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And in a thousand years, the solstitial kiss of the sun will be eternal.
It is written, formless tangles of electric discharges will be born and hiss within the solar furnace.
An eschatological electroacoustic will express itself with apocalyptic glossolalia that will writhe and screech in crackling agony.
Tremendous electroshocks will upset Medusa's curls and, petrified by panic terror, the throats of people will be sealed by relentless serpents of warm blood.
Wild and teeming, oppressive and tentacular electronics. The other face (fierce and sulfurous) of Robert Rich's geometric microcosms will be shown.
And the rays of the sun, like bloodthirsty and vengeful Gods, will crash down on the Earth.
And the sound will become spherical.
And the purpose will be clear.
It will fall upon sampled wheat fields, where the ears will be whipped by the wind and crickets will stage their immutable threnodies.
Concrete details will feed a venefic, relentless ambient, and the Earth will cook in spasms stained by lava emulsions and the visions will be disordered:
Eye sockets will roll backward Crumbled rocks
Compressed vertigo Corroded WOUNDS
Wasps' hives in convulsions HysterICAL CHILDREN will scratcH the walls
…And demented oracles will interrogate lambs' entrails finding nothing…
Elements in continuous becoming, continuously decomposed, dissolved and fused together, continuously immersed in the overheated crucible where they will begin again endlessly, over and over, while the torments of the Earth's core will gather in a vacuous underground drone.
And only then will the sun withdraw its lips.
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