♫ Listen: Ross Birdwise – Eschatology

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I’m an optimist.

So when I listen to something like Ross Birdwise’s Eschatology (Collapsed Structures), I have to wonder how many others like me are out there. See, Birdwise the electronic manipulator of sonic moods seems to have a “growing sense that many of us may not have much of a future, or at least not the future we might have thought we had when we were young.” I don’t know about you, but I have a mortgage, a 401k, and a sense that what I’m doing is productive and sustainable, such as eating right and recycling. I’m also a jogger.

I focus on what I can focus on, right? I can’t take the weight of the entire world on my shoulders. But because I’m an optimist, I’m eternally pushing toward the goal of a future not envisioned by Ross Birdwise. If I was absorbed by “eschatology” — contemplating the events directly leading to the end of mankind, death, judgment, etc., like the rapture, which is totally going to happen but which I don’t have to worry about, of course — I’d probably be a lot more freaked out right now.

Still, Eschatology, ahem, “enraptures” me, and I find myself caught up in its composition, its DNA. Regardless of its intentions, its attempt to “evoke desolate spaces, times, tensions, and conflicts,” I can get into it, its ideas, its motifs. Even something as disorienting and foreboding as “Lopsided Soundtrack for the End Times” has its own tangential beauty. The chilly fractals of “Dawn of a New Ice Age” have me reaching for my warmest parka. The metallic jags of “Multiple, in Tension, Marching” crackle regally. The decay and ruin of “Eschatology” are breathtaking in their emptiness.

I think I’m won over.

With decay and ruin.

…I’m an optimist, dammit!

Eschatology by Ross Birdwise

♫ Listen: Lila Tirando a Violeta x Snakepiss – Holocryptograms

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There’s a trapdoor basement somewhere where someone willfully fell into for the adventure of it all. This basement is just the top level of these layers into a journey of entrenched illegality. A well with a rope that leads to a darker layer where a beat rips and no light is shed. Bodies pushing against each other, all warm bodies, swaying with the music, sweating. All together sweating. The finest club in the city, unseen. Until a staircase is found pressed against a back all, and descending it leads again to another level of these layers, feign neon wafts gusting into the faceless gas masks of people turning their heads and staring behind goggles at the bastion on a quest. Relentlessly looking around in a panic. Frantic and finding a lift that continues to pull down through layers and levels of unfathomable visions and sights to behold until it stops. Bottom level. The layer. Hosted on Collapsed Structures. Holocryptograms roaming and barely visible. Both Lila Tirando a Violeta x Snakepiss trying their best not to snicker. Fading in the corner, Lighght. Voices whispering in ASMR echos:

“The walls are coming down. The struggle to feel special intensifies. The need to feel right, to justify your decisions, to plant your flag, is overwhelming. Thoughts that are not yours are shrapneled into your brain. You have never truly had your own thoughts. They have been recycled for thousands of years, through billions of minds, and are just now reaching you.

The walls are coming down. You will escape whether you like it or not. The ancient organizations are insufficient. You are insufficient. You are dying and we are being born again together.”

Holocryptograms by Lila Tirando a Violeta x Snakepiss