There's an anti-Olympian sector called cthonius c, in which sparking sounds saturate a vast grid...a realm represented by Airktoo the darkar, who rolls each treacherous strand with circuited craze.
The voyage begins by "barefoot": a trek that's anything but grass-soft on the soles, for its queued with bolts of cutting glass.
The resulting pain is "basic", symbolized by sounds that slice and spurt slowly and ever deeper, into every wrong turn and panhandling passion. Before one realizes it, "humiliation" has set in, along with all the wired woe one can stand, with notes that shriek of chaotic tension.
To save face, one becomes a screaming "scoundrel", doing bad deeds per the pretense of choice and desire. Throughout it all, one hears the fearsome strokes of one's devilish change, from humble hermit to crackling charlatan.
"La flesh" is the place one then frequents, with cat-calling chambers of wanderlust and self-degradation. For a moment, one considers finding a new hiding place, but "neither society" is welcoming enough for that, and from this mocking rejection, a scratching fills one's ears--weighed with heavy hunger.
But no matter where one connects, there's "no food" in sight, and the noises inside this expanding void are as full as they are empty.
One has no "alternative" but to plug into the gluttonous sweeps and just "deserters". One roams with all the other cowards and crooks, in a vacuum vibration that sucks one in ever farther, ever further, straight into the behemoth bowels of cthonius c's cold, inescapable core.
Shock the senses by visiting Airktoo's electrocuting travelogue at
https://adarcahianku.bandcamp.com/album/chthonius-c?fbclid=IwAR0PR5-WXcD9gbVfGHc78Cdd1BqjPLY_IYO083yH25Jx-T8-fk8cmUuNjNQ
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