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Evolution of obscurity with Godflesh



Subjective obscurity, the subtleties of repetition and layers in the bonus tracks on the LP Streetcleaner.








Evolution of subjective minor non-obscurity cult classic genre mixing one of the top three alt metal classics. Also pre-post-metal all the way back in 1989 I’m calling it number one valedictorian in post-metal class five-star club. Repetitive skullmaster tight skull trigger metal flight of the heavy consumed by slow fires. Dance it like an atrophied deadhead achieving power Grateful Dead style doesn’t matter, movements are the same, hypnotized vibrations grasped with drone not drones.


Drone solo now repeat that they should but don’t, just a splash of color there at the end, the death end of dimension two. Numbers are so engrained they are invisible and repetitive and the drum machine knows that, slick production math-metal control systems with that drone in place of a guitar solo. Snappin’ repeat the beat tenuous simple repetition to one machine only noise always on the backburner beauty up-cycling aesthetic wars. The drone alongside the beats is a wholeness achieved incorporating the shadow faster (heart) beat speed womb cohesive but

discard the defects.


Factory kiln of sonic tonnage capacity is heavenly, lonely and dark sittin’ in the corner no dunce cap only the halo of smoke from destruction and a new creation. Layers of denial romanticized a romance down by the river, a flood avalanche awaits and awaits the exorcist for ashes and blood oozing out the skull by the ghats, oozes out into the river of plenty and nourishing like a reverse Hellraiser and god and remain with god no end. The flesh has disappeared now a gas, a form of abstraction and ether energy for the next life shadows dancing on the white plaster walls.


The world we feel the sorrow shed thy tears catharsis, let things out of captivity. The obtuse Judas kiss beat the nails into a coffin the world dead hammering the beat-down Lakshmi Hanuman sing like a suki baby oh those vocal harmonies on the glass. We are baptized in the river of doubt till we die. Deadboy before the mirror plays to a haunted dead ocean triple soul. The dead gods resume at your command. Might lose the sky keep it up. Lose the oceans lose your life although death is a second birth. Repeat until taken care of a chance encounter down the scales down the heavy to a dystopian loneliness only if you don’t like solitude, write your way out of it.

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