“Nobody knows they’re here. But I do. I see them on the train, I see them in the shop. But even moreso these days, I see them in my neigbourhood. There must be a good landing spot around here, or maybe they are nesting in some big disgusting slimy hive somewhere. Whatever it is, they’re up to something. Well, they’re always up to something but this is something big, I can feel it.

Where they come from, I don’t know. The other humans seem to know there’s something not quite right about them, but know not what it is. They call them ‘Hipsters’. One day you could be living real nice in your neighborhood, then all of a sudden you see one of them, then the next week it’s two, then four then eight…..they must be able to reproduce asexually, or are being flown down by the shipload from planet blob or wherever it is. Before you know it , you’re getting kicked out of your flat by your landlord (who is also obviously one of them) because their galactic credits are worth so much more in earth currencies, and they push up the rents. It is happening everywhere, soon there won’t be anywhere for human beings to live.

Obviously their fucked-up little insect eyes haven’t adjusted to the level of light here on earth, because I see them mostly at night, hanging out in their special little extraterrestrial bars. Sometimes I go there and I watch them. I wear my specially modified glasses with the frames taken out, this is how I can see them. Also, I wear my green Barbour waxed jacket, in case I bump into one of them and get their acid-slime on me. Additionally, I wear a special pair of protective loafers in case I step in any. In the event that my temporal field disruption glasses stop working, I always carry a copy of Vice magazine around with me so I can still easily identify and differentiate them from normal people. They think they’re sooo cool in their human skin, they think that no-one knows what they’re up to. But I do, and I’m going to stop them.

It is time. They must be destroyed, but I can’t do it alone. I need to expose them to everybody for what they really are. I will write a song and put it on Youtube (and maybe itunes as well). Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Then everyone will see and hear (and buy) the truth, and they will realise the threat they are under, and they will fight. I will do it when I get home, there must be some recording equipment primitive enough to make a video in the ship. But first I must drop by the office and make sure Tristan is going to finish that human interest piece about Maak smuggling in the Ghujut system by tonight.

It’s over slimeballs, let’s see how cool these dickheads really are when they all on fire. Long live the revolution!”

Feast of Violet is the delphic side project of Allen Taylor from awesome minimal wave hackers, Roman Photos, featured a fraction of an eon ago on this here binary pony express. The opulent artworks you see before you are also by Allen and were taken from his blog.

(The top one is not by Allen, no idea who made this so no credit we’re afraid. Feel free to hate.)

Feast of Violet – Sister City

Sister City is a mystic Timbaland-ism describing the ballet mecanique of a glockenspiel-endowed marching band who, through movement, create exponential self-duplications so vast in number that when viewed from a certain distance they become a phosphorescent material, into which is inscribed the markings from the Temple of Transparent Balls as played back by the Steve Reich ensemble. Serious vibes.

Sister City is taken from ‘The Botany Charm’ EP, and is available for free download from the Feast of Violet Bandcamp.

There are several more chapters in the prodigious of tale Zombi-man Steve Moore yet to be revealed to our salivating ears. Right now we decloak for a you a new solo odyssey, forthcoming on the shaping up to be totally amazing L.I.E.S (sorry, no web presence) label.

Steve Moore – Zero Point Field

We rub our scaly finger across our predator-style wrist controller, and the Zero Point Field is activated. Plotting a celestial lineage from molecular 70s synthesist activity to Detriot robo-academia, our most beloved of prog-protagonists manages to extract more unusually shaped shards from the potentially tepid four-to-the-floor mass, than many bands managed to achieve in career-long dalliances with time signatures that would give Archimedes a headache. Looking forward to refueling at the Starpoint which plays this one out…

Pre order it exclusively hencewith.

Epilogue -
This post is tagged with prog