Wandering past the premonitions I’d cultivated, in the cell of dark and the brooding. The effervescent carnage of my senses to the fragrance of blood, and like blood, dagger-ed to death, then life. Appointed to the realms of outrageous pittance, raptured by our notion of what’s real or so-so. Energized to the Nth degree, degrees, fractions.
The solar flares of the mind, glares at the sunglasses held up by the pointed fingers of judgement, and hate. To my singular accident, losing the boundaries, framed in animal farm.
Rise to the occasion, I tell myself. Rise. But stay in that darned and brooding cell, 4 corners, no window. There you will die; death by unforgivable self-righteousness and indignant nature of your crumbling, bumbling soul.
Karoline Elsig and Jakob Franck make up MONO MONO. And through this amplifying exercise, they catch interest and seek to show you the flyover view of the world in pastel colored notes.
And we dig that like no tomorrow.