🌑 THE NIGHT‑BORN CANTICLE
A small ritual for those who listen in the dark

In the hour when shadows forget their names,
a slow pulse rises from the sand —
a circle of four chords, turning like an old lantern,
calling the wanderer into the quiet ceremony.

Guitars whisper in tremolo,
threads of silver pulled through the night air.
A bassline coils beneath them,
warm, patient, ominous,
as if guarding a secret no one remembers.

Percussion appears only when the spirits allow it:
🥁 a palm on stretched skin,
🔨 a wooden click,
🌑 a low pulse echoing under the ribs.
Nothing marches. Everything breathes.

Above, the temple hums:
🕸️ organ‑drones like distant constellations,
🌫️ detuned harmonics bending like incense smoke,
📼 tape‑warps drifting in and out of time
— the sound of an ancient room exhaling.

And then the voice:
a wind‑carried murmur,
half‑chant, half‑shadow,
never asking to be understood,
only to be followed.

This is not a song.
It is a threshold.
A small door in the desert night.
A ritual that opens only for those who walk slowly.

Mario‑core.
Collettivo‑dark‑core.
A vibration carved in the dark.

mementi in frazioni A side

tra sogno e vibrazione

Don t dream it Lve it B side

traini modesti su leve alterate

Don t dream it Lve it A side

esposizioni mediane

let my time to let it be

mementi in frazioni B side

ostacoli in frazioni sparse

Askatasúna 

I don’t want your graphs.
📊
I don’t want your laws.
📜
I don’t want your banks.
🏦
I don’t want your kings.
👑
I don’t want your servants.
🧎
I don’t want your passwords.
🔐
I don’t want your cloud.
☁️
I don’t want your bridge.
🌉
I don’t want your archive.
🗂️
I don’t want your algorithm.
🧠
I don’t want your goddamn candle.
🕯️

I want a joint on Monkey Island.
🌴
No money in my pocket.
💸
But a pack of friends around me.
👥
That’s it.

You live your way.
I live mine.
And we make sure everyone lives theirs.
That’s community.
Not control.
Not guilt.
Not “you should’ve known better.”

You steer the boat?
Then yeah — it’s your fault.
⛵
No conspiracy.
No second meaning.
No philosopher in a turtleneck.
🧣
Just truth.
Old.
Simple.
Ugly.
Beautiful.

We grew up in the outskirts.
📸
We saw Genoa.
We slept in squats.
We wrote about contradictions.
We lived them.

And now we’ve got this bug in our heads.
🐛
This question:

What if I don’t want to live like you?
What if happiness is a cheap beer and a stupid laugh?
🍺😆
What if I never asked for your system?
What if you never asked me?

And now that you’ve globalized everything…
🌍
Why don’t you want it anymore?

You tried to stop violence.
🚫
But you couldn’t.
Because violence has no flag.
🏴
No color.
Just black.
It eats.
It distorts.
It never gives back.

We don’t judge.
We just ask.

And yeah —
this is satire.
This is irony.
This is a middle finger with a smile.
🖕🙂

Cammino lento, tra i rami e le antenne,

## 🇮🇹 Introduzione (Italiano)

🎛️ **Siamo SGLL666**  
Collettivo undersound di hacker, musicisti e spiriti liberi.  
Usiamo l’AI, ma non ci facciamo usare.  
Produciamo musica, la puliamo, la sigilliamo, la archiviamo.  
Abbiamo creato un sistema che elimina i metadati compromettenti, firma ogni traccia con un codice ritmico, e restituisce all’artista il controllo sul proprio suono.  
Non vendiamo l’AI. La suoniamo.  
Se sei qui, forse vibri come noi.

---

## 🇬🇧 Introduction (English)

🎛️ **We are SGLL666**  
An undersound collective of hackers, musicians, and free spirits.  
We use AI, but we don’t let it use us.  
We produce music, clean it, seal it, and archive it.  
We’ve built a system that removes compromising metadata, signs each track with a rhythmic code, and gives artists back control of their sound.  
We don’t sell AI. We play it.  
If you’re here, maybe you vibrate like we do.

mementi in frazioni A side

Undersound Label

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