OLD GLORIES - 4:02
CUSP -- 4:48
THIS IS THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA -- 7:02
CHESHIRE CAT -- 3:52
POLLYANNA BELLADONNA -- 7:15
CHAPELS & BETRAYALS -- 10:12
IN THE BUNKER ALONE -- 1:28
IN A BUNKER WITH THE ANTICHRIST -- 10:18
CASTLE FALLEN -- 5:10
SURVIVOR -- 3:17
THE CHILD IS BEING BORN -- 2:05
"Menacing minimal ambience...its pulsing shell punctuated with chilling suprises."
Break the coding, glyph and roon
fling equations cross the sky
old glory gape in mute tattoo
baby jaws stretch rubbery wide
In the beginning was the Accident, when Old Glory released the Time Eater, and the Time Eater came a-sundering. Then tenses mingled. Days splashed into other days, moments into other moments, and the fruits of those unions were bitter indeed.
"OLD GLORY DOWN, OLD GLORY DOWN!" we cried out to the stars, and down from the stars came the ParSat B, dancing down the mangled years, patching and re-patching the tenses, but improvising furiously, for they had no template. And pieces of day and night rained down like salt and pepper. And dissolution spread like a stain.
Survivors materialized randomly, shambling out of this 'patched' time, this queasy time, sanity strewn, eyes stung wide for a thousand leagues . . . shambling into our own slab of Queasy Time, our moment forever pressed between winter's bone-white desolation and the black rains of autumn.
Shamble they did, from that terrible sensory gumbo, weeping, shrieking, muttering tales of the oily colors that hurt their ears, the long green smell that bled their senses dry. Into our own turning colors under our own traitor moon, that burning eye, that great keening mouth, spilling it's pale and poison light over the remains of Old Glory.
Out of the dim chaos of brokentime came they. Some with 'modal sperms'.
Them we could use.
Into our own Abel Chain Mountains, our own slab of Queasy Time, where the men were misborn and the wimmin extinct. where protein is desirable in direct ratio to the similarity of the eating organism. where fright and fatigue release a tenderizin' agent in prey. Where the county Gender Reconciliation Facilitators were crucified upside down and welded into the monsterous iron wall surrounding the City Of Brotherly Love. where all the clans had rusty clawdiddles hanging over their fireplaces and the Circuit Sterilizer never needed to knock . . .
