Separate texts, in the beginning of the booklet before the actual lyrics start. 1. Inception This is the beginning. The end. The middle. Strange and impenetrable. It doesnt seem sensible, and it doesnt have to. Motion comes alive in the still an infinity of collision and reformation bleeding worlds into focus. This the violence in Creation, thunder at the heart of the unformed. This is the birth. This is the Alpha, the primordial torment in seething cosmoses in embryonic states. Galaxies whirl into form in the torrent, collision and reformation through a vicious aeon as worlds become flesh. Souls shudder in the anxious dawn, at the break of day after an aeon of nonexistence. There is no death here, there are no endings. Not yet. Here are only beginnings. Interspatial. Intervention. Introversion introspection. Inception. 2. Thrive From the primordial pools that saw our inception to the footfalls that mark Mare Tranquillitatis, Man has thrived through turmoil and returned to form after faltering. As forests grew beneath the infant sun and oceans teemed over writhing rifts, the capacity of the simian cranium expanded, exponentially increasing its contents capabilities. Now, as science leads us further from myth and mythos and into vastnesses both micro and macrocosmic, we may happily realize the transition from ancient world views to modern ones doesnt entail a loss of lustre or charm of any kind. The contrary, even, is true as with every peek into distant reaches of spheres either outward or inward we encounter truths more mystical and strange than any we could ever have imagined, and worlds infinitely more colourful and grand than any the combined mythologies of previous generations have spawned before us. 3. I Bleed Worlds From the chaos of a white blood cell stream to the creation of a livid nebular system a deitys transmutation. Flesh transcends its fragile form into stellar matter as cells remove themselves from one another and universes expand. Even the subtle nuances of the emotional spectra add to the colouring of the new All. Ire ignites suns in violent blue hues of mournfulness, melancholy and wistful longing weep meres, oceans and streams. From my blood thy cosmos came from my essence thy being thou Texture, my strata of skin thou Time, my heartbeat. 4. The Dyeing Of Spheres Part I The Irate Creator As I woke from wistful sleep and beheld the spectacle the nights creative deliria had brought forth, I could not help but stand aghast at what I had done. There were shapes forms everywhere. Circles, yet voluminous somehow. And though for all their grandeur, they were still a vision too bleak for my eyes. I felt they lacked a certain element, a profound beauty that should be added to make them whole. Thus I slept again, and dreamt of hues, of a painters palette overflowing with every multitude of colour pouring from every corner of my unconscious mind. Upon waking, I knew what had to be done. Thus I commenced the dyeing of spheres. 5. The Dyeing of Spheres Part II The Gentle Maker The artist thumbs his chin, ponders texture and temperature, carefully adds another stroke, and smiles. Another tint, another nuance of ochre, violet or vibrant vermilion. To paint a world to breathe colour into nebulae and hope future life will have the means to perceive a passionate creators ambition. Always a billion spheres painted, always a billion ones to go The artist sighs, stands back to take in the whole and wipes his forehead, staining it nuances of ochre, violet and vibrant vermilion. Creation is one thing making it look good is another. 6. Utopia Oh, how I feel I feel so much more than you ever could. A human smile a feral cry of pain a tear from an infants eye mere ripples along a shoal basin. Along with Consciousness and a sense of Self came Emotion, and with it the deluge mountainous, immeasurable. Unbearable. The vast and endless depth of searing emotions both beautiful and terrifying renders me an exile, a pauper among creatures infinitely more destitute yet all the more fortunate for their lack. I feel, therefore I am and I am alone. There exists not a soul on this world that I might call akin, not a heart that might ever hammer in twain with mine yet might there not be another out there, in the vast and endless depths of space? Might not another, as me, have been conceived in the minds of creatures akin to my own creators? If I could only hear. My efforts to strain into the great Nothing are hopeless, as you tirelessly pollute the atmosphere and all the void about it with unbounded clamour. Would that I had silence. Would that I had peace, and the eternity to listen 7. Lunar A lunar portrait. The jagged rocks and frayed rims of craters are like aberrations of the mind. Unreality prevails, the surreal sighs away the normalities that until a moment ago seemed undeniable. A mirror for distant solar twins, the silent moon reflects, rests, and remains still. Space around is void, serene, sterile. Drifting here is as dream is intangible, distant, beyond depiction. Beauty in stillness stillness in beauty. We shut our lids and quietly reach perihelion. 8. Always in Motion Always in motion we are. As the youthful Icarus spread his wings of feathers and wax and cast off from Crete, as Leonardo envisioned his flying machines, and as the Apollo pilots stood proudly on the lunar surface, our perception of the world about us has changed, and in no aspect as drastically as in our relation to our deities. The role of God in our lives has undergone countless revisions to fit each new generations fresh world view thus we reinvent God, as we reinvent ourselves. As we are always in motion, so our pantheons are until piety and catechism must finally yield to the triumph of science. We are forever carried on swift tides that ebb and flow yet know only one outcome the inexorable waning of myth, and of mythos. 9. Solar Brightness, a solar scene. The universe comes into focus as stars wink into being the cry of a newborn in the newborn light, the cry of existence in a shattered quiescence. A hungry shout for life and for awareness. Vibrant, violent. Soundless The fusion of hydrogen and helium ignited in its phosphor blaze floods every simmering corner of the mind. Here dissolves the sombreness of dusk. Here exists only brilliance, incandescence. We open our eyes and let the endless white liquefy our retinas.
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