(ER060) The Slaying Scythe Of Rhea Kronia Was The Crescent Moon

The stars were out, the smoke from the flame disappeared into the black night, while pagans and overwhelmed police officers burn patchouli and notes about potential futures. Reciting mantras and dancing about, illuminating the darkness while the cities pollute the night with their rusty golden sheen. Neon buzzings and mannequins in motion through the back alleys and delicatessens. Night shining like a fake fluorescent day, among the flies and mosquitoes. The new moon has just past us, and we are saved from the fatal blade of the waning crescent moon, slicing us, dismembering us, as it shrinks to nil in the sky. More stars illuminate as its nurturing glow renounces your pampered flesh more and more. Now, in complete darkness, where distant solar systems whisper of what may be another fatherly sun sending signals to the rest of the universe, the minds that die. In this great new dark, our minds are left to illuminate the light, as our eyes close, the lamps and chandeliers of mankind fade like aging fungi, the sounds take us away for what feels like an eternity. Now, in this great new dark, slain by Rhea Kronia, you wait in the womb of your reincarnation, bubbling in the witch’s stew. in this fetal state, waiting in limbo, hypnagogia reigns as you drift in a dream that shall soon fade. Dreams structured, manufactured, by the great dream architects of the netlabels. All of the tracks on here are longform, so that the spell that is cast upon your mind grows deeper and deeper, educating and strengthening our ears, to pursue the music around us that never ends, never ever ends. You daydream, and these artists pull the strings of your daydreaming, moving it in emotional directions that will horrify, enlighten, challenge, and smitten you. As you dance sometimes, float into deep space other times, run through the halls of an imploding building other times, or simply shoot you in the forehead. All of these dreams, soon to be forgotten, to ebb and distort in your mind, as the waxing moon brings the slaying scythe back into the starry sky again. Now reborn, free from this womb, this dream, you are the one who weilds the growing sword on high, as you hunt for sunlit beauty in the midst the omnipotent amalgamating treachery.

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About

Emanate the residue, my friends. All foundations have dismantled. The veils have all lifted. The stench of rot is in the air. Breathe in the aroma deeply, my friends. You, a fellow secreter of radiance and soul. Let us dissolve reality and float about in the primordial world where everything imaginable comes to pass. Come, transcend the mud by digging into it. My friends, let us bask in the effluvia of it all!

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