At dusk the sunsets have been an incredible crimson recently. There’s a forest burning somewhere and the ash wraps around everything outside. The windows are musky with its carcasses and when I walk around outside I can smell the burnt foliage and feel it settle within me. The bronchial days seem drawn out and the sun dies a little slower through the oculus of dead trees. Dusk is always the most depressing time of day.
I don’t want to be in the in-betweens. Things are lost in cracks, in cushions of couches, under beds, drainage pipes, undersides of buckets. Dusk is that cleavage of day; splitting the light and the dark like a sickle carved from a dull bone.
All I love with Napalm Death anno 1986-1989, especially the punk energy, is summerized in "Take aim". Wormrot of course stands on its own. Amazing. whaleheart