Royal Trux
Twin Infinitives

You wake up in the morning pissed off and create a melody. You get up having dreamed of cherubs and make "twin"... You're a good guy because you were raised to be a good guy and you're satisfied with this illusion when you nail the chorus. You know you're a piece of shit, expose your miseries, and "infinitives" slip from your guts. You color with a marker some part of the invisible that surrounds us, baptize the heroine's conscience with deviant... rather, targeted nursery rhymes.

It's our consumption-compliant mind that coins facade standardizations to justify eccentricity. But what if that was normal? Why avoid accepting that the odd could be the straight life and righteousness perdition, to hide our uselessness? It's tough when you have to reach the centering of the square.

Persecution of delirium, lucid dismemberment of detachment, maladjusted hallucination moreover... 'cause these pains in the ass even made a double LP. A definitive performance in the explication of conscious perdition in an attempt at a redemptive ascent through the narrative of their little inferno, but practically we all live in that Roman neighborhood, make your peace with it: Postal Code 00124.

And surely the record is alienating when you're dealing with people who don't think about saving themselves... They invite without trying, without empathy, just to be together sitting on the carpet mystifying musical images in a thought form, a pure dialogue. The little spirits and the picture presented before us aren’t as abstract as we thought. And education, good feelings, implemented by the overmind, are uncovered by disharmonies (which we think are such but who knows...) that expose the deceit of "volemose bene": it's all chaos that validates the normality of the absurd, which turns out to be the only reality. Everything originates from chaos. It's an invaluable, gripless gift they give us, here you climb a glass wall, naked, head down, climbing from within with your reckless damnations.

And in train station bathrooms, people keep writing things like: "I like to lick (if not something else) old people's dirty feet..." with a phone number, call me obviously. And priests keep fiddling kids and curse because "they never stay still." And "happiness, is grabbing Al.ano's dick, happiness, is screwing Ro.ina in the basement, happiness... And "the tide rises and falls Sandokan's got diarrhea, and Marianna gladly wipes his rear..."

Obscene is the silence, the survival. Burying the longing of the species’ call, with the risk of desiring "to get a hand job from a dead hand, stick a door handle in your ass..." Did we want reality? Here it is! And the unexpected is when in third grade that streetwise classmate already arrives and bluntly tells you: "Do you know what fags are? They’re two men screwing each other!" And you, at nine years old, confused, start to smell the shit. One must expect the unexpected to know the truth, said Heraclitus.

Here there's no veil, Western humanist rational thought is an anal fisting for a black hole that possesses the prolapse of existence. "But what do you want to know about madness, paradise, you lot..." Neil & Jennifer resonate.

An overdose of the divine isn’t necessarily white light, it is enlightenment. Achieving immunity to withstand the Ray gives the two the license to do "whatever the hell they want" and the crust is farsighted enough to understand that the blow is delivered once and for all. And what do we care if the biological vehicle gets a little scorched, what's a bit of weariness for eternalization? Possessions are fought by exposing the possessions, Royal Trux mock the whisperers by sewing a great soundtrack over them that uncovers the astral plane that surrounds us and lives in our place.

Anarchic-individualist underground transcendence: "no ass today." There are those who open their chest like Jesus Christ and those who open their vein like Royal Trux...

And from the "I'll give you everything as long as you ask nothing of me" (Nero-Petrolini teaches) of the plutocratic system's deceit to the "we gave you everything even though you didn’t ask for it" of this alchemical couple, it turns out that the record is a joy, a bit fierce... "And then long live love" said Mastroianni, but this is the other "sweet life."

To the wise, may the plague strike! To the esteemed firm H&H, the coronavirus can’t hold a candle...