V by Exsomnus
New Exsomnus. A new inner withdrawal. A deeper retrenchment inside the foam and the abyss of dying days, a zone where one does not truly exist anymore, reduced to an automaton repeating pre-ordered gestures, movements inherited rather than chosen.
A search conducted with the mind elsewhere, drifting, for new sonic paradigms. It unfolds through field recordings gathered during a slow wandering inside the first white storm of November, inside those vaporous comas where one lies stranded like a millenary wreck, unable to impose order on the other storm, the one raging endlessly inside the skull.
An anti-music that is neither hostile nor joyful. Neither confrontational nor conciliatory. It claims nothing, demands nothing, resists nothing.
Except absence.
Credits
Exsomnus: Snow liquefies into a voiceless choir, and along the asphalt, hollow automobiles loop endlessly, hunting a vacancy.
License
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