There is only moving forward. Hatred of Music, hatred of the easy way out. Too many patterns, leave only Ultraviolet. Rough ideas and measured doses, Sound so thick at the harshest moments.
Theme, variation. In the Fog and nowhere to sleep. Pushing stronger all the time, cracking at the seams. No sleep until the storm subsides. No Drum but a pulse.
No gravity to hold down phrases, nothing metered or repressed. Posthumous ascension on the darkest night. Time elapses under no moderation, distance covered in an instant in a decade. Cinematic landscapes, digital re-writes to dripping brush strokes.
In the Air, acceleration, density. Organ respirations through distortion forming push and pull, balance bringing all themes of singularity and oppression to the spotlight.
Bells chiming, final moments of reflection. Building somewhere safe. Wrapped in utero on a Night Journey to somewhere cold, the music does not die today.