Yung Lake - Flux

The Universe does not flow into the eyes of a predator, all they see in the mirror is but a shadow. The fog reaper says softly: don’t look at the lion, don’t look at the Milky Way, look inside, directly into the Void, and pray for deliverance together with lucid moon-faced Angels all around you, and fight with weapons of silence in the quiet internal wars against the uncleanliness and unfreedom of the Spirit. All around, a thick fog of reality, gut-wrenching orgies of Chaos and imaginary order, withered hopes and future wounds, echoes of touches and scars of ecstacy, ghettos of the mind and liquid curls of light. The agony of an Angel with its wings cut off, his otherworldly voice still hovering above the slowly smouldering swamps of blood, limbs and feathers. Silence is golden. Silence is golden. Silence is golden. Silence is golden. NO MORE REALITY! - so yelled the midget from Kingston upon burning himself alive in front of the ancient temple in 1998.