We quickly walk forth towards the castle. We're not headed towards the city, though; no. Our route is elsewhere; it smells like rusty iron, like drugged up piss, like shafts and dungeons, hundred years old, maybe even more. It's a cold night and we're going underground again like we always go . To feel dead, to feel alive.
The lights are dim. Feels like there's rust flowing through the air everywhere like a heavy curtain. It also keeps reminding one that we live in the eastern block of Europe, very Balcan but not quite.
We enter the hole like rats. These people all degrade themselves... it's a hour after midnight and they already crouch pissed and I don't know what else in the chilly breeze outside. Some of them might not be pissed, just pissed off. And silly, too drunk to enter again.
Anyway, at this point the painted corridor absorbs us as we enter the void.
The walls of this hilltube are painted with appeal on contrast - they're vertically stripped. The youngsters seem to be naturally attracted by intensively psychedelic tracts of paint, they just would'nt understand subtler methods of decoration. But we're here for a different purpose, we're in love with the underground scent of ancient dust and with the knowledge that somewhere, sometime, deep, cold, thought-over unnatural bass still shakes the ground.
As I and my trusting hound enter, paying no attention to local crowd - which is completely drunk and out-of-focus anyway - the barkeeper throws a look of distant recognition in our direction. But that's all we're gonna receive, honey... Except some tough herbal medicine, of course, which helps digest the morning vomit.
As we move closer to the source of music at the end of the confined, even coffin-like space, the atmosphere seems to get heavier, the space gets darker, the people quietly wait around as the treble level goes silent. Strobes impregnate my opinion-free brain and now I'm the strobe. The bass inflicts energy into my skeletal legs which start to tremble in all possible directions. And now I'm the bass. It's everywhere.
The darkness doesn't dance. Just like the tough guys just dangle from side to side as they appreciate what they hear, we, as to represent who (or what) we are, I and my hounddog stomp the hell out of the beer and vomit-soaked floor in a series of creepiest movements possible to demonstrate our inhumanity. There's no rest, no peace, just the bass and the apparent void full of loud vibration. As we get closer to the source, DJs flee away in terror...
All of a sudden, batman shows up in front of me and chops off my head.
THEN WAT HAPPEN?
ľuubim hádanky.a subwoofery. dokončpríbeh.
Blog
Komentuj
Komenty k blogu
Napíš svoj komentár