Ghost Codes 017 remix
The ritual begins quietly. A whirring sound, nothing more.
The woman is not yet alive, merely an image passing across a mirrored wall.
Now a steady beat on the cymbals makes a ticking heart. The electric hiss of distant freak-out creates activity on the floor, forming the undercurrent of her skull. Her shadow collects itself from dust, floating in slow jazz mode along a 5/4 bass-line.
This rhythm is the pull of her veins.
The crowd can sense her presence. They speak in murmurs, and work together to perform a rhythm body spell, willing her eyes to open, the flow of words to burst from her lips.
Can she feel herself slowing coming alive?
Guitar feedback rings out from the speaker system. Patterns of interference intersect with each other. Blood emerges from the sound itself, where it cools into liquid on contact with the air. Noise coalesces into patches of skin.
The dead woman’s breath is seen. Her mouth trembles.
She steps through into visibility, collecting globules of sweat, feeding on this, pulling sudden clicks lightly from her tongue. It sounds like ghost radar, coded messages from the other side of death: the dark ether calling, gathering echoes across space, moving in the brain, the heart. The woman tunes in, clothing herself in static.
Blood flow is magnified, loud.
Still pale, semitransparent, swaying in time, she feels the heat slowly rise within. Her lips are made for chaotic magic, dropping lyrics like crazy love. The music crushes air into new shapes. Drops of acid sizzle on the dance floor.
Now flesh takes shape on the X-Ray, conjured by the crowd’s desire. Emerging from deep in the mix, she is all that remains of a scream, amplified, alive once more.
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