He woke with a start from troubled sleep, palm on chest to reassure a racing heart. The white curtains had ballooned into the room like ship sails. He got up to close the windows.
She wasn't telling, she'd said, her watery voice still gurgling in his ears. And she'd teased him about his world, the world he wasn't seeing right. He stared out the window at the mountain, which was striped with low wispy clouds, as the words of the perfidious clepsydra ran through his mind.
The world, mirrored.
Upside-down.
The bottom half of the hourglass, his mountain, grains of sand of time that has passed. Flipped, upside-down. And those same still moments from the past start to trickle down, becoming the future, rebuilding a new mountain, a new world for him.
A shiver passed through his body. The mountain hid its face behind thicker clouds, ashamed.
It held all possible timelines, he realized, not only the past, and it only followed that it held his own, too, the seed from which this in-between timeless world he inhabited could grow. His future.
And the clepsydra had revealed enough: the noise of waterfalls, rush of a dangerous river in her voice.
supported by 17 fans who also own “The Clepsydra (Pt. 4)”
Yog-Sothoth. The thought of something lurking beyond time and space, seeing and knowing everything and all in existence at any given time, is deeply unsettling and yet fascinating. This outermost, outerworldly feeling is being transported in a good way. Part 1 is good, but Part 2 indeed sounds like I would imagine The Lurker at the Threshold to feel, if he felt anything. An outerworldly, cosmic and desolate piece of dark ambient. David Fischer
Hindustani music and glitchy ambient co-mingle on the San Francisco-based, New Delhi-raised composer’s lush new album. Bandcamp New & Notable Sep 4, 2019