It's been months or some time period that stretches between two nails but won't snap. Driven out of the stairwell with the flickering bulb that's more off than on (it's not just the bulb -- the whole place is wired up with this indeterminate sort of electricity, and we all just give thanks every day that the power doesn't stop, or the place doesn't melt down, entirely.) Standing out in the entryway, naked and staring while mezmerizing sounds reverberate from ear to ear. Not sure if they're in me or out.
With a voice like John Martyn after he's swallowed Peter Murphy's psychotic twin brother, Mezmariah presents a full seven songs on Dmusic that should be downloaded, burnt onto a CD, or onto the skin of your upper arms, and displayed for all of your neighbors. There's at once a feeling that you're lost somewhere in the 1970s underground and coming out sometime after the millenium flipped all the numbers covered with cobwebs and followed by some creepy little guy in a hooded sweatshirt. Eosophiles and Eosophobes will both show you what I mean; if you don't love this guy already after hearing either of these two songs then what the hell are ya doing here?
This music is highly recommended, and has received 14 and a half out of a possible pi corpuscles, on average, from halaka's crack(ed) staves. Write home and tell the folks.