"There is no truce with the furies. A mirror's temperature is always zero. It is ice in the veins. Its camera is an x-ray. It is a chalice held out to you in silent communion, where gaspingly you partake of a shifting identity never your own."
(R.S. Thomas – Reflections)

"All of us with wings."
(Jane's Addiction – Three Days)


One of the more underrated aspects of detachment is the ability to take flight, to travel vast distances in slow motion or at the speed of light, across raven-infested dreamscapes and unbrindled desires, over the rainbow of earthly pleasures and the boredom of being judged by the hypocrisy of normalcy. To be remembered as more than a quote for an epitaph. To fuel one’s quest for the holy grail, the fountain of youth, or just another pastime. A hidden octagon to fight nothingness.

Regardless of the level of inclination to blend in, I always end up as one of those wingspreading creatures butting heads against the grain. There is no mountaintop, no endgame, no happy ever after. Just this moment, right here, right now, a still frame that passes in the blink of an eye, hopefully replaced by another, longer, better, more intense. Time is a harpy stealing the offspring of my lifeblood.


Recorded, produced and mastered at Wreckworld Studio, Ljubljana (Slovenia).

Cover art by Cheeky Orchid.

© Vat of Acid Records 2022.

Lost Wars