[INSPIRATRONICA] Story Of The Running Wolf- Electric EP Review
We love Story of The Running Wolf here at The Sights and Sounds.
Discover their Facebook // Soundcloud.
Get their new EP On Itunes.
Hate the post-sex dew. We’re tore asunder by droplets, like downpour. All the real humans shine. Wax smiles nostalgic of the last hours. Sucked your skin. Now you’re sweating out your soul. My skin, stainless steel. A total paucity of pores to pour out the spirit, the spirits we poured down our necks. A modern day Tin Man. Giving me electrical cardioversion in bed. Every time you glance away. Pound.Pound.Pound.Clear.Shock.
Doctor, I think he’s dead
No, I’m not ready to call it
______________
This is the game we play
Never let your heart break
Cybogean, I became. Soddered on all this metal. Biotech. Silicon Valley seeped into my semen. Became a Terminator to termination all this premature emotional ejaculation. Hearts in Arpeggios. Cascading care and worry and all that jazz that comes with love. Scan the scene around me. 95%.76%.3%.Psycopath.Eesh.. I hover around 21%. On good days. Cut me, I bleed. Don’t heal like it used to. Still human. Watch the robots in your eye sphere. Dangling their hearts in your bed. Any sense your spirit can shiv your muscles, say you’re here. So human. Aorta attacked you. Capillaries in your brain leaking in your eye. Twitch results in a tear. Don’t worry my cyborg. Science can save you. Psychology can shield you. Trauma can’t take you. So human. People don’t think I’m human. In chaos, I learned what human really is.
the cuts don’t heal like they used to
_____________________
PHOTO CREDITS// LAUREN FIELD
______________________
Aren’t humans/non-humans. No binaries to bust through. It’s all shades of heart. Percentages. Smacks to the cerebellum. Stabs to the spleen with the best intentions. All deplete us. Only 100% humans ones who will momentarily motorboat down the birth canal, the dead. I, you, me. You breathe in my airspace, hoping my lungs will shoot you a recharge. And really we’re all looking to insert our electrical rods into the vast expanse of someone’s sky-hole. Transpierce my tired skull with lightning. Recharge me. Make us electric. I want good love to transpire. Won’t say it. The bolts on my jaw piece stumbled to a solo existence on some lonely highway. Some time ago. In Ru Paul’s immortal words:
We’re all born human,
The rest is cyborgean drag.
32