Molecules compelled by the illusory order, deceptive oasis in the entropic desert. Consciousless the flood don't know about the collective flame either distinguish between life and death. Everything's physiological Everything's ready for the inorganic last act Chemistry's the Queen of life Infection – Chemotaxis Phagocytosis Probability Error – Pain Electrons – Links - Spirit Homeostatic alteration Hyperglicaemia – Diabetic coma Elaborate and delicate toys In the hands of the Queen. Delight us with you alkaloids or give us the death with your venoms. In Chemistry we trust.
II – Dirt
We're snared by our mortality pitilessly playing, despite our will, a bloody roulette where only the black sign of death can turn. The unconscious germ in his brief sleep ejaculates his love-stench lustfully. Pollution Progressive necrosis shiftily Metastasis And we feel the weight of our captivity, prisoners in the one body, with no soul to break these chains. Irony, the insane cry can free me no more from the killing grip of Death either. We smell I don't like the salty taste of scum too much - but this milky liquid is the quintessence of humanity for sure, to feel it on the lips of the one you love only serves to amplify the disgust. Our decomposing proteins are disgusting but this nitrogenous smell is everything we have.
III – Death at the Mirror
I dedicate my nightmare to the dying man whose death is mine. The man in the mirror is gasping his dreadful verdict of guilty: this is my end. And the terrifying desperation cancel his imploded brain. The last experience, aimless, as everything else. The stars, they're dead too, won't save either me or you trifling heap of organic material cursing with your impossible anguish now the feeble light that won't stay. The sinus-atrial node is still pulsating but it's already degraded chemistry the one that makes you play the obscene last act of the farce. And I can't learn, my exorcism is inefficient as the pity that the Queen denies to you. Nobody thought you to die.
IV – Alter-Ego
I confront the Alter-Ego in the n-dimension space The face in the mirror laughs at the inevitable defeat He knows my strength He knows my shrill cry can hurl him away, weigh him down in psychic infrared. But He can torture my brain He knows my pain He can light the fire of my ancestral terror. His time is the moment But this moment is torture. The Demon attacks!
V – Erasure
I, not I What unhappy need is this? Destruction of the subject Ego, an object Objectivation How can I make up my desperate narcissism with the imperious order of annulment? How can the artist find to be a servant? How can the odious Death peep through the crazy multitudes Of possible solutions for a while? Self-asserting vs. Negation of Unicity Or is Unicity an Ice-Queen's esoteric dominion? Cancel! Extirpate! Eliminate! Obliterate! Erase! To erase! To erase! Me, not me
VI – Trauma
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