Sghor -
Maranathata
13,5 Euro with
shipping
sold out
procdr /
DIGIPACK
This is my 8th solo album,
strictly conceptual. This is what have happened to me.
I woke up on a cold wet
ground and something was happening – the very first
sounds were revealing some kind of anxiety. It's like
fear, but actually you aren't almost scared – you feel a
strange excitement. Slowly opening my eyes, I saw the
enormity and the beauty of the surrounding landscape.
All was so favourable. Among mist and vapouring warm
boggy water, I started to hear this song, the real noise
of nature. Incredible view had appeared before my eyes –
there were frogs placed on every single part of area;
there were thousands of them. „It has begun” - I
thought. I'm not sure, but I think that they were the
Litoria caerulea, tough I can't be sure for 100%. It
was quite dark and I didn't see much, because everything
was only illuminated partly by something like odorous
bushes; they were scattered irregularly on this terrain,
where the happening was. I don't know precisely, what I
had been doing all the time; I incredibly found myself
after 2 hours. Simply, I had crouched by myself and
leant on my hands and began to make sounds together with
thousand of frogs. „It's fine” - I thought. The way that
my thought were crystalizing was really incredible –
after few minutes I knew that I only needed a female to
reproduce the species. „But something was happening” - I
thought, still as a human; I looked around and I was
frightened: „I know why so many frogs are here...” The
happening slowly started to end - fortunately, my
anxiety was slowly being over and all that euphoria was
considerably minimizing. I thought I was moving and I
managed to think, there further I saw something
different. Memory of yesterday's day.
Before the ruins came,
everything was swimming and lasting in harmony. The
entire world had let me speak to it and answered all
questions. It's just a remembrance of it as was before,
consequently realised actor's monologue. You could have
each day and it was also warm. It wasn't like a few
years have passed since last summer. You have never felt
cold, even at the end of the day. Sun is not like an
enemy with who you're fighting, but who are you hiding
from.
They let us tasting its best and most
dear ones, kept only for chosen. I'm drawing out an old
atlas and I'm staring at a map of the world; for case,
if my world might change, before the ruins came.
Warm, I feel warm, I'm laying
on a blanket on the grass. I'm staring at the beautiful
sky, that one below as well as above me. In fact, I'm
vanishing and then I hear a sound like that one in night
news program. It's a quintessence of that cognition
then. I had seen, he gave me his hand and it was truly
shown to me. All my second life I've been looking for
something like this, it answered thousand of m questions
at last and gave a thousand of his. It's in full bloom,
blossoming, it's simultaneously big and small. Now it's
summer, it seems to us, that there will be no winter,
we're so heavenly daydreaming. Just in case, I greeted
it once more, but like for the first time. I hate to say
it, but probably you're dosing me it like a drug. It's
like heroin, now. I would never take it, but it's now
for the asking, who cares, that they will came then.
There must be doors. I'm prolonging it as I can, but I
don't hear the voice now, only that sound like in the
night news program remains. It was short, I had made
full use of the inventory, I don't regret. I thought so
by a wooden pencil on a concrete, between which a grass
was springing.
They were thanking me and
applauding, I had been incredible, I was standing on a
stage and breathing. For me, that’s it – they were
being tickled pink, trampling each other, and scrambling
closer to me. I was just breathing and was being adored
for it, I was doing something, what everyone can. Just
another few breaths and once again a tide of applause, a
stream of warm air, adrenaline and you’re in home. And
then, something fucked up. It turned out, that I’m all
alone in a strange factory floor, there were many
industrial sounds, but the machines were operating
themselves. I was shouting very loud, e.g. I remember a
girl in the first row, she had been demonstrating my
sign by her hand, I wanted to find her and she might
come, but there was no one here. Being all covered in
grease, I was almost tiptoeing, it was dark. I had been
shouting and I was trying to breathe, but I didn't
succeed even in it. An illusion, a phantom, a spectre
and a fucking too real dream. I'm in home. You're in
home.
A small path, very indistinct
– I'm following him. It's terribly getting dusty, it's
heat. He is wearing a material green jacket, he isn't
turning about at all, he isn't waiting for me. I'm
shouting, calling his name, then shouting normally. This
place is a low-grade backwoods, I'm passing a kinda red
bicycle, I think, that maybe... but not. I haven't the
strength to go on, I'm missing him, I'm losing the
sharpness, all of this is a blink of an eye. I'm slowing
down. He is far away, I won't catch, I'm stumbling, I'm
falling to my knees, I feel sand in my mouth. He's
disappearing somewhere on the horizon – he's leaving,
I'm staying. I don't know, I don't see any more, I do
have only one question – where is dad? Oh well, but
where is dad? Maranathata.