In our world of commercialising every idea, every thought, every piece of creative work, this is an ode to the alternative. This is an alternative.
An ode to the sub-cultures, the underground scenes.
To the venues you would have never discovered. Never experienced.
The people you would have never met.
The smell, the sweat, the tears, the blood.
The madness. The delusion.
The raw energy and emotion nothing else has ever captured.
The passion right in front of your eyes, just a few feet away.
It transcends you. You’re in it. You’re part of it.
There is no transaction, no benefit, no goal.
Only an intensive and overwhelming feeling piercing through you.
Time is being forgotten. Memories are lost.
The artists are no different from you and I.
But they’ve exposed themselves. Like we never will.
Tropic Of Cancer
Willis Earl Beal
Cult Of Luna