Tag: transmissions

fear rituals from the 49th parallel no.3

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a chemical sky blankets the city as a blazing sun hangs buried in a discoloured heavens… a campfire flickers, illuminating the treeline as a series of effigies steadily sink betwixt the diseased mangroves… masked incantations in moon-menageries of hell… guard-towers vowing to reach up through the smog…

grain elevators in flames… a ruined pavilion reveals a wind-shattered dream… abandoned train-lines ache, rusted and lost… landscapes alive with burning tyres, burning flowers, burning fields… factory smoke stacks hang dormant above empty lots, project housing, school-yards, gas-stations…

riot shields, blast walls, tear gas… a lone generator moans and reverberates in a sunken outhouse as an oil drum fire flickers and spits… a camera flies high above all the ruined cities of the western lands… pages unbound, and burning… a sentence ignites, enraptured in mid-air… here are litanies of fear from the 49th parallel…

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by the bitter lake we sat down and wept… no.3

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here, outside the demilitarised zone… watch the falling-blistered girls die alone… closed checkpoint birth sequence… frozen eye infinity gaze… vacant broken women… hounded tombs of sodomised sin… temporary male-wreck salvation… intermittent seed-excavation… neon-sexed lipsticked radiation…

fields of fire engulfed in meaningless pillage… spent artillery, rocket fire, undusted mirrors… here little girls are the tomb, womb; ecstasy-pillars… ‘get them!’ shriek the dirty boys… wild boys, idiot boys… they make cold catacombs warm and wet… they won’t let the metal weeds forget…

beyond rotting carcass scattered far… whoring their way out of heaven… watch how the women open and fall… sucking death-licked number ‘six six seven’ against the ivy-coated nuclear wall… advising the householder on protection… battleground, burial ground, self-harm; terror and oppression…

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outpost dissonance feedback no.3

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go live… welcome to the currency of harrowed dissonance… out into the cut-throat bishops’ cattle-grid castration fields… remote outpost quonsets in flames… hog-tied, horizontal, burning; spitting fire… open-twin welding-pit futility… dirty fingernail scrape, flint-lock; navy colt, mason jar…

…worlds of desolation… petal-stained sodden counterfeit notes float out into the blood-soaked delta… onyx leeches farm rocket shells as black molluscs crawl across a faded atlas… priest fingers choking slender milky throats… mutant-progeny of the viral insect-congregation… narco-gang death-penalty…

two-day cloud of fire into the troposphere… kerosene specials, IED’s and the screams at the border control… throat-clutch of the warden… bandana city, vivisection of the insect; the cold slab wins… ‘fuck those pig-bitches raw’ …ideological race to the bottom…

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reindeer now officially part of the anette records family

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…a hissing a buzzing over the valves, switch-boards coming to life, tape machines whirring into activity… it is with much jubilance and gladness that i am today able to announce that, after years in the wilderness and after much behind-the-scenes communications, i am now officially part of the anette records family…

i can scarcely word how much this union means to me, nor can i scarcely contain news of what lies in store from this point on… but how i do want to extend my deepest gratitude to the almighty strizi, for seeing me fit to join the ranks, but also for keeping an eye on me during much darker hours…

…anette records is a wonderful DIY enterprise, which already features a roster of such talented artists, many of whom i am already deeply honoured to be acquainted with… please do be sure to lend your support to the cause, investigate their releases and stay tuned for forthcoming announcements…

all the love

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