It is the twelfth album from Tuesday Never Comes.
Hermeticism and despotism play across your image like a twin-colored rainbow. The rainbow is an arc. One falls upon me too. The circle, the conclusion; the target, a refinement; the center, the sublime. The bullseye, where play stops, is just one color.
Allegedly, such images are dissolved in the mutual recognition of language. But what do we recognize if not just such an image, model, explanation, or utterly apparent fact? Of course, what we actually recognize is that language, as such, is utterly transparent. Unrecognizable, it calls nothing into question. It does not even blur a single line. And that is why these shadows fall.
Hermeticism and despotism play across your image like a twin-colored rainbow. The rainbow is an arc. One falls upon me too. The circle, the conclusion; the target, a refinement; the center, the sublime. The bullseye, where play stops, is just one color.
Allegedly, such images are dissolved in the mutual recognition of language. But what do we recognize if not just such an image, model, explanation, or utterly apparent fact? Of course, what we actually recognize is that language, as such, is utterly transparent. Unrecognizable, it calls nothing into question. It does not even blur a single line. And that is why these shadows fall.
