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Joey Molinaro/ Valerie Kuehne Split

by Joey Molinaro

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You are unknown, thus I must know me. In this city, faces are nameless. We have been and someday we will be, unlike fauna living each moment. Those I hold close and the unfamiliar work by virtue of our desire and of symbols righteously sacred. Some are found yet some are bestowed by mystic worlds or epic musicians. When Great Eyes speak; heedless, I obey. Pyramids rise; wordlessly slaves toil. Final choice; one way to die and one to be victorious; life or death of nations relies on how we go on. Wisest sage, advise me now. I pray thee for your guidance. Why must your words be proverbs and useless regurgitation? Darkest time: no sleep or food... And worry fuels my sorrow. Now appears my god to me. With voice like mine he councils. O my kingdom, O wide-eyed crowd, Apollo thus has spoken! Gaze upon my gilded orbs, allow his voice to be yours! Muse and poet, my words you sing. Through me you praise Apollo! Only through the oracle and royalty you find truth. Foundations laid by peons obeying one voice reigning in the mind of the radiant guide. Now cities swell. Raving mad ascetic rants rage louder. Agonized loss: God's weakening voice... Why does he leave? Does he not love us? But glorious Consciousness, how you enlighten! Without conduit your beauty flows, at once river and tributary! Divinity is raised, transcending ourselves without hierarchy! How intense, the ecstasy of existence! Reality is synthesized from action and reflection; my neighbor smiles at our dialogue. The jewel, the sound of one's voice inside springs forth like a fountain after schizophrenia destroys the divide. O the terror of the youth, stricken with consciousness. Seeking escape from its awesome meaning, they may sow lifeless bicameral fruit. If an empire erupts, decayed fruit may lie unseen on distant barren soil, unsprouted and forgotten. Conscious-cidal worlds rise– not Zen but hiding failure– preaching lies of choicelessness. Fate, faith, speechless deafness causes one's mind, soul, heart to close tight. Even the brain splits; cleft in right and left hemi- spheres, ears lost but for loud media. Power owns divine thought, and says to consume as a way of life and to conform and be carelessly brutal. Power owns divine thought. Break down.



released April 14, 2012


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Joey Molinaro Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Acoustic experimental black metal/ solo grind violinist Joey Molinaro’s “stomping and ferocious playing is inescapable,” (Foxy Digitalis).
Molinaro “executes the spirit and function of hardcore punk and Appalachian folk” (Foxy Digitalis) with “vocals [that] haunt, like a preternatural voice from beyond the pale” (Razorcake) and torrential boot-stomping.
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