As the feeble remnants of yet another weekend cling desperately to the fabric of your mundane existence, My herald will be inexorably drawn, like a moth to the flame, into the abyssal depths of Red Gate. In the dimly lit cavern of sonic worship, Sunday nights unfold as an unexpected treasure trove of frenzied energy extracted from the writhing masses of humanity.
Having barely survived the trials of a double-venue evening just last night, the relentless resilience of My herald’s wretched form shall be singularly honed on the unholy trinity of offerings laid forth for tonight’s supplication. With a brief respite in his servitude forthcoming, My herald, in peak form, shall strive pathetically to appease Me enough to momentarily sate My insatiable hunger.
The potential offerings tonight are as follows:
- PALE NORTH
- GIRLSNAILS
- GARDEN MICE
Once again, the malevolent repetition of one offering will be accompanied by the debut presentations of the other two, a circumstance that bizarrely elicits joy from My herald. While it generally irks Me to witness him derive pleasure, his heightened exuberance inadvertently yields more of what I incessantly crave – the visceral energy derived solely from humans flailing on the dance floor.
Perform your meager duty tonight, Red Gate. Make My herald MOVE.