Thursday, November 15, 2007  4:10 pm 

Post found in the forests

You know when Robin arrives to 20JFG because the air glimmers with an otherwordly green hue like Solaris if it had an emerald sun. Robin rules. Say thanks to him at the bottom of the page.

Orion Rigel Dommisse looks like a nice girl. The kind of girl who might feel a wave of guilt wash over her for having heard the crack of a snail shell beneath her shoe, or who might shed a secret tear for the pigeon she watched hobble in front of her with its deformed, mangled foot. She looks more than just harmless. She looks positively cute as a button. Appearances can be deceiving though, cant they? Just like the coy ballet dancer in Takashi Miike’s ‘romantic’ masterpiece, Audition, who convinced everybody into thinking ‘awwwwwww…she’s some kind of Meg Ryan type, only ten times cuter because she’s Japanese, and Japanese girls are always sweet, and docile, what with all their bowing, and giggling behind their hands, and their hello kitty trinkets hanging from their phones’, only to eventually proceed in transforming her lover in to a human pin cushion, Orion is not what she initially appears to be either. Except of course, I very much doubt Orion’s eccentricities extend in to such astronomically psychotic territory. While Orion’s repertoire may not feature dog killings, and skilful cheese wire decapitations, undoubtedly she is quite the macabre character.

She is in truth the kind of girl whom, had she been born a few hundred years ago, probably would have lived alone in the woods luring sleeping innocents, hypnotized by her phantom folk, into the trees at night, never for them to be seen again. The kind of girl whose hands may always appear to be clean, but who keeps all the grimy clues to her dalliances hidden away, out of sight, underneath her fingernails. She’s very much so the kind of girl who would whisper in your ear with an unnerving intimacy about all manner of dark machinations.

Fake Yer Death sounds like Joanna Newsom having been left to relentlessly rock back and forth somewhere deep inside the belly of a cave, her regal harp replaced with a screeching violin, and shrill zombie synths, dispensing advice of a certain sort for lost souls desperate to find a solution to the sad state of affairs that has become their current existence, trilling in that cracked crystal voice of hers of bones dug up from graves, houses burned down by their owners, and corpses tucked away in bed. There is a logic to her madness, and believe it or not, she says what she says because she wants her listeners to find their own happiness, making matters all the more confusing. I can only conclude that I don’t really know what kind of girl Orion is, and I probably never will know, but she makes me want to keep listening in the hope that I may know one day.

Orion Rigel Dommisse- Fake Yer Death

The trees have eyes. Every day they watch a certain odd fellow known as Celestiial emerge from his ramshackle cabin, located deep within their domain, far, far away from all the other people, for whom he has no time for. Every day, they wait and watch for him do the same thing he did the day before, and the day before that, and the days before that. They watch him fall to his knees, close his eyes, put his lips to the ground, taste the dead leaves, taste the soil, feel the grit between his teeth, the life on his tongue, they watch him open his mouth as wide as possible till his jaw clicks, and they witness him release a torrent of sound, wave after wave of thick black nothingness, of monolithic power which spouts forth, descends into the earth like roots, moving fast, spreading deep, enveloping everything it comes into contact with.

The trees feel it wrap around their roots, threatening to bring every single last one of them down. It never does though, and whilst they may have become accustomed to this false sensation of impending doom, they moan in anguish with the wind all the same, unwittingly adding to the cacophonous darkness being unleashed before them. The birds perched in the trees feel the emotion that runs through the branches beneath them, and they begin to make their calls to the sky, adding to the sonic crush that appears intent on washing away everything before it.

The sound clambers the animal bones buried in the dirt, grips and penetrates through to their hollow insides, becoming the marrow that once existed within them. They judder to life. Bones find their fellow bones, until they resemble the stripped away, minimalist versions of the creatures they once roamed as. Around this certain odd fellow, whose mouth always remains still open around the ground, skeletons burst forth from the soil, rabbits, foxes, wolves, birds, rats. Sensing a change in the air, the man opens his eyes, and closes his mouth. He lifts his head and acknowledges his gathering with a slight nod. They oblige him also with a nod, producing a collective rattle amongst their bones.

He picks up a small harp from the same spot in the ground he had previously embraced so passionately with his lips, he begins to serenade his visitors, beautifully serene, pearls float forth from his mouth and hover in the air above them, an icy mist caresses them all. The trees watch as he begins his walk forth, his skeleton procession trailing behind, the funereal pied piper. They drift on through the woods, drawing attention from the still breathing animals, aware of the fact that one day they too will dance the dance they witness being performed before them. The march continues onwards till the procession comes to a clearing, above which a waterfall roars over everything with deafening intensity. They continue their walk behind the mighty wall of water, at which point the trees always lose sight, and at which point Celestiial and his followers become an eternal mystery to them all.

They wait and they watch for him to emerge as he always does some time after, his boney friends nowhere to be seen, and he makes his way back to his cabin, his head always directed to the floor. They watch, and they wait for the next day to come, for the dead to emerge once again, and for that crushing sound to shake their roots once more.

Celestiial- Thule

Celestiial- Hinterland

&&&

You could have bumped into our most excellent pal Rich in the midst of the forest, he’s been shortlisted for a fancy price because he wore a fantastic outfit at the Release the Bat’s shindig in London, he rolled all the bands who played there into one gloriously forestal costume, vote for him here!!! (he’s got the deer hat, black lips, military jacket and mischievous eyes)

And go to 20JFG nite on Saturday, it’s like this place but with real people and less cigarettes smoke, you should come. 8-1AM, free entry, fun times.

labels >> Robin, forests