Quicksand
Distant Populations

You should know that this morning I was lying there at the end of the beach, supine (not on top of Pino, whom I don't know: it was a scientific way of saying lying on my back, y'know) on my bidet towel (which is more than enough for me, actually there's some extra), under the cool August sun today trying to relax, enjoying with my eyes closed and with the orange-sponged headphones of my archaic walkman, the new unexpected LP by Walter Schreifels and company just released, and I must say that despite the fifty degrees in the shade, it really started to seem very beautiful to me.

Maybe not as beautiful as their debut - which remains unbeatable - but at first glance, it seems very intriguing.

Anyway, as I was lying there aimlessly, suddenly I sensed in the crisp surrounding air a movement, almost a shift of space, decidedly close to me.

It couldn't be Quicksand: or maybe yes, perhaps in the new album recorded in plunderphonics, they are able to make you feel their presence beside you, right while they play.

But come on!
It can't be.

Then I try to force myself to open my eyes to see if maybe some rascal was looking to snatch my wallet (which is as empty as my head) from the nearly new backpack dating back to the Scout period, or if some fierce beast descended from the hill behind was trying to nibble one of my calves as a sign of friendship.

I therefore try to open my ocular shutters with difficulty: unfortunately, my corneas cannot focus on anything.

While the trio adequately crashes my eardrums, I realize that another thing is about to catch fire: the ocular crystalline in the too sudden transition from pitch-black darkness to dazzling light.

Slowly I seem to glimpse a mythological figure, dark, squat but slender and yet roundish in front of me: at first, I really can't figure out who-or-what it is.

It also seems to me that this entity is addressing me: or at least that's what it seems like.
Let's say a movement within the area where the face should be.
But I only see everything black!
Lots of light around and pitch black in the center.
Perhaps it's the Madonna.
But thank God I'm an atheist: why would she come looking for me.
In August, no less.

Anyway:
I have the impression that this alien entity is asking me something, but I hear nothing-whatsoever but the Quicksand whose heavy sound is pounding persistently on "Katakana": they relentlessly hammer elegantly on my fragile psyche.

But could it be Them speaking to me through this thing that has just materialized?

Hmm... maybe I'm just getting too much sun.

After about twenty seconds, I finally manage to focus.
It was Versace.
Donatella.

Maybe she likes Quicksand too and wants to borrow my walkman.
These characters are quite quirky, you know.

In fact, it wasn't her: it was someone who nevertheless looked a lot like her.

I then decide to remove the headphones.
She only had my curiosity before.
Now she has my full attention.
(cit.)

The model was organized like this:
- strobe boobs by Montedison, size XXL, Krakatoa Volcano model, recently plumped with silicone.
- Hip-like flanks - I admit - of undeniable magnetism.
- Fake big lips and cheekbones like Satchmo.
Surely she had just stopped by the gas station (or the tire shop) to give herself a boost of compressed air to regenerate the endocrine system.

All of it on a tiny, tight, pearl-white bathing suit intended to highlight her glowing, bronzed tan.

"Do you have a free spot here beside you?"
She says to me.

But what language is she speaking? Maybe she's Aboriginal, I thought.

I turn first to one side then to the other and realize that what was an adequate personal space for my peace upon my arrival had turned into a jam-packed area with at least 4,000 feet per square decameter.

"Sure, excuse me, I didn't notice - I smile pointing at the headphones - Madam, feel free to sit down, I was almost about to leave anyway".

I look at her better:
she must be fifty/sixty years old, but the fake-dystopian effect of the excipient plastic retained in her body seemingly attributes her just about thirty.

"Madam here?"
She says to me.

Ah, okay (I think).

I quickly put the headphones back on.
I restrain the Play button.

Yes, anyway, I just wanted to say that the new Quicksand album is really beautiful.
If I had to find a single adjective to describe it, I would say authentic.
Which, these days, is not exactly something to throw away.