memento mori reimagined

by Meat Glue + Lackthrow

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original album found here:


released 25 September 2012

t. baker =vocals, electronics + construction
a.w.powell=vocals, remix
j. pickman=lyrics for hell is a white room with no doors



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Lackthrow Salunga Landisville, Pennsylvania

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Track Name: hell is a white room with no doors (Lackthrow cover)
There is a scaling-off, where 'definite' things enter a hazy area that might be dream,
or hallucination...or corridors previously unseen. The suggestion here is of revealing,
of a larger world coming into focus.

Everything flows. Everything moves from a state of solidity and rigidity into liminal, lunar, quicksilver consciousness. That's what didn't make sense to people about the feminine or Yin mentality, back when gender dichotomy was a thing. Everything flows. Not just mind and time, but flesh and matter and reality itself, if you wait long enough. There's a process implicit here. First, you have Mother Universe. Out of her comes matter. Stuff. This stuff, taking on individuality, begins to move, begins to change, begins to affect life cycles of its own. Then it becomes aware of itself. Clay looks on clay, and knows itself for itself.

Imagine you have a partner, someone you love, someone you know intimately. Someone whose touch, whose smell, whose presence in a room is as familiar to you as your own. Now imagine that in the future we have technology that allows us to change sexes; painlessly, reversibly, and with no side effects. Imagine your partner decides to try this, just for a day or two, to see what it's like.

Imagine it. The day of the treatment, and then the slow progression over hours or days, as they change. The familiar lines of the face becoming strange. The familiar body smell altering, taking on new shades and feelings. Everything becoming slowly and inexorably different.

Now imagine you're standing before your partner, now gender-swapped, and they are putting their arms around you. The look, the touch, the smell, the feel is all different, but; "I'm still the same underneath," your partner says. "Remember me. Remember how I made you feel? It's still me inside."

But is it?

As the familiar becomes strange, as all that we consider solid begins to flow, new definitions of the wonderful and horrible are made manifest. From this new vantage point, Heaven is the bliss of orgasm, extended in all directions forever.

Hell, on the other hand, is a white room with no doors.

by john pickman