TRAAMS
Grins

Bah, high pressure. Sewers stagnant, fogs reign, Christmas lights dimmed by soot.
Hands in pockets, a guy from the stall wants to convince me to drink some stuff he calls mulled wine.
I inhale and puff out watery vapors mixed with CO2 full of something I might recognize as sadness. Or maybe it's a malaise, or maybe it's something else that someone has given a very precise definition to.

Something is needed to shake my neurons. But what? I could embark on a romantic and putrid war in some exotic country but the last bus has already passed.
I've got it, I'll do like many, keep myself busy, find a job, a girlfriend, bar friends. If you keep busy, the brain lightens up and you start living for something, stopping to ask questions.
Questions? And these would be questions? And what if I forced my little brain to find an answer? A "go to hell" carved in stone with ignorant and sentimental distortions?

A heartfelt thanks to the TRAAMS, who impeccably bring back the guitar rock of the 90s, mixing a melting pot of elements dear to nostalgics. There's something for everyone: psych, emo, stoner, pop, blended to give you the certainty that these guys know their music. What a relief, what beauty, it's like a sweet caress among the shallow folds of the gray matter.

And for a fraction of a second, I feel special because I'm convinced that few of us ask ourselves certain questions. It's not so, I am a defective thinking being, embodying the common malaise deriving from a total absence of problems, a byproduct of opulence. I would wish it were selfish victimhood, but it's not. And this is my soundtrack as an eternal loser.
Here I am, listening in ecstasy to the guitar of "Sleep", and for this Christmas too, we’ve gotten through it, dear little brain, who knows what manic-depressive records the new year will bring us.