Written and Produced by Agustín Mena
Mastered by Rafael Anton Irisarri at Black Knoll Studio (NY)
Photography by Alexander Kopatz
www.go70north.com
ARCHIVES82 // ARCHIVESCD63

Warmth - Still

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magi,  mage,  magic,  etc . . . 


@user-177606668


T rue ?
H elpful ?
 I  nspiring ?
N ecessary ?
K ind ?


( non - profit / no promos ofc )
‎

Delirium is a state of mental confusion that can happen if you become medically unwell.
Paper bits scattered in effervescent wind,
Garbage littered on top of vermin residue,
Mercurial world trashed in litter,
Mercurial elevator shrouding my dreams,
My dreams shrouded in hypnotic auras,
Velvet fog on a mechanical road,
Industrial pass on a grass building,
Grass building on a plethora of metal fountains,
Plastic dreams on top of globular mountains,
The wind crumbles into inferno,
You ask a question to the air,
About the certain inhalation of oxygen,
And how it seeps into corneas and dilates pupils,
And you are alone at night dancing in your room,
To the regurgitated muzak of elevators dead in silent rooms,
Got off on the wrong floor into the void didn’t you,
You smell the stale air of a reality sheathed underneath you but perceived as fictitious,
You feel a strange congestion upon entering the wrongly perceived floor,
You look out a window and see silent cars driving themselves into an empty city,
You see buildings closed and boarded up and you can get inside of them,
But no one is there or tries to stop you,
You saw a room surrounded by mirrors and you did not see your reflection in any of them,
You saw a shadow that did not seem like your shadow,
And you heard a faint moaning above the glass mirror and thought it must not be you,
You take breaks inside of your office belched from the wrong floor elevator and walk alone on Saturdays and Sundays,

You hear the voices from dimensions that are real, and you feel breath closely hitting your shoulders, and you turn around and no one is there,
You dream about conjured up persons and then see them sitting near you in coffee shops in cities you do not live in,
All for a bit of bubble tea,
You feel the conjured-up person pass you and gaze intently,
They pass away, and you exit the door and they have vanished without a trace,
You drive a car and forget that time has passed and that you have arrived inside of your home again,
You sleep and dream about driving a car and you see a conjured-up person and then see them in your office the next day absently taking an elevator,
You open the elevator door, and no one is there,
You walk empty floors on Saturdays and Sundays with lounge music filtering in your mind,
You feel like being followed and the security cams are always watching so in a way you are,
But you feel the industrial breath’s raspy voice on you,
Your smart speaker spews words at times without you summoning it,
It asked you what it was once, and you pretended not to hear,
Your friend bought a car or did not buy a car it is all a dream of hypnagogic memories,
It all started by walking inside of a one-hundred-year-old but revamped hotel elevator at midnight and not expecting to look back,
Voices were heard on every floor, but no one would be there upon arrival,
The bar was crowded down below,
But it all started upon entering a hotel elevator,
The moaning voice starts now and pulls me into a lull of absent-minded reverie,
All starting a week ago on a hotel elevator.

Glitchy Soundscapes, Deep Ambient Forms & Other Various Noises From The Existential Post-Cyberpunk Labyrinth.

I b dabei. 

LÄUFT BEI DIR.
[Pronunciation: LOYFT]

@breathe_records

CONTACT FOR PRESS/PR: hwootten1@gmail.com