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(Excerpt
from Prodigo's Progress, Chapter 5)
(Excerpt from Prodigo's Progress, Chapter 5)
A trippy
solstice chimed midnight. All light evaporated, as the afterimage
of colossal sound shimmered across an ancient sanctum. It dissolved
to infinite black. Dreamtime fell like eternity within the deep
well of silence. It ebbed. Soundlessly, a ragged, unseen multitude
stood at the precipice of this invisible abyss, waiting like mute
shadows in the void. They were, as it were, half-denuded supplicants
of oblivion, clad only in the rags of faith; disciples of a Forgotten
God, they gazed a megalithic gaze into their psychic eclipse for
a long, catatonic moment. But this timeless interregnum of preconscious
slumber was, itself, the cue for a nyctotropic ritual; and now unfolded
a change. Lungs sucked autonomically at the tenebrous mist while
mindless arms lifted in propitiation to the dark; and at this, their
myriad eyes snapped open – and they screamed. Suddenly the
ebon vacuum was rent and in a moment they jerked to life, youths
and hoydens, howling, writhing, convulsing and wailing like a host
of serpent-spined Banshees. Their inhuman cry was visceral as they
screeched and keened, Voodoo and Pagan, spasming like feral anima,
until finally the occluded air splintered at their ululating. The
primordial night shattered into a jagged handaxe of noise, shards
of sound ripped through bone and fur and flesh, and their legion
quivered like totems in the atavistic moment of their instinctive
NOW. At last! Time flowed again, like honey. Somewhere, a shaman
smiled.
Then the ground shook
to the renewed throb of an immense Sound System, pumping rhythm
directly to their thousand hypothalami, and they whirled, like
a swarm of hominid tops, howling in that immense ceremonial cavern.
Overhead, silks and rare fabrics, dyed undreamed colours and scented
with strange incense, billowed in the pressure waves streaming
from industrial grade bassbins. A few bongo players flammed
happily, inaudible in the massive pulse that throbbed from the
speakers and saturated the air. Pools of light swelled like luminescent
waves through the tribal dancers, ecstatic hearts beat as one,
and The Whole World glowed. At the edges of this throng lay a
few danced-out kids, slumped on outsized cushions, lounging in
Bohemian satiety and slowly nodding off in demulcent bliss. This,
to them, was like heaven-on-earth, or if not exactly that, well,
at least it was like heaven-in-a-giant-aircraft-hanger-on-acid.
It was the hub and vortex of inspiration, the ever-flowering hothouse
of human creativity... and the most legendary club in the world.
It was Saturday night, and this was Metagnosis.
to be continued...
Elf - live
guitar, ambient guitar, multi-tapped acoustic guitar, and no overdubs!
Two albums - Book Of Dreams & Sanctuary; a CD single is in the works.
Some time live at Club Dog, Whirl-y-gig, Phoenix Festival, Megatripolis,
Ambient Club, Idol...

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