Yesterday evening I received in my meil the following text from the Gaki. Like every time, I quote.
untangle cables mp 3. In fact for a long time to unravel. The always perceived as preparation for the next pitch was to press the play . Technology once again had to overcome but little interested. He loved the broken screen and more tangled cables any new, cool technology construct. The bonding of the material was certainly idealistic origins.
The thought of it started to swell as silicone foam head. It was New Year's Eve and everyone ran to do the last shopping. And he was holding a cute pink outfit radioactivity was taken for the nieces and nephews.
The huge neon sign ready to turn the moment it left ambiguity. It was actually New Year's Eve 2030. He had almost forgotten over the years before he came face to face with this sign. The morning had decided to remove the shaving of his favorite sideburns trying to dwindle the white hairs of his face. Pause in any reflective surface encountered while trying to convince himself that seemed less aged.
The sirens once again last week began to scream. Panicky people clutching bags of shopping in hand, ran to find refuge in shelters and shops. Another acid rain had begun the descent to travel to the sick asphalt. This time it is considered extremely vain to squeeze and that under the sheds. He has only untangle headphones. He put in his ears and lit a cigarette.
Ulrich Schnauss . Who remembers him now? He knew that the ever shrinking human civilization music was a luxury. Especially an unknown guy from a town that once called Kiel . A cold, foggy Baltic Sea port to the global depression weighs on his shoulders. The Ulrich in a dark room of a forgotten city, the figure seemed more concerned than ever. A Strangely Isolated Place .
H music is extremely discreet, rarely could be imposed above the noise of the city. Could only be used as a common substrate that I was lying on top of thoughts, images and sounds and taking new form. The His music has had this fucking power of patience. The power that one finds in the bowels of Prometheus, to repeated drops eventually pierce the marble and those who try to change the world by holding stones against guns.
The cigarette was notisei from the rain. Loathed and threw it. From behind came a voice in despair: "Where are you going sir; H rain is acidic. Did not hear the sirens? "Increase and Another tension. It sounded now purely in relation to the external audio In all the wrong places . He felt the music like vitriol flowing the vocal chords and burning. Any need to speak was gone.
A psychotic optimism formed neurons in the brain to see that the culture imposed on them to love kept alive only with mechanical support. No matter how much paracetamol was consumed and no longer will could stop the pain of existence. He could finally enjoy this album with fewer illusions.
He entered the bus line. At half time it was home. He put his wet clothes in a plastic bag as the press had warned the government. He put the slippers and sat on the sofa to gaze at the New Year program. In some approaching 12. 2030 and still continues to exist in the same way.
Gakis
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