2814 新しい日の誕生

[Dream Catalogue/Not Not Fun; 2015]

Rating: 4/5

Styles: 1,1,1,2-Tetrafluoroethane, nu-meditation, transfuctional music
Others: Sewer Mist, HKE, t e l e p a t h テレパシー能力者

Forget the functional music aspect of 新しい日の誕生 by 2814; dosing a cocktail of DXM, spliff, Gray Goose, and duster; the shower scene beams light from the blinds in rays of steam at 2:30 PM on a Saturdaynobody is home. Warm water trickling down like urine, and spinal fluids and nerves are less busted than they have been well-exerted today, accomplishing a to-do list of chores, though not having finished them all. And probably won’t. The smell of Astroglide haunts the living-room sofa, and 2814 swarms within riddled baselines dubbed to the suds circling the shower drain, draining the last bits of filth into a pipe that leads to a different story all together. But the blur-screen still emanates a red-face grasping for air with spiked heels emerging from a fishnet and a lot of darkness and shade, while color remains starkly prominent.

It’d be foolish not to mention neon, surrounded by all the advertisements, pairing the citizens to this spectral of light, walking down the road to purchase indigestion, as one of the largest cities on Earth is flourishing all around and right next door. That same feel when the subway is queasy whilst it’s delayed, at a stand-still. Nothing appears to be open, but the ambiance is provided by beckoning fingers from basement doors and the shrill sounds of hanging metal echoing and clanging throughout. But maybe that shrill sound is just a set of breaks and a busted tail light. Leaning against three inches of brick and not knowing what’s happening behind it. The implication of general complaint-conversation “You’re not listening to me” insinuates beyond the mystery of whoever is within this building’s confines, and the discussion could involve chores or infestation or sub-genres in jazz. Wherever the cracks of teeth are flossed, it’s likely that the turmoil rattling the surface is mostly from grit off the pavement rustled up by tire-tar. A helicopter circling the skyline with a digital marque that barely reads “新しい日の誕生.”

Agreeing to jump from the top-floor diving board, even though theyre illegal in this state and city. Feeling the propaganda that life may exist in 2814 because this year exists, but if it hadn’t existed yet, and no human or mathematically minded being is abound to decipher this augmentation, we falter; technically it has always been 2814, given that every rotation is a 新しい日の誕生. The party will always end, and the balloons in the corner take about a week to deflate, so keepem pumped. Glistening surfaces like marble reflect the old men who would argue upon the town hall’s front yard. A witness from years later attests that shadows are merely fragments of light hidden in the depths of our consciousness. Recognizing were completely alone, no matter how many apartment cameras and school loans we’ve accrued. Droplets in a muddied puddle shimmers color that nobody will ever witness exists up the block, but it’s either that or keeping the innocence that remains indoors.

Hearing some tough-guy pop trio in HD draws a barrier, and a cup of fruit-fresca helps move the bowels. Never having a response to anyone anymore. Even going to a show requires a level of interaction that is best kept in a realm that stems between one’s spine and brain. Right and wrong is a pan with oil left for hours on the stove top. Going with the flow means someone is pulling the strings, so stay home. 新しい日の誕生. Knowing you’ll die alone like everyone else who wasn’t in some devastating accident/ordeal, but even then, we all die alone. Feeling around in the dark when nobody has been home for weeks and nothing has changed, but tumbling naked into a glass that doesn’t break, just pours and pools clear liquid booze, brimming, swelling, and absorbing within eye sockets; rubbing at it just creates a drunker effect, so laying down for the next hour or four seems intoxicating enough to let the wide-angle lens zoom past your visage, watching brains melt from nostrils into the air like during them old mummification processes in 2814.

Flexing exfoliation muscle. Stretching out this morning never happened. There’s a break when reality becomes existent, and reproduction comes after selfishness. Shelves drilled in and hung. Waking up at the same time every day, and this is what the skyline looks like. Like a setting cloud being inhaled by a lung no larger than the ocean, encapsulated and controlled by lunar fragments, shadowed beneath the and within the apartment next door. Fragmented in dark matter. And it’s only brick. Mists from nitroglycerin ventricles. Whatever automobiles emit these days. The moment spirit encompasses and entombs itself. Recollection of 2814 is just 新しい日の誕生. Pulling fulfillment from the land.

Links: 2814 - Dream Catalogue/Not Not Fun

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