Broadcast from the Basement Club during a set
Raine:
Tonight, we are well, levitate with Dr. Parallax, former dimensional ambassador, alleged time tourist, and self-proclaimed Moai Whisperer. He’s draped in a coat of glimmering antennae and sipping a dark green tea called Forget-Me-Now. The scent? Like basil and a broken promise.
Tonight, we are well, levitate with Dr. Parallax, former dimensional ambassador, alleged time tourist, and self-proclaimed Moai Whisperer. He’s draped in a coat of glimmering antennae and sipping a dark green tea called Forget-Me-Now. The scent? Like basil and a broken promise.
Dr. Parallax:
You’re asking the wrong question. The real mystery is: Are we the aliens to them?
White moths are carriers of filament memory. They imprint on flickers of candlelight, shortwave bursts, the blink you made when you first saw her leave you. To them, every light is a language.
What do they want?
Dr. Parallax:
Want is such a human concern. Moths follow longing. You feed them with absence, and they dance for it.
Raine:
Why now?
Dr. Parallax (quietly):
Because the veil is thin and your kind is glowing with sorrow.
Raine:
Some say they’re watching us.
Dr. Parallax:
They’re not watching. They’re remembering. And when the remembering is full, they’ll leave
Or they’ll take someone with them.
Raine:
Are you saying
Dr. Parallax:
I’m saying someone at the Basement Club is already missing.
WTTQ will resume regular programming after this metaphysical lapse.
They’re not watching. They’re remembering. And when the remembering is full, they’ll leave
Or they’ll take someone with them.
Raine:
Are you saying
Dr. Parallax:
I’m saying someone at the Basement Club is already missing.
WTTQ will resume regular programming after this metaphysical lapse.
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