sweaty crease 40

Black, Yellow and Play.

swcrease40.nfo

1. play the music
2. look at photos
3. play again if music stops


Bernard Herrmann - Taxi Driver
pressed in 1976
































I have made a pact with prostitution in order to sow disorder among families.


I remember the night that preceded this dangerous alliance. I saw before me a tomb. I heard a glowworm, large as a house, saying to me: "I will be your light. Read the inscription. It is not from me whence comes this supreme command." A vast bloodred radiance at the appearance of which my jaws chattered and my arms fell powerless to my sides, spread out through the air to the horizon. I leaned against a ruined wall, for I felt myself falling, and I read:

"Here lies a child who died consumptive. You know why. Pray not for him."

Many men perhaps would not have had my courage. Meanwhile a naked and beautiful woman came and lay down at my feet. Sad-faced, I said to her: "You may arise." I offered her the hand with which a fratricide disembowels his sister.
The glowworm said to me: "You: take a stone and kill her."

"Why?" I asked.

"Beware," he said to me, "you are the weaker for I am the stronger. This woman is called Prostitution."

Tears rushed to my eyes, rage to my heart, and I felt an unknown power born within me. I seized a great rock and after a struggle raised it barely to the level of my breast. I balanced it upon my shoulder. I climbed to the summit of a mountain: thence, I crushed the glowworm. Its head was forced into the earth to the height of a man; the stone bounded into the air as high as six churches and fell into a lake the waters of which momentarily sank, whirling, hollowing into an immense inverted cone. Then the confusion subsided, the bloody glare was no more. "Alas, alas!" shrieked the naked and beautiful woman, "what have you done?"

"I prefer you to him," I replied, "because I pity the unfortunate. It is not your fault that eternal justice created you."

"Some day," she said, "men will render me justice. I will say no more. Let me go and conceal my infinite sorrow at the bottom of the sea. Only you, and the loathsome monsters that haunt those murky depths, do not despise me. You are good. Farewell, you who have loved me!"

And I: "Farewell, again farewell! I shall love you always. From today I abandon virtue!"

It is for this reason, O peoples of the earth, that when you shall hear the winter wind sighing over the sea and along its shores, or across the great cities which long ago were decked in mourning for me, or through the icy polar regions, you shall say: "That is not the spirit of God passing. It is only the bitter sigh of Prostitution mingled with the solemn groans of the Montevidean."














Children, it is I who tell you this. And so, full of pity, fall upon your knees; and let mankind, more numerous than lice, offer up long prayers.
- Isidore Ducasse, le Comte de Lautréamont (cut)