A new riddle. What if the earth was inverted and the poles swapped, the search for a hollowed territory had been found and the debris is floating among us. A similar excavated plane was in the hands of the less clever, the directive more unclear and erratic. Our artists forging a resilience and vision as the imperative, surreptitious, a true directive. The “unknowing” never matching the knowing. From multiple dimensions we’ll bring a plenitude of force, hitting all sides, again fighting along the intercepted ray for their undoing. Dark will not be dark but depth illuminated.
“Landing in Aldebaran”
The little brown label legacy, these envelopments of jewels issued. “Patterns in my mind”, a heliocentric-parallax-like ascending while cascading, tumblings of rich silt over a gleaming upward facing precipice. Voice strains go tap tap tapping directly into the into the spine of the other, into the filaments of the mind. Further aside, the mountains continental, a stranger with keys – one treasured later – playing to a jazz plateaux as a stranger, faring as a weighed instrumented soldier. A torpedo which alludes to a shadow cast upon by an edifice shone by a star ravished by a heart.
The Magnificent Tape Band feat. Rachel Modest
“Patterns In My Mind”
A no-motion crossing. Placing hands now under a soft famished saturnalian nuzzle. Tap tap. quietly precipitous steps with many portals sliding open. Here proposed a furtive “below” with a secret shine, its looped submerged connective tissue manifest as creatures, with bells, dragons, while we hop into this new uncertainty with its severances, all more to invite ballades of defiant exuberance. In the currents, two arms had flailed but the ghosts patterns remember a champion's swim. Each of these spawnings exist in a lapse, tucked away with delicately lit surreptitious beauty. Fire, the burning that might hasten, child warrior demons follow, a fighters trailings, afterglow, perhaps an anticipation of a recapitulation’s opening, – a tiny break in the rapid cycling.
“Child Warrior Demons Follow”
The end is nigh, rather it is more so now but no surprise to the apocalyptic parallel dimension dwellers, our seas subsuming, we are in tricky recollect quicksand. But here we propose a certain sonic-poetic with defiance. Gracing his ivories as the elusive minstrel with his thoughtful heightened sensory vision in delicate simplicity, Louis of the passersby. If there is to be a future it has now its cadence, the masked Detroit being ushers it in with a cathartic-interstellar-complexity. In Berlin we have a truly elated pronouncement, she is wielding a tool of magic-jubilance and dispersing the elements of exuberance as heated stars.
“To A Sea Horse”
Galaxian & Stingray