Escarlatina Obsessiva

Biography

There were no more the impediments of the fate, of the distance and of the isolation. And there were no more problems with musicians or new members at the studio. Isolation, at last, in the heart of the mountains, became impossible. The wood has been all populated by other ghosts and new noises. The mechanisms and the apparatus resumed working, and the birds no longer listened to the silence. In the hiatus between two daydreams, a bird sang. A bird from the Brazilian’s mountains. The piano rings...

There were no more the impediments of the fate, of the distance and of the isolation. And there were no more problems with musicians or new members at the studio. Isolation, at last, in the heart of the mountains, became impossible. The wood has been all populated by other ghosts and new noises. The mechanisms and the apparatus resumed working, and the birds no longer listened to the silence. In the hiatus between two daydreams, a bird sang. A bird from the Brazilian’s mountains. The piano rings the same notes, Karolina sings: Shakes the wings the window’s fly! And the power transforms itself, it’s yet material. Of isolation is born super-populated daydream and of the nothing, hidden behind the things, comes into being a crowd of sounds, an electric flux… Escarlatina burns, acts against the will. To perceive without wanting, to feel and to suffer. Every imposed stimulus, every strict music, inexorable, note after note, image after image, stimulus after stimulus. The skin burns, the mind burns, flesh, bones and thoughts burn. The fire always comes from outside. Inside the veins it’s electric flux, will, truth. Loneliness of the icy winds. Winter, twilight. A bedroom, flickering shadows. On the walls, they hung skulls. They danced, without forgetting the death. The anxiety of bright eyes and an old finger that points a funeral and shrieks: There is the life! At the cowards’ time, we fled from the horror scenes. Refugees, we waited during seven years squatted under the trees. We almost forgot the arrows driven in our skin. But the nightmares always return, and with them the cowardice and horror scenes. Yes, there was as much death in the forest as in the pavements and in the streets. The fact is that inside our eyes everything clearly showed itself as symbolic expressions, and the power of those rats dressed in black’s thoughts undressed and thus made dance those old masks. Do you hear the music that plays inside the woods?

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