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about
Between Vanity and Denial is the description of a crisis: in the moment of a loss of coordinates in the attempt of analysing our position within reality, the acknowledgment of the power of routines and their submission to time as driving force.
It is an act of witness of a becoming: becoming Death, without sensing properly its significance:
It is a silent caesura from a phase of knowledge as existential influence on the objects surrounding us to knowledge as consciousness to be an object among objects and therefore a victim of the passage of seasons.
It is a blatant manifesto of a struggle with the unreachable, an invitation to lay down imaginary arms, as these have existed only in the illusion of a frame that can no longer be shielded by the simple utterance of “tomorrow”, but revives itself in filtered nuances of our yesterdays.
As the accumulation of days is not a treasure but a burden that whispers its “nevermore” at every attempt of developing into action.
lyrics
It’s getting cold and the colder it gets,
This immobility grips us tighter,
The eons dominate the scene,
Mise en abyme.
It’s getting dull and these reflections vibrate,
Stuck in the decay of the flesh.
Surrendering to seasons, aimless,
End of excess.
(And we cannot bear to witness any longer
The sheer aggression of the equinox,
Held within a repetition)
In the wish to fade away.
Through adoration and despise,
Between vanity and denial,
When all is said and all is done,
When horizons tend to grey,
Another day,
Between vanity and denial.
It’s getting slow, fatal revolution,
Trapped in the gravity of these memories,
Feasting upon our entropies,
Time of the obscene.
It’s getting low, this libido,
Unlearning known spells of dualities,
Unyielding pulls this tourniquet,
Reiterate.
(And I cannot bear to witness any longer
The rapacity of your eyes,
That insatiable hunger for novelty)
In the wake of this malaise.
Through adoration and despise,
Between vanity and denial,
When all is said and all is done,
When horizons tend to grey,
Another day,
Between vanity and denial.
And now? What is left to be?
A growing silence
Spreads in these tired limbs,
Nevermore!
What is left to see?
When nothing stuns,
When everything is pantomime,
Nevermore!
An anthem to numbered days,
We castaways…
So long, to the floods and passions,
So long, to the embrace of life,
So long!
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