Why have you come here? What would you think you see? Perhaps you know me, or perhaps you lost yourself and stumbled across dead end.
No matter, for this face of mine was born half-dead. It doesn't know how to speak in this place , it's mouth moves too twitchy. Eyes are darting, for the underface doesn't know where to look, thoughts lost in the maze of a long falling. At least this place some of you call home feels like comfort, and so the underface may decide not to throw away yet another mask.
You may see this face bloom one day,like a garden, become brighter and full of fruits of patterns, colours, lines and shapes, as well as fruits of Symbols and hieroglyphics that are folds into Stories from the out. Or it may be leaved behind, an empty shell, broken vessel with nothingness but letters your eyes are swimming in this moment. Only Father time will tell.
In my heart there's place for Brutal orchestra, Burialgoods, Inscription, Hotline Miami, OTXO. The underface loves this things, and memories about them shall remain. Even if for a moment.
The last thing
Respect the woods and be patient, and so the woods shall be patient and respectful for in return. Disobey, let loose of your negative psycho-impulses, spread them outside through your mouth towards me, and we will never see eachother again. EVER
For other wanderers, welcome. Have no fear, for i shall not hurt you in ways man knows and doesn't knows.
