It was late that night. I awoke in a room filled with nightshade blue and the dear moon had already started descending. No time passed, it stood still, a vacuum. Through the dark, dim versicolors were floating, pounding, overlapping, until they finally burst out into a moody euphoria. I felt strange that night. Happy and sad at the same time, melanphoria as i used to call it. Alternating between the minor and the major keys, music hit the blade of my ear. Not to forget the swoosh of silverish oyster-pearl that had filled my senses as I am below sea level. The concrete floor turned to damply moss and beneath these green sheets i lay and cross one's arms. Good night.
A musical insomnia called ZIGITROS.
Alban Schelbert and
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