Jakob
Dominion

In the end, what does it matter?

Sitting on the roadside, behind two black rubber "S's" drawn on the provincial road.

Sitting on the roadside staring at a ditch, among the bushes at the edge of the roadbed, among the grains of asphalt, which peel off under the compulsive gesture of the fingertips, among the shards of glass scattered all around. In the ears, a muffled ringing.

Night, silence, and a tangle of metal sunken in a ditch.

Distracted for a second, and find yourself between solitude and chaos.

Aftertaste of blood in the mouth and a cheek swollen like a lemon.

On the horizon, the city lights play with the smog in an unhealthy red bubble. Millions of lives move, produce, and despair in that flickering tumor. Here everything is still, time is marked by heavy breathing, born of remorse and fear. It will be a sleepless night...

Motionless, waiting.

The heart slows down, the breath becomes heavier and slows down. The eyes close.

Anxiety and peace in a surreal cocktail. Time to reflect, to leave the road, the city, and the wreck sunken in the ditch behind. In the end, what does it matter? In the end, what matters?

What matters is the tickle of the asphalt under the fingertips, the color of the horizon, the aching face, this foul air that ever so slowly poisons the lungs, the slow rhythm of a heartbeat.

In the end, it is only silent, solitary, post-rock...

"A Filo".