I speak of the one who speaks who speaks I am alone
I am but a small noise I have several noises in me
a ruffled noise frozen with the crossroads thrown on the wet pavement
with the feet of the men in a hurry running with their dead
around death which extends its arms
on the dial of the hour only alive in the sun
Barcelona's april the cruelest creates post-genre collages that examine internal self-hatred in response to systemic oppression. Bandcamp New & Notable Jul 12, 2022
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