THE WIND IN THE SMELLY WILLOWS
When Houre Noir mentioned his studio,
my interest was aroused.
And since the first meeting with him went so well,
I decided to find out the location of that studio.
Fortunately I took a flashlight and a map with me
before I came to sewers.
They were surprisingly difficult to find,
but the grip of the old man is not very strong.
"Surmalisti, how can you find the location from there" ?
Simple, my imaginary readers - a tracking device.
You see, after I left safely from Houre Noir's office
I found myself lying next to his car.
And as if by magic my own personal tracker
had come off my foot.
A quick one plus one and I removed
the back seat of his car
and replaced it with my tracker.
The tracker is so small that he can not find it.
I know, fucking brilliant.
The tracking device combined with this mind stimulating liquid
that glows in my stomach
gives me an incredible ability to trace things.
I can even hear that at street level someone is
Wait...no, it was just my gut.
What was I saying... oh yeah the studio.
Hmmm... what was it called?
"Studio of the Dead."
Thank you green liquid.
I am looking forward to see what kind of place it is
and all the secrets it holds.
This really is a rare opportunity, because its location
is not well known.
STUDIO OF THE DEAD
The light shines through the storm drain,
I can see it from below.
The moment of truth has arrived
and only one grating separates me from the studio.
This is the moment when the secrets are revealed.
This is the moment we've been waiting for.
Why then I'm afraid?
"Lack of courage."
I'm not sure,
It may also be due to a lack of medication.
I take the first steps,
the land is covered with damp leaves and mud.
In places where there is little snow can be seen
that the mud is mixed with black splashes -
tears of the dead trees.
I arrive at the edge of the forest.
I can see it.
I can sense the presence of it.
Only a bulletproof glass separates me from the studio.
It calls me by name.
No matter which one it is, I grab the first step
on the old rusty ladder and start to climb
only one thing in my mind...
where the hell am I ?
I open the storm drain cover gently and look out.
I'm in the middle of the dead forest.
Not only the silence of birds make this place dead,
but also the eerie creak of age-old trees.
The name of the studio is perfect for this place.
"Studio of the Dead."
As dead as the nature around it.
I have lived nearby in the woods for seven days and stayed hidden.
My plan has been to find out Houre Noir's schedule;
departure and arrival times.
Not because I'm trying to steer clear of him,
I am sure that he looks forward our reunion,
but I would like to offer you something that only we know.
Our little secret.
A first look inside the studio.
This would have been difficult without my good survival instinct.
But I quickly built a pair of binoculars only using some
wood, shoestring, gum, and binoculars.
"Animals also kept you company."
Yes they did Mr. Green.
look at those squirrels.
Quite nippy little rascals.
Running around in the trees, squeaking into my ear.
Too bad that I have to leave,
I have already begun to get used to the taste of their meat.
Dry but seductive meat.
Houre Noir just left the studio, just as planned.
Our time has come.
Wow, everything is so shiny and expensive looking.
I wonder what this button does?
What was that!
Fuck, he returned earlier than expected!
I do not have time to escape, he is already at the door.
WELCOME TO AUSTRALIA
I'm locked in the trunk.
The car's engine is running and
I'm sure I heard the words "deserted island".
My guess is that it is related to
my first visit to the studio.
Considering how smoothly it went,
perhaps this is Houre Noir's way of thanking me.
Luckily for us, I've got pockets full of material
that I took before this trip.
Australia here we come !
Damn, lighter gas is running out.
What the hell is that smell ?
COCTAIL CALLED SURMALISTI
Why do you sleep in the trunk of my car?
I woke up to those words.
I recognized the speaker - Houre Noir.
I opened my eyes and noticed that the trunk was open.
It was morning, a cold March morning.
HN: What they did to you?
HN: It does not matter, I will fix you. Get up and follow me.
We went to the studio and he asked me to wait in the hallway.
I waited and he began to collect stuff to his bag.
stuff that looked somehow familiar.
HN: Follow me.
He said, surprisingly calmly.
I started to follow him again,
this time we went to kitchen.
Houre Noir opened his bag
and started to put the stuff in a blender.
It was a strange cocktail:
2 x Hail of Napalm
6 x Drumsticks
1 x metal chain
1 x Floor fan
HN: Drink this and close your eyes.
What do you smell?
SL: I smell nothing.
HN: Try harder.
SL: I smell... sweat?
HN: Anything else?
SL: Broken drum sticks
HN: Wow, it works.
SL: I remember... I remember you asked me
are my fucking headphones working at all,
because I played so out of sync.
HN: Yes! Making the liberator demo was so long,
exhausting and technically demanding process for you
that you got a nervous breakdown.
You were in such bad shape that I had to take you to
a mental hospital.
SL: I still do not feel normal.
HN: You will never be "normal".
In your case, your madness is now at a normal level.
SL: What now?
HN: Finish that and lets go.
We walked into the recording room.
When I put the Zoom on top of a guitar amp
and grabbed the drumsticks.
I knew where I was.
I recognized the smell.
I was at home.