Dear grindy, Mondo Bungle, and Ninetales,
I have listened to all of your albums that you recommended. I'm not going to do a full review yet, but I did like all of them quite a bit. Non Credo had an awesome singer, quite reminiscent of Sainkho Namtchylak with her use of extended voice technique. Trist was fantastic as well, I really like their raw and atmospheric sound. I enjoyed Solanaceae Tau, but I'm going to need to give it a few more listens. I didn't enjoy it as much as the other two albums based on the few listens that I have given it.
More detailed reviews will possible be coming soon.
I'm going to post a story I wrote from outer space. Enjoy:
Plums struck the thin veneer of the watershed roof tiles. Hissing as they splash and trickle; the man's sickly frame bowed forward, feeling the radiator as it fusses and hisses.
The rooftop erodes in the omnipresent drizzle. Under, above, and in from the sides they flew, harsh droplets that would kiss the shingling tile. Flaking away piece by piece. Hard sands struck wood panels lay inside indoors once before, but sands were unionized into puddles of mud in the late Winter storm.
Struck by the dilemma of fall's plum drizzle, rotting away and oozing down the gutter. Flooded with water, streams sputter from the deposit below. Sands before leapt from the roads. Left milky hazes as wind dashed, making housesides wind tunnels. A water floods the eye, wheeled outside for a moment's time. Usually sunlight radiates, warms his bones but the evil mistress of the clouds bore upon him. Clouds, rumbling, bear waste to shake loose.
The water runs down his cheek. Reeled back inside, trails from his chair behind him stained the floor. Clear, cold trails.
Missing the last series of mainstay artistry in the winter's reflection below the mirror glass windows.Drying streams lines his cheeks. Immobilized. Eyes distorted from the watered lens, he glimpses forward. Finds behind counters of medicine parlors, birthed in age, licking its lips, pangs of hunger throttle the hourglass figure frame. Finds behind the eyes a more acceptable brand of insanity. Finding which direction to gaze, lost again through the misty haze.
Armchair leaning across the coffee table. Tongue and lip dictate letters and shape of a sense, but senseless ramblings take the floor. Numbing prick in arm, gazing double sighted as holes spreckle the ceiling. Freckles flock around the nose, hiding reverberations of shouts, moans. Groaning once before the final bell rings. Alone in silence, radiator sings. Darkness hiding him away from the cold. Streams on cheeks, hard lines.
