by Noč

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made with barely working instruments and equipment.
everything by J.B.
a review of Demo in slovenian:


released January 18, 2015



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Noč Slovenia

Noč is a one man black metal project from Kranj, Slovenia.

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Track Name: this last cold flight into the sun
further from the heaven sun, yet closer to true light.
this final descent, a decaying bridge my last companion,
i share it's fading breath. the clouds all blend into a mist.
it feels as though years pass me in gloomy whispers,
the glare ahead brighter at each one's end.
eternal strings of paths not taken
murmur of time, of love,
of torment gone.
this last cold flight into the sun.
Track Name: untitled II
Some small children stood on top of a hill bejeweled with grass and portruding hard silver rocks and played among themselves games to be percieved only by a mind of innocence. A hot sun was projecting strange warmth in waves from behing vague crystal clouds, defined only by their black wiry outline. The air hummed with a light breeze as if to tell tales of distant prophecies. A child with a disfigured back skipped over some sharp rooted rocks and another child watched him dumbly and then followed with an immence grin. The children ran swirling as one agent, they themselves unaware of their harmonious ensemble. Upon them lay an olden calm as it had in times before them and they barked like crazed imbeciles, their expressions, illuminated and enhanced, preceding their youth. One boy paced among others with a strange demeanor of exertion and he struggled to match the other's blissful carelesness. He watched the ground and their motion of play and often fell behind and wordlessly returned neglible among them. The participants in some inconceivable delight taking turns in this play and choosing others and this time it was the boy's turn. They frightened him some as if from a slightly different breed of human. He took part and ran and buzzed among them. The air shimmered in warmth and he felt no breath of wind. There was screaming or laughing and the clatter of many child's feet. The smell of dust and grass drifted wherever they wholly moved, over rocks and around and past the only tree on the hilltop and along the fragile precpiece from which the many roots of flowers and bush portruded. They hurried past a pile of old weeds, some kicking it for the dry pieces of stems to rain like old spider's legs upon their heads. Through higher grass, stopping at times in some necessary act of play, returning to where they were, making meandring spirals of imprints in the soil and broken plants. Their faces caging no emotion and their eyes as miniature humming birds, glasslike and afire. The boy among them followed and lead with them, and always in unison they moved and performed in this perfectly coordinated play, and even as they moved near the edge of the hill and the boy's foot was caught in the protruding curved tree root, they did not notice and continued away in joy as he fell and tumbled like an unjustly stuffed doll and stopped among crooked brown trees. When he came to, he raised himself with difficulty and disorientated and then just sat against a fallen tree and watched the piece of long pinkmisted bone, slowly realising what it was, protruding like a tree root from his lower leg. He whimpered and shook and tried to drag himself to another place, but he could not. The dusty beams of sunlight were sparse among the treetops and he thought it to be afternoon. He was illuminated in mystical streaks of light which moved along his body and the ground and plants alike and he whished himself to be long rotten and crubling and his bones old and brittle in nature's judgment, and his eyes two small pools, from which small alien creatures could drink, and his body a resting ground for living things beyond his knowing. The sun was setting and long he thought those thoughts. In the night he heard distant voices trough the thick black air and as the sun rose, in this place was left only a spot of humid soil and a puddle of dark blood which arose glistering from the night, calling for him to return.

-story written in 2011-
Track Name: no flowers in the winter
i've never bought her flowers,
like the bright ones at funerals blankly standing.
i've picked the ones she lay on
and saved them in old smelling books i'll never read,
and i look for her flame to burn them all.
standing in the sun i look at nothing,
reaching my hand for the hollow heavy moon.
blank pages in a book i once hoped held many tales,
childlike growing leaves
never to see the branch,
growing for the mad sun.

no flowers in the winter

she once said she was in pieces and i told her
it was okay. i'll be in pieces too
and i will put them all together,
and if one
or two get mixed up in the puzzle,
i will carry her piece with me always.
to hold on to
when the branches lose their skin.
and when the sun
will have burnt my fingers,
i will not let the wind brake my bones.
i wish for no bright flowers,
i wish for those old books,
whose pages still carry breath.
they now smell of her.

-improvised live-