Hash Jar Tempo
Under Glass

THE REVIEW

Do you eat cookies dipped in sulfuric acid, lying on sofas made of eyeballs while the barks flow? Do your clouds travel backwards? Do you love watching streams of lava that slowly but inexorably devour rows of broom?

And tell me, I know you like to act like the Germans, eating kraut sandwiches from the little place around the corner, Svuncio, with sauce dripping, projected with unerring precision by the omnipresent force of gravity onto your white shirt, halfway between the left breast and the old astral conjunction that bound you indissolubly to the Summa Workstation.

Well. Pack your bags, then. We are departing on a journey lasting five minutes...three hours...six years.

Static drones characterized by a latent entropic nature, dangerously entropic, evolve by swallowing each other up in a sleeping mute morning, yet this constant walking on the razor's edge never unexpectedly produces any cut, nor any fall. In this world of Amanitae, everything flows without consciousness, through a cosmic radiation akin, in its existence, to the primordial Scream.

 Bardo Pond, a famous gang of alchemical junkies. And Roy Montgomery, one of the most brilliant musicians of the last decade, here grappling with keyboards, unlike the seminal previous episode. And forgive me if it's not much.

6 characters in search of... what? I don't know where they want to lead. I only know that when "Labiomancy" evaporates in my room, my fingers are inkwells that stain the walls with light. And while "Gravitational Lens Opera" closes the curtain, I've still forgotten to change my skin and slip away.