Sulphur Island from aquarium cylce by Into Living Void

Yes the mix is poorly. This is the bobbing fleet. Faded grass skirts and rusting pineapples. Seasick green and grey. Onto the wet sand, why do you think its wet. Every voice is two voices. Messages. Memories. At home right now. Home right now. Right now. Now. Minor chords. Strewn. Ripped. Musically this part, the vibes, came from hearing something, Sam Andreyev? Maybe. Anyway the rest is impressions. Night, stars, no mention of Moon. Chatters and whooshes and others. The big man, the man in the white night gown, sweeps up. All the structures belong to him. He clears the way. The Laughter and Rib Cage Koan. This part is home. And telegraph wires. Then back on board. Funeral organ. And the man with the fiddle. Who sets the dance.

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