THE CARNIVAL CROSSWAYS THE BLACK OCEAN
THE CARNIVAL CROSSWAYS THE BLACK OCEAN
THE CARNIVAL CROSSWAYS THE BLACK OCEAN
THE CARNIVAL CROSSWAYS THE BLACK OCEAN
THE CARNIVAL CROSSWAYS THE BLACK OCEAN
THE CARNIVAL CROSSWAYS THE BLACK OCEAN
THE CARNIVAL CROSSWAYS THE BLACK OCEAN
THE CARNIVAL CROSSWAYS THE BLACK OCEAN
SUBJECTIVE PATH
SUBJECTIVE PATH
SUBJECTIVE PATH
SUBJECTIVE PATH
SUBJECTIVE PATH
SUBJECTIVE PATH
SUBJECTIVE PATH
SUBJECTIVE PATH
SUBJECTIVE PATH
SUBJECTIVE PATH
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In Reverence for the Erstwhile; the Spirits of Other; a bright green in the dark.
It is all ‘for’ you; it is all ‘in’ you.
On the Passing of My Priestess
Joanna In Memoriam, (1972-2020)
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Sound is the Primordial Being; a twinkling of crystalline bells and florets, which then birth the image. From this perspective, the film is symbolically contained in the soundtrack, as Hadit is held by Nuit, or Kali contains all cosmic wisdom within Herself.
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It is said, that when an Adept departs the physical realm, there is a bursting of Aurora Borealis—a nebulous essence, which we can mark as iridescent dust to satiate the Eye, veneers the trees, mountains, and persons with pure Shakti; a fluidity, or a translucent wax pulsating with tiny auditory eggs, a stream of endless stars. This corresponds to Chinnamasta, removing the Magician’s upper mind, so s/he may drink of the true mind and infinite spectral sea glass, Ketu. The glitters are cosmic blood, or cosmic love, twined in galaxies of Twilight. The aura sings itself one thousand harps, one thousand amethysts.
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When I was swimming in my pool, a captivating creature descended from the depths, very Venusian. Joanna. She escorts me across the ways from my apartment and showed me that I had picked the proper place; this is where Townes had stayed in Austin. We lay a shell there to honor him. The blue violet of the swamp, the crackling echo cascading in the old delta blues hymns—that is the closest thing I’ve ever known to the stars. Shakti, so effortless in your Love.
In hymns of Townes, I found you passed; and through these hymns that I hear your love. Sound is as sentient phantasm, a glistening, golden smoke; subtle enough we can summon it to send letters to those far away. It is not about distortions of perception, but elegant receiving; sometimes in a time signature, a frequency, so harmonious it ‘is’ perfection. The album is a grimoire; it lays itself a silhouette flickering in swelled starlight, an inked hallway of feathered gleam, funneling into itself over again for other persons to enter; not unlike feeding the Serpents’ tail to its mouth. There are watchers in the Obsidian, and their glow awaits you—Neptune is just inauguration. er persons to enter; not unlike feeding the Serpents’ tail to its mouth. There are watchers in the Obsidian, and their glow awaits you—Neptune is just inauguration.



