The illusion stitched together from cut-out youth
We were scorched by a reality grown cold
Dreaming of dismissing the prevailing right answers
Forgetting even the corked-up self
“If I were just normal too”wotaku — Lemonade
Electric lights, coughing, clouds.
Beside the air conditioner, a strip of vinyl tape is blown and swaying.
Storylessness, the waste of food, a dry throat.
Justified sleep and the non-existence of dreams.
Brain collapse.
King Crimson.
Swimming in melancholy through the sea. Drowning, floating, exhausted — humanity seeking sunlight, the distortion of new life.
Even the inheritance of clouds passes away into the far distance, together with the whiteness of the sun.
Kiyoaki Matsugae, warm sunlight, strong wind.
The accumulation of words, the expelling of words.
Metalcore that deceives the era.
No poetry, only tingling fingers and characters.
A roar, a cry of pain, laughter, gnarled and stagnant, murky violence.
Shinsei Kamattechan.