Enter : Phase II, walking through the random in the company of the all too familiar mix of the sublimely bizarre. No stories… unless you count the elves, the missing fairy princess, the old lady in the purple jungle, and the monkeys howling through the night… guided by Yoda, no less… or the feeling as if about to die from malaria any minute whilst standing in the murmuring brook and having a conversation with three monkeys. Happens – it is OK. Yet you hide out – in plain sight! Perhaps you forget to not count the days, but make the days count. Or rather, keep the monkey on your shoulder, but never on your back, whilst these moments forever rock the apotropaic pendulum between time and space, ever fleeting into the mist. Oh fucking my… in deed. Venus is white hot, and she reigns down – red all over me, flowing to the Netherland of the Muses… thus the table was set. So there you sit in that sacred temple of the magician, and close your eyes, drifting in and out of the dream world of semi-consciousness that precedes somnolence. So you drift, until the pages of death in the codices fluttering before you thus rouse, and the Red Queen herself appears. There are no red velour thrones here, and your sweat pours onto her sweet skin. Cracking those codices inscribed all over her body – they read: “She does not exist.” So it goes, on and through – the never-ending pining for nothing at all, looking into this movie of stars… with the table set to dine with the Queen, to feast with Pakal.
Dining with Pakal
Coil - Red Queen