𝕮𝖚𝖗𝖘𝖊𝖉 𝕯𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖘

The meadow existed in isolation, removed from every recognizable human axis. No roads led to it, no stable coordinates could describe it. Whoever found it did so by mistake… or by an attraction impossible to explain. The ground sloped toward an indistinct center, and the trees surrounding it grew twisted, leaning toward one another as if guarding an ancient secret. Even in summer, the temperature fell without meteorological cause, and the air became thick with a damp density that numbed the breath. It was there that I discovered the flowers. They obeyed no season. They bloomed in forms that defied logic: petals bent at impossible angles, stems rising in unnatural inclinations, as though answering to a foreign gravity. Their origin was not in the earth, nor in the climate, nor in any external source. Within the meadow, an intermittent symphony would emerge—one that could not be heard with the ears: suspended fragments, an eternal tension without resolution. It was neither memory nor hallucination, but a sonic structure trapped outside of time. I ran. That waking vision struck me like a conscious nightmare. I fled as though remaining one second longer might bind me forever to that place. For days I tried to continue my life. I visited my mother in Prague. I went to work. I slept. I ate. Everything seemed intact… yet something had shifted irreversibly. I consumed classical music with devotion, and then my judgment began to erode. In Bach, in Rachmaninoff, distortions appeared—melodic lines that did not belong, tensions identical to those of the meadow. The recordings were not failing. The music itself was. I stopped listening out of fear, but silence offered no refuge. The melody persisted beneath it. I decided to reach the truth.

In the historical archives of Prague, I found the answer: During the war, in that very meadow, an entire orchestra was executed. Not immediately—they were allowed to perform one final piece before they died. They played until the end… Or until the end was denied to them. The final chord never came. Gunfire shattered the music at its peak of tension. It was a sacrifice. The melody did not die with the musicians. I returned to the meadow because there was no alternative. It was not courage, nor reason—it was an unholy summons. The symphony manifested even in absolute silence, as though my nervous system had been tuned to its frequency. I returned at dawn. The descent seemed steeper, as if the meadow had sunk beneath an invisible weight. The trees were more twisted; some were split with cracks, as though something had tried to grow from within. The flowers had changed. Their petals vibrated with an almost imperceptible oscillation, generating distortions in the air—ripples that bent reality itself. I assembled improvised equipment: sensors, contact microphones, spectral analysis. Nothing malfunctioned. It recorded impossibilities. Negative frequencies. Harmonics without fundamentals. Patterns alien to all human music. Then I understood.

The god did not use music as language. Music was merely a byproduct. The entity existed as a mass of vibrational coherence older than matter itself. And the interruption of the symphony during the war had created a perfect cavity in reality—an unresolved void that allowed it to anchor. The flowers were not offerings. They were sensory organs. Through them, the god perceived our world as an unfinished score. Every human vibration, every attempt to complete the melody, added complexity to the system. And I, in studying them, in listening with obsession, had become an amplification chamber. The symphony intensified. Not in volume, but as internal pressure. I felt the bones of the ear vibrating, the auditory nerve carrying information it was never meant to contain. I tried to escape, but the meadow no longer had orientation. The center was everywhere. The last flower I touched opened. And in a final instant of clarity, I understood the god did not intend to kill me. My death was simply the logical result of listening too deeply. The melody demanded continuity, and my body could not sustain it. Sound ceased to be sound. It became structure. Something within me reached a critical amplitude—an absolute expansion, as though every cell were forced to vibrate in perfect synchrony with an impossible note. There was no scream. No blood. Only the sudden release of contained energy, like a human instrument tuned beyond its physical limits. The meadow absorbed what remained. If anyone finds these notes—if vibration still allows them to exist—understand this: The symphony is still incomplete. The flowers are still growing. And the god needs no believers. Only ears willing to listen.

"Ha caído, ha caído la gran Babilonia, y se ha hecho habitación de demonios y guarida de todo espíritu inmundo, y albergue de toda ave inmunda y aborrecible. Porque todas las naciones han bebido del vino(...) Los mercaderes de estas cosas, que se han enriquecido a costa de ella, se pararán lejos por el temor de su tormento, llorando y lamentando, y diciendo: ¡Ay, ay, de la gran ciudad, que estaba vestida de lino fino, de púrpura y de escarlata, y estaba adornada de oro, de piedras preciosas y de perlas! Porque en una hora han sido consumidas tantas riquezas. (...) y viendo el humo de su incendio, dieron voces, diciendo: ¿Qué ciudad era semejante a esta gran ciudad? (...) ¡Ay, ay de la gran ciudad, en la cual todos los que tenían naves en el mar se habían enriquecido de sus riquezas; pues en una hora ha sido desolada! Y un ángel poderoso tomó una piedra, como una gran piedra de molino, y la arrojó en el mar, diciendo: Con el mismo ímpetu será derribada Babilonia, la gran ciudad, y nunca más será hallada. Y voz de arpistas, de músicos, de flautistas y de trompeteros no se oirá más en ti." -Apocalipsis -------------------------------------------------------------- "Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen, and is become the habitation of devils, and the hold of every foul spirit, and a cage of every unclean and hateful bird. For all nations have drunk of the wine (...). The merchants of these things, who have grown rich at her expense, shall stand afar off for fear of her torment, weeping and wailing, and saying, Woe, woe, that great city, which was clothed in fine linen, purple, and scarlet, and decked with gold, and precious stones, and pearls! For in one hour so much riches were consumed (...) and when they saw the smoke of her burning, they cried out, saying, What city was like this great city? (...) Woe, woe to the great city, in which all those who had ships in the sea had become rich in their wealth; for in one hour it has been desolate! And a mighty angel took up a stone, as it were a great millstone, and cast it into the sea, saying, With the same mighty power shall Babylon the great city be thrown down, and shall be found no mo

In the advance of the hyper-technological age our greed as a species has meant that energy on a planetary level is running out, the last hope is a project still in testing, a reactor that uses dark matter to convert it into energy. The reactor failed and imploded, our greed and faith in unbridled progress meant our extinction. Due to the accident the sky turned dark, temperatures dropped below freezing, many species died along with humans, but that was only a beginning for the next species that would inhabit the earth in this second ice age. Is the human being a mammal or perhaps some kind of energy parasite? ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- En el avance de la era hipertecnologica nuestra avaricia como especie ha hecho que la energía a nivel planetario se este acabando, la ultima esperanza es un proyecto aun en pruebas, un reactor que usa materia oscura para convertirla en energía. El reactor fallo y implosiono, nuestra avaricia y fe en el progreso desmedido significo nuestra extinción. Debido al accidente el cielo se torno oscuro, bajaron las temperaturas por debajo de los cero grados, muchas especies murieron junto a los humanos, pero ese solo fue un principio para las siguientes que habitarían la tierra en esta segunda era glacial ¿Es el ser humano un mamífero o quizás alguna clase de parasito energético?  créditos se lanzó el 17 de mayo de 2024 All music by: 2AGR3 and GLVZ Master: Acid Warlock Art: Acid Warlock Distribution: Cursed Dissonances

"En los bosques sombríos de Navarra, se alza la figura ominosa de Akerbeltz. Cada paso suyo resuena como un eco de tiempos olvidados, recordando rituales paganos y cultos prohibidos. Es el guardián de los límites entre la realidad y la pesadilla, un ser cuyo dominio oscuro desafía las leyes de la naturaleza y la cordura humana. En su presencia, la luz se desvanece y los susurros del viento se convierten en lamentos de almas perdidas."

"Sorginak són las brujas ancestrales del País Vasco. Son figuras enigmáticas, envueltas en el misterio de la noche, portadoras de secretos antiguos y poderes profundos. Se reúnen en aquelarres clandestinos, donde la luna proyecta su luz sobre rituales prohibidos y conjuros olvidados. Su presencia es un eco de tiempos remotos, desafiando las normas de la sociedad y la religión, tejiendo hechizos en la penumbra. Las sorginak son las guardianas de lo oculto, tejedoras de tinieblas y símbolos de un mundo que yace más allá de la luz." Ya disponible en bandcamp

"En la penumbra de los bosques vascos, donde las sombras se entrelazan con los árboles centenarios, se yergue la figura ominosa de Tartalo. Su piel rugosa refleja siglos de secretos oscuros, mientras que sus ojos, dos abismos sin fondo, destilan un aura de malicia ancestral. Cada paso de Tartalo es un eco que resuena en la oscuridad, anunciando su presencia a aquellos que se aventuran en su reino de sombras."