Black Lagoon: The Ritual of Reality

by Lost Salt Blood Purges

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about

Black Lagoon is the disassociation of worlds. The disenchantment of something magic(k)al. The rituals of reality that interfere or intrude the rituals of the occult. In a world where magic(k) exists, why must it also include the vulnerability and the shallow nature of a reality that takes precedence? Black Lagoon is the contrast of worlds and sounds that don’t match, that don’t belong beside one another, yet do, out of necessity or the stubborn incapacity to exist without coexisting.

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Music video for Moon, Moon, Moon: youtu.be/cgorJwb3NRU

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credits

released February 11, 2017

Music by:

Michael Snoxall – guitar, percussion, vocals, flute, violin, field recordings, sampling, programming, production

Tyler Shap – piano on ‘Glass End Sacrifice’

Mark Stebbing – guitar solo on ‘Hevurah’

Ollie Aldridge – guitar on ‘Dragon’ and ‘Severed Tendons’

Unknown – guest vocals on ‘The Ritual of Reality: Moon, Moon, Moon’

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about

Lost Salt Blood Purges Melbourne, Australia

Australian noise and illness.

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Track Name: Gorging the Afterbirth
And so, fire was born
and shadow was torn
in the void, spilling out
like a mess, or a drought
of the black, and the olde
the weak and the bold
the fire has come
and with it, the sun
the moon is but dust
and our hearts
burn with lust.
Track Name: The Deepest Deep Red Waters
spill yourself like the hair that spills from its roots,
spill your words like your blood into every crevice
that runs down these rocks to fill drip by drip
into the waters of ein sof
into the bloodlessness of nothing
to make it real again
or to begin
let incantations drip from your tongue
and let your body go numb
to feed the deepest, deep red waters
that Reveal the Secrets of the Cosmic World, the Stuttering of Our Swollen Hearts as they beat out of time for the depths to be dredged, the black lagoon is shallow nest in comparison to the breadth of our voices howling hymns to the vivid interpretation of all we wish to know, to fill gaps in the ignorance of the vastness we can’t concede the truth, the utter nothingness that will surely swallow those whole should they not choose to believe in ghosts, believe in Gods and small, shiny things that dwell beneath the surface of the deepest, deep red waters that reveal the secrets of the cosmic world.
Track Name: The Ritual of Reality: Moon, Moon, Moon
the bed aches
a clear throat
a tongue still
is all I know
and
I just
slowly drown
it out

the throat bleeds
a strong swell
a deep breath
(…that dress…)
but I just
slowly drown
it out

your hand aches
my soft bones
my throat swells
a tongue still
and I just
slowly drown
it out
Track Name: Hevurah (reprise)
and I sing black lagoon all alone
as I have
always done

I’ve never felt the swoon come so strong
as I have
under your tight thumb

fetching tethered looks like the drum
beats my blood
all over the floor

clean it all to derail the stress
that your neurosis begs
and I can’t confess
Track Name: The Ritual of Reality: Tomb, Tomb, Tomb
horrors dwellin in your skin
bite down and crawl to let them out
they scurry fast along the ground
into the night upon which we frown
killin time until the sun comes
bleedin lies to warm the tongue
rip it out you screamed and sang
as we stuck the knife in
Track Name: Severed Tendons
It takes its toll, the manifest of sacred lies. We bleed our souls upon those words in which we find our bodies thumping in time with the world’s soft breath as it rises and it falls. Goetian tongues flick forth the battles of our circled, stuttered wrested wills, rend the sinews from their sockets and cleave the bodies of our slovenly, secondary interpretings. Because the spheres they pour their unmatched influence down our throats like liquid fire of the maw of the lord of the one who fell before the fall to his knees to his own undigested and begging wants and wills that will always fail and unprevail.

(It takes its toll, the manifest of all our curses. They sink their sorrows deep inside the walls like ghosts that bellow aching wails from under floodboards, rising deep and rising into our heads, migraines birth the incantations from which we derive the souls of spells and let the spheres pour themselves once more unto us, unto me, unto the passions of altruistic lore.

It takes its toll, the broken fall of manifested man, our withering bodies and buckling knees as we crawl towards each and every opening door.)