Support

[ˈæbˌstɹækt]

Prolog
She breathed heavily as she wiped the sweat off her forehead, straightened herself up and slowly took two steps back.
The sun was blazing on this beautiful June afternoon. She had to use her flat hand to shade her squinting eyes and actually see something.

There it was, her magnum opus in its entirety – a real masterpiece. She felt great. Filled with pride, peace and contentness.

In the same moment, the smogabord of feelings, induced by the pure sublimity of her achievement, suddenly flooding her entire body, were so overwhelming, that she uncontrollably bursted into a relieving mixture of crying and laughter.

The Sublime

PROLOG
After a long and exhausting but even so rewarding trip, MARO tiredly, but thoroughly self-contented, collapsed into the old creaky rocking chair on the front porch of her small, but super-cozy house on the beach.
The incessant chattering seagulls that settled down on the porch’s handrail, promptly cleared off, as MARO expertly popped open her well-earned beer.
Or was it that daunting rumble from the dark along the glowing purple-tinted evening sky, responsible for the gulls sudden depart?
Just before M∆RO finished his thought about the obviously wrong weather forecast this morning, another, even closer and louder rumble made M∆RO beer-spillingly cringe. She stepped off the porch, to check the eerie rumbling noise's source.
What she then saw, sent a blistering chill down her spine. She dropped the beer, while just standing there for a few seconds, paralyzed, eyes and mouth wide open, gazing into the distance.
Once recovered, she panicky rushed back into the house, where she frantically stuffed anything that looked promising enough, to extend her survival in the imminent, dark and uncertain future into her purple hiking backpack, lashed it all together and started running…

War of Mine

„What a fucked up day!“, Maro muttered to himself, as he was roaming about the streets, armed with a bottle of booze, when on top of it all, it started to pour.
„I could really use a diversion“, he thought, after almost passing the entrance of the only nightclub in town. Digging around in the left pocket of his coat, revealed crumby leftover pieces of half a pill, which he promptly washed down with a determined gulp of his cheap hooch.

Maro shuddered, gently placed the half-full bottle on the sidewalk, wiped his face clean, with his sleeve and concentrated on appearing somewhat sober, while passing the bouncer.

Inside, he was repulsed by the swirling crowd of euphoric cheerful people. Finally the attractive, but seemingly on the edge and miserable barmaid, got Maro the cocktail, he had ordered ages ago. He offhandedly tossed the exact change on the counter and eagerly reached for the pleasantly decorated drink, which he expected to ease his frustration. But just before Maro s shaky hand touched the glass, the fellow right next to him jumped to a sweeping turn to greet his buddy. Unfortunately Maro s object of desire was in the range of motion of this testosterone driven salutatorian choreography, performed by these two party animals, and was ruggedly swept off the counter. Annoyed even more by their slurred apology, Maro uttered a „F**k it!“ and turned around to face the dancefloor and watch the hustle and bustle.

Suddenly the feverish swarm and those pulsing colorful lights appeared to calm down, awaiting instructions. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Maro raised both hands and moved them in a forced perspective above the crowd, like a puppeteer.

All the while whispering smugly under his breath: “Dance for Me, Dance for me!”

Dance for Me

Sound Design | Fieldrecording | Mixing | Music Production

[ˈæbˌstɹækt]

Saro | SoundBits