Constellation Boundaries
by metafictions
from ‘ep.1 nominal state’
Follow metafictions via
[Official site] https://metafictions.net
[YouTube channel] https://www.youtube.com/@metafictions-plex
[Spotify] https://open.spotify.com/intl-ja/artist/1Axn9FNf9tzjrgEmSL1B2H
[Apple Music] https://music.apple.com/jp/artist/metafictions/1862998299
[Amazon Music] https://music.amazon.co.jp/artists/B0G9P8RDT1/metafictions
[SoundCloud] https://soundcloud.com/metafictions
Thank you for watching!
#electric #alternative #industrial #industrialbass #glitchhop #cyberpunkmusic #idm #intelligentdancemusic #experimentalbass #noisemusic
No lines, no curves, no lines.
Everything is flow.
Everything is flux.
But continuity is fragile. Continuity is ambiguous.
And continuity, at times, is fiction.
No lines etched in the void, no rigid, binding decree.
No edges defined, no borders for what is meant to be.
No lines, no lines at all, Just an endless, silent fall.
No curves to cradle thought, no arcs of a foreseen path.
No gentle bends to guide, just a brutal aftermath.
No curves, no curves at all, Just an echo in the hall.
Everything is continuous, a seamless, flowing stream.
A silent hum, a timeless dream.
But continuity is fragile, a whisper in the dark.
A single breath could break its mark.
Continuity is ambiguous, a shadow on the wall.
A truth we grasp, then watch it fall.
And continuity, at times, is FICTION,
A grand, elaborate conviction.
We draw the lines, we trace the curves, across the cosmic dust.
A map of comfort, born of trust.
But the universe laughs, a static hum,
At every fragile line we’ve spun.
Everything is continuous, a seamless, flowing stream.
A silent hum, a timeless dream.
But continuity is fragile, a whisper in the dark.
A single breath could break its mark.
A single breath could break its mark.
A single breath could break its mark.
No lines.
No curves.
Just the endless, breaking hum.
The fiction of the continuum.
Calendars of hours, of dates, of years
They seem perfect.
But look closely: They subtly waver. They are partially missing.
Outside the calendar, nameless, countless factors shine in chaotic brilliance.
What leaks from the grid’s waver, from its missing parts.
That is the noise.
The chaotic brilliance outside the grid.
That is the noise.
The chaotic brilliance outside the grid.
That is the noise.
Constellation: It is the limit. It is the deviation of systems.
It could be an economic system.
It could be an information network.
Cross the Boundaries, And the system fails.
Or it leaps into the unknown.
Purple noise erupts.
It is not a wall to sustain the system.
Green noise erupts.
It is the point of collapse.
The inner logic. The emotional connections of consciousness, of thought, of memory.
The boundaries maintaining mental stability.
When they crumble, madness, chaos surges in.
Countless fragments of memory.
Particles of thought.
Connected by threads of light, like neurons in the brain.
It is like a vast constellation.
The constellation’s boundaries are invaded.
Countless noises, Intruding from the pitch-black sky, sever the connections of light.
Thank you, cracks.
No lines, no curves, no lines, everything is flow.
No lines, no curves, no lines, everything is flux.
But continuity is fragile. Continuity is ambiguous.
And continuity, at times, is fiction.
No lines etched in the void, no rigid, binding decree.
No edges defined, no borders for what is meant to be.
No lines, no lines at all, Just an endless, silent fall.
No curves to cradle thought, no arcs of a foreseen path.
No gentle bends to guide, just a brutal aftermath.
No curves, no curves at all, Just an echo in the hall.
Everything is continuous, a seamless, flowing stream.
A silent hum, a timeless dream.
But continuity is fragile, a whisper in the dark.
A single breath could break its mark.
Continuity is ambiguous, a shadow on the wall.
A truth we grasp, then watch it fall.
And continuity, at times, is FICTION,
A grand, elaborate conviction.
We draw the lines, we trace the curves, across the cosmic dust.
A map of comfort, born of trust.
But the universe laughs, a static hum,
At every fragile line we’ve spun.
Everything is continuous, a seamless, flowing stream.
A silent hum, a timeless dream.
But continuity is fragile, a whisper in the dark.
A single breath could break its mark.
A single breath could break its mark.
A single breath could break its mark.