•
Rating: 2046...
Of the feverish past, nothing remains but an ancient manuscript, words like mist, pages like icy mirrors...
...
Page 1...Walking alone under the mechanical gaze of the world. A thin line between twilight and delirium, a vibrant heart in the most total eclipse.
Page 4... Only one direction, a useless distant hope...
Page 11... White nightmares on empty buildings, darkness is felt by looking back along the road.
Pages 34...Life is nothing but steaming embraces of blood-drained arterial venous circuits without head or tail.
Pages 38...Screaming to not feel alone....
Then on page 51, the manuscript tells of rites and initiations of a pale Italic tribe with a double battle name: NovostJ-DsorDNE...
It dwells on a work (code 83/88) and describes it as follows:
The beginning is a crude coagulation of matter. The breath that chases its own breaking, the truth slammed in the face with almost punK fury.
Then everything changes....
A vaguely unreal atmosphere, A damaged and suspended melody. The pale declamation of the song merges with vertigo, shards of ice pierce the body.
Pain is a different vibration of the air and thanks to the music it seems almost like a ghost. Everything loses consistency in the world that slips away. Perhaps it is night, perhaps it is one of those long afternoons.
In a dazzling absence of color, everything is restless, yet crystalline. Blurred distortions, sounds shielded by a glass.
Everything changes again...
Here is the disorder, but how to describe disorder? Mechanisms that do not fit? Gears spinning idle?
The end is a prose poem that takes your breath away, a sort of fever that would like to burn the cold, but obviously cannot.
Between post-punk, noise, and hot electronic frost...
…
2046,
That photoportrait of that young man, that frosty smile that is no more, those years that will not return, there's nothing left but to shoot this deadly tape sharing into my veins.
Seeing a gray light
illuminate the room
a tired light
a light that falls-
An inert body on the chair
life takes its toll
feeling the sound of time
echo in the ears
feeling existence slip away
slip away...
like drops of water slip on the glass
like cold drops of sweat slip
on the skin.
Feeling a light
penetrate inside the body
feeling the thought
tear the flesh
feeling the cold beyond the window,
beyond the mist
in the color of the leaves...
of the leaves
Loading comments slowly
