🌑 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.

ostacoli in frazioni sparse

Undersound Label