Images and memories in disarray.
An old attic crammed with objects that speak a secret language.
A language that you seem to understand.
Even if it is not a language, but a jumble of sensations.
With the seventeen-year-old luludia, the one with the Joy Division imprinting, who's here to nitpick you. Then again, seventeen-year-olds rather than nitpicking usually lash out.
So I throw a stone into the pond and randomly open the book of translated lyrics.
What comes out is âIsolationâ the second track of âCloserâ...
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The first words evoke demons so dear to the Count..
However, the language reveals an almost archaic flavor, to the point that you would never say that the author is just over twenty.
And it almost feels like dealing with a kind of Nico, precise and terrible sentences whispered in a desolate land...
âSurrendered to self-preservation from others who care for themselves. A blindness that touches perfection but hurts like anything elseâ
Maybe it's us, we're the ones who look after ourselves. But our reasonableness isn't all that great. The only thing it guarantees us is unhappiness.
Damn, it's hard to breathe, even if it's just the first step...
Isolation, isolation, isolation says the chorus...
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And after those words carved in stone, with a triple somersault that breaks the heart, the boy talks to his mother...
âMom, I triedâ
You know, right, that a lot of people call their mother in times of emotional turmoil?
Do you know?
âMom, I'm ashamedâ
âIsolation, isolation, isolationâ...
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Then âthe beauty, these things I could never describeâ...that is the secret language of the objects in that attic, but I say this just to close the circle...
âIsolation, isolation, Isolationâ...
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The music of Joy Division is solemn, solemn and suffocated...
And âIsolationâ, with that Doors organ turned Kraftwerk, is pure soul cabaret wrapped in warmest cold...
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What did that guy say?
âOk the punk, but sooner or later someone will say something more than screw you....someone will say I'm screwedâ
Exactly...