[ It's like backwash. The old memories of someone else's tastes, like a photocopy of a photocopy of a photo, grey on grey washing out the details. The clone network is like a basin, and every mind is a single bead left in the water. Sometimes they come into contact, sometimes not, but the flecks of paint that wash off over time still swirls around the same pan.
Human meat, apparently, has the texture of pork, with a little bit of goat.
The tape starts rolling with a click, distorted vocals filtering through low percussion and guitars in a swaying beat. Something to dance to. Or work to. Tetora bops his head along to the bass line. We must've died alone, a long long time ago.
Hah. ]
I guess it is pretty good. Kinda sad, though. [ It's nothing like Lucy's music, thankfully. ] Is all your music like that?
no subject
[ It's like backwash. The old memories of someone else's tastes, like a photocopy of a photocopy of a photo, grey on grey washing out the details. The clone network is like a basin, and every mind is a single bead left in the water. Sometimes they come into contact, sometimes not, but the flecks of paint that wash off over time still swirls around the same pan.
Human meat, apparently, has the texture of pork, with a little bit of goat.
The tape starts rolling with a click, distorted vocals filtering through low percussion and guitars in a swaying beat. Something to dance to. Or work to. Tetora bops his head along to the bass line. We must've died alone, a long long time ago.
Hah. ]
I guess it is pretty good. Kinda sad, though. [ It's nothing like Lucy's music, thankfully. ] Is all your music like that?