Red Stars Theory
Life in a Bubble Can Be Beautiful

The sky is clear tonight, distant starlights guide my steps along the riverside. Languid psychedelic ballads float in the air, while cosmic violins blow lunar breezes on my face; soft Dirty Three, paint pale pomegranates on the dull canvases of Codeine.

Forgotten and distant emotions, frozen in cold, scattered arpeggios. Chamber slowcore, among bloodless voices of the past and faint electronic mists that blur the senses. I question the nocturnal oracles, but the stars are indifferent and the constellations are mute.

My steps, at times, echo clearly in the sonic air and the vapors exhaled by the river blur the sound, making the contours of things vague.

Introverted and austere psychedelia, that numbs the present. The bluish light of spectral will-o'-the-wisps faintly illuminates the tombstones of my lost years.