"The Winds That Forestall Thy Return"

by Octopi Mills

"Hymn of the Forlorn Wanderer" stalks me now, like some stranger from an old occult text I read when I was in the foolish heat of speckled youth; as if to repay some sort of forgotten wrong wrought by long delay. It lumbers and meddles with dissonance and jarring chords, before trying to give way to the lie of relaxation and comfort. If the IRS had access to demoniac agencies for collection purposes this could well be the way to audit and soundtrack a man's dreaming states.."Pale Moonlight Shadow" shows up with its hand out next, as if released upon me from an old account, as I wonder what in the name of the Lord it wants, or what gives it its foggy parts and wares. The guitars are like cheese layers of a heavy fog, partly elemental and part industrial disease, and I am given to the light hallucination of a city park, and an entity created there that eats street light and the small waves of internet access where other things try to form in life and come through a similar host. 

The way the third track toads around and mingles with the room is interesting; it tries to pick up similar frequencies to steal for itself, much like the common dust devil attempts to stir up minuscule particles before dying or returning from whence it never came. And the second part of the title track is born in the voiceless terror that pervades this collection; and that is damn well what I will call it- a collection of things. Much in the way an ordinary broom and dust pan are quite normal in the scenery of a common kitchen before a poltergeist energy comes and disturbs the motion of everyday life, so too this music does this in the way it borrows from the painting to cause it to bleed into muddy places lost,.Yet somehow when the dust settles the broom and pan never moved at all....This is the curious mystery of the tones and strokes that meddle around here with the ordinary room of one's mind, like a wayward wind blows a curtain and one mistakes it for a barely known cousin… how it  comes in and rearranges ones underthings and causes a fool chill here and there, only to find that it's not the relative at all, but some sort of foul stranger. Like the phone call one receives in the middle of the day where no one is on the other end, this music creates the conspiracy that is silent and leery, and it is the feeling one might get when one's vision is captured by a weird antique of strange and smooth porcelain lies. In this way, I must appreciate the brief encounter shared by two strangers of I and it..."Aeons Pass, Memories Don't Fade" makes me nearly scream into the empty receiver "Really? Don't tell me how to feel, damn you!!!"