees, careers, making too much money, golf, pussy, mors tua vita mea, and the like, you lost consumers that you are. Then there are ancient-souled bastards with a reluctant vagrancy because of the damn awareness of eternal returns, and they organize happenings just to simulate passing the time somehow, mystifying everything with cynical come-ons in the reinterpretations of their reincarnations.

The seminal label "Subterranean Records" gives the eternal endorsement to spread the dust of this clear blind massacre. Not for nothing, this work is a genuine "California Babylon" committed to "good" where asshole angels squawk sacred fires that scald the imprudent user but send a small audience of Dharma bums into raptures, who patiently wait for these performances even a hundred and eight years, with all that heavenly heaviness "as above, so below" pressed onto vinyl.

And as if that were not enough, there is visual proof of the concert, "Night of the succubus" on 6-6-1981 in San Francisco with the third 6 excluded, which confirms the deception of life's reflection, life understood as a meticulous dismantling of all the cumbersome superstructures we burden ourselves with to beautify our bodies and believe we count for something. Marsellus Wallace teaches: "If we think our ass will age well and turn into good wine... It's not like that."

Factrix and Monte Cazazza together and live, and even Tana Emmolo-Smith on the violin, and Z'EV on percussion. What more do you want from life: crowns of fake gold thrown in the toilet, disintegrated by primitive machine-noise resonance never released before... That's the way!

More than a comeback of the "succubi" to this damned madness that is life in this dimension, the minstrels in question are devoted to unhooking the shackles of the deception of counting time, disbanding in building this inverted Tower of Babel, not leading into temptation but neither delivering from evil, yet provoking the right nightmares.

Enjoy and vomits in your teacup! Everyone has to deal with his own filth, good luck. Semi-colon, guys, semi-colon; don’t forget...

"ROME WILL BURN"