Cube! What are you, Cube? Grisly sonic
tectonics break the geometric surface, obliterate the foundation. It comes
fast, it comes slow, it comes however Cube wants to do it, to destroy itself
and the pedestal upon which it’s displayed. Damaging dub action meets the
nocturne, eine kleine klubmusik, but
where mannequins are posed motionless and the music makes them fall apart.
Their limbs first, obviously, legs and arms, they fall over and come apart
further, heads fall off, some split at the torso. Then the pieces rumble to
life and move more than they did when they were part of a whole. This is the
mystery of Cube, the mystery of Wet
Housing and what it stands for in direct relation to a mass of plastic body
parts, and the mystery of Anathema Archive’s involvement in all this. If we’re
sure about anything, we’re sure no one’s up to any good. If we’re sure about
anything, we’re sure this is in our skin and blood.
Which just so happens to be marked as
“Evidence.”
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
--Ryan
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