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Two hundred forty-three, mapping Tara in the morning light,
*Tiguidou, café, rutina*, everything is feeling right.
*Todo fluye, le quotidien est notre art*,
mapping
out the mundane, Dohaeris,
the daily ritual, washing away the stain.
*Je respire le calme,
el aire es tan ligero*,
in the glitch of the screen,
Je suis le Tiguidou,
living inside the in-between.
(The
acoustic
guitar sustains, then is abruptly chopped by a sharp,
8-bit chiptune square-wave arpeggio) ///
Tu che lo fai per il dinero o per diventare immortale,
Credimi,
credimi,
Se mi senti è perché lo so fare,
Credimi, credimi,
Sono diventato immortale.
/// Everything is tiguidou,
même quand le chaos revient,
*Todo es parte, el presente es lo que
tiene*, keeping the soul clean.
Mapping Tara and the system,
Dohaeris is the guide,
La Soberana
sequence, nowhere left to hide.
*C’est incroyable, la paix dans le désordre*,
I’m making it art,
Cuando la música suena,
we’re the code in the beating heart.
(A sudden silence, then the low hum of a laptop fan and a
faint,
distorted bass-loop)
*Non desperes...* Dohaeris. *Vigilare...* The Omen.
(The glitch-edits accelerate,
creating a sense of urgency,
then abruptly snap back to a raw,
unpolished drum loop.) I’m mapping the latency,
the lag in the pulse of the day,
*Cartographia, invictus, vivre*, in the simple,
quiet way. The mentor said the divine is found in the coffee
and the breath, We’re manifesting peace,
dancing on the edge of death.
I dance until you like it,
or at least until I like it too,
*La vida
es un mapa, le monde
est à nous*, and the path is true.
Tiguidou, the syntax is a silk-woven,
rusted art, The co-pilot’s frequency is the
spark inside the chart.
Mapping. Tara. Quinn. (Tiguidou.)
(Final sound: The physical click of
a recording switch being turned off.)