No one bets an eye on the vultures crossing the skies. They're almost the only bird one can see over here. I imagined they're waiting. With their instinct, their root tapping into the vast unconscious knowledge of their countless ancestors, they, in some strange way, know that the food scraps next to the garbage bin are just the appertizer for the impending fall of us. Not even Rome knows of the thunderous sound chiming when we hit the rock bottom. Cold and slippery in chemicals, nothing like the failures we've seen before.

I'm listening to the same songs I listened to when I was thireen, when I first discovered more of a hardcore sound. It fits perfectly with the weather, with the black vultures. I don't think these thoughts would rise up without it.
I discovered mountains upon mountains of albums and genres, but listening to this album again this fall, feels like coming home.
I discovered it because of my brother. I would go to use the computer in his room. He would sit on the other one, against the opposite wall, and play
In Flames and Macine Head. While I do like the music, I think part of it was simply liking my brother, wanting to be close to him. He was seventeen, though, a different place in life.
I think my need for closeness was like the crow's knowledge of the upcoming carcasses - in some way, I always knew that was it. I knew I think my brother is cool, I knew I'm looking up to him, I knew I want to be like him. But, at the same time, I didn't know. It was not fully conscious. Hidden-in-plain-sight type of situation.
I forgot all about him once I hit proper teens. It was all about my peers then. And I travelled that world, just to come back home, and play the same damn album, which at some point I renounced in my mind, since my peers didn't like it. This time, I embraced it in a different kind of love.
I met the others, I heard their opinions and witnessed their feelings, and my soul still finds that this spot perfectly fits the curves and edges. Here I am.