:zoviet*france:
Look Into Me

At five in the afternoon.

It was exactly five in the afternoon.

A child brought the white sheet

at five in the afternoon.

A sack of lime already prepared

at five in the afternoon.

The rest was death and only death

at five in the afternoon.

The wind carried away the cotton

at five in the afternoon.

And the oxide sowed crystal and nickel

at five in the afternoon.

Already the dove and the leopard fight

at five in the afternoon.

And a thigh with a desolate horn

at five in the afternoon.

The sounds of droning began

at five in the afternoon.

The bells of arsenic and the smoke

at five in the afternoon.

In the corners groups of silence

at five in the afternoon.

Only the bull has its heart on high!

at five in the afternoon.

When the sweat of snow came

at five in the afternoon,

when the arena was covered in iodine

at five in the afternoon,

death laid its eggs in the wound

at five in the afternoon.

At five in the afternoon.

At exactly five in the afternoon.

A coffin on wheels is the bed

at five in the afternoon.

Bones and flutes sound in its ears

at five in the afternoon.

The bull already mooed from the forehead

at five in the afternoon.

The room was rainbowed with agony

at five in the afternoon.

From the distance already comes gangrene

at five in the afternoon.

Lily trumpet for the green groins

at five in the afternoon.

The wounds burned like suns

at five in the afternoon.

And the crowd broke the windows

at five in the afternoon.

At five in the afternoon.

Ah, what a terrible five in the afternoon!

It was five on all the clocks!

It was five in the shadow of the afternoon!

…

..

.

Federico García Lorca

At five in the afternoon (The goring and death)

from: Lament for Ignacio Sánchez Mejías (1935)

What remains of the twenty-four and some minutes of "Cair Camouflet"?

Nothing to which any mnemonic or rational form can cling, one is passively stunned by sounds that arrive, implant themselves in the subconscious, and before managing to realize what has just been heard, they have already dissolved, vanished, twenty-four and some minutes of continuous changes, continuous movement, unknown gestures and rites, sensory disintegration, opaque and pale figures like a sheet, at the end of the track something alien like a parasitic entity insinuates, stirs and disturbs, it will never be exactly understood what it really is.

The rest of the album seems to fray into equally blood-dripping shreds, circular vocalities, filthy tangled threads smeared with mud and blood, terrifying meta-sonic collages, jagged and oscillating violated tribalities, murky laments.

What remains of "Look Into Me"?

An "At Five in the Afternoon" branded on the raw flesh, a shining ballet of death, dust, and blood for specters, the secret and marvelous allure of the inexplicable.