The rhythm handbrake. Sinner angel’s impunity. Sinner angel’s impurity. Interpolated darkness. Eosphorism. The Gehenna klaxons that were never heard. Loose pain. Menial plea. The mordant liquid. Still sea. Debris. A demolished town. A child’s song. Nervousness of morrow. Odour of sanctity. A palliative lie. Perishing air. Heavy breath. Symbols on ancient peristylar columns. Pristine feelings. One man’s reasoning. The echo. The fear felt sagely. Snide destiny. The voice and its terse tone. Snakes crawl in trance. Snakes whistle the end. Snakes crawl on torpid bodies. The hunter. The prey. Tonked to death. The lightless chamber. Scobs on walls. A wooden womb. A corpse inside. A cold cellar. The rogue reflection in the vague mirror. The exit from the secret house. The empty streets man paces. The sheeny eye and its solitude. Stomping about dereliction. Night and its strident music. Seven more steps to home. An old armchair. A void man sitting on. Last cigarette. TV is off.
James Plotkin (Phantomsmasher, Khanate, Old, Khlyst, Namanax e.t.c.) and Aaron Turner (Isis, Old Man Gloom, Lotus Eaters e.t.c.) are testing your patience. This ebony coloured excretion is going to make you sweat. The soundtrack of swiz. Peccavi! The wounds it’s going to cause are not revocable. An album almost dull. Inhumane music. Ceremonial. Arresting. It’s totally up to you if you want to live this experience. Listen to this without being extracted by any sound. Through your pace in the tunnel towards the light, you may meet Death in the flesh!
Miltos XIC
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