Silver Columns
Yes and Dance

Endless expanses of synthetic material. I can't breathe. An emptiness as dense as cosmic blackness. Vast like the sets of our dreams. Oppressive, the detachment caused by artificial vibrations is interlocutory. Obstacles of antimatter rise powerfully in the imagination, interact with the consciousness, collide and merge to further dazzle me. Fear of dark gashes, reluctant, I inhale that dense nothingness. I look for fixed points, not finding any, I get lost. I have the physical space of a blink of an eye to desperately try not to enjoy what I endure. I can make it. No, it's useless, it's an irresistible torment.

Now the darkness seems to be conversing, I follow a trail of impulses. It continually changes size and direction until it fades onto itself. Yes, I finally realize that what I feel I'm listening to, I'm losing myself in sound waves. It's they who inflict electric shocks like stabbings. And I want more, I want electrodes to cover me from head to toe, I want my internal organs to be removed and replaced with cold metal commanded by microcircuits and it's not enough. I want every single capillary to vibrate under the same rhythmic stimulus.
Instead, when I listen to "Yes And Dance" by the Silver Columns, I can do nothing but turn up the volume in my headphones.

Yet this cold and fake music penetrates the same, corrodes the blood. Annoying, music like this should be hated but the attraction it generates is greater than any repulsion. And when it's time for "Columns" I feel so small, a tiny particle of organic matter destined for the imperfection of decay that precedes the passing. Not like these terrible electronic sounds, meticulously processed to remain immutable in eternity. And a terrifying melancholy assails me, why can't we recycle ourselves, graft synthetic fibers, breathe naphthalene, drink parabens, inject thickeners, immerse ourselves in artificial aromas? After all, I just want an eternal life, synthetically overdone and remixed.