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Fabric
These strings hold us
In gust and storms;
Our drapes all around
This sentient world.
Dim the lights and let’s turn down for a moment with Ojikae, or Matt Cicero, from Melbourne, Australia. The singer songwriter and producer captures our hearts and melts us to no end with a sweltering slow burner named Existentiality, showcasing some buttery swooning, sultry smoldering vocals in the process. Existentiality is a late night R&B soul jam oozing sex and desire. It’s the new troubadour’s first release and a taste from a forthcoming project arriving on THANK GUARD Records. It’s like JSMN mixed with HONNE, silky smooth and torrid hot.
Perspectives by Sara
When my children, and my children’s children, and my children’s children’s children, if I am so lucky, are graced into existence, I want to feel satisfied with my life. At the pace that technology today is progressing, I will probably live well into my 90s, and most likely into my 100s. I want to die knowing that I have done all I can in servitude of the world, and that I left no stone unturned when it comes to freeing humanity from the chains of its own incompetence. When I can step outside and smell clean air, and a natural climate, and a pure water system for everyone who can get it, and a cheap and affordable energy solution that will prevent another climate catastrophe, and the single mother with three jobs does not have to go to bed hungry while the billionaire gets blackout drunk at a cocktail party, and our roads and bridges are in first class condition, the liberties of our society are protected from the eye of corporations, and our military is at home in reserve rather than selling weapons to the Saudis, or flying drone strikes in Afghanistan, and any number of additional sufferings of our society have been resolved, then I can rest. The sufferings of the next generation will exist, and they will eventually be solved. When we have reached a world that today we think unimaginable, then I will sleep. Most likely, I will fake my own death, reappear at my funeral, give my own eulogy, then jump onto a pile of lit dynamite. I could care less how I die or how I’m remembered. What matters most is how I live.