Compendium V by DIM

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FIREFLY CATHEDRAL Music Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4GoQ3gTOcLI


As the strange and aged man continued his plea for another soul, for his was sufficiently ravished from an all too curious life, he staggered through thick bramble in order that he get closer to his goal; a sweeping ridge overlooking a vast peninsula. From the ridge’s highest point, he could see the Veil, a place filled with what laymen call “mound dwellers”. Beyond that craggy and darkened gorge lay a winding path emerging from faraway greenery, one which he had taken before, he remembered. That was where he was headed, as his prize lay at the end of that road.
He secured his large satchel hanging from his back, as it tended to droop from the weight of all that he carried, and continued on. Amber began to pierce the sky, for the day grew old. Deciding that he yearned for respite, he fastened his lamplight to the top of his walking staff by a curious mechanism, and garrisoned inside the ruins of a cathedral buried in the trees. As the land continued to dim, and with only his lamplight and some scant fireflies passing in and out of the crumbled ruins, the aged man thought on what lay behind him. He had visited this place once before, though back then the light shone differently, as it were. The place was bustling, with traveling folk about and nuns singing their vespers in the great cathedral, whole and unfettered by time. Now it was deathly quiet, with light shining from all directions between the remains of what once was.
Soon, he would see that glint upon the gleaming shoreline, he knew. The thought brought comfort to him. Before long, he would be surrounded by the warm lamplight of home again; a bed worn by time, but all too inviting, a kitchen and alcove where the morning rays catch just right, and green, verdant hills waiting beyond view of the front door. Nothing would please him more than to be surrounded by the embrace of what was familiar, but there was still some journey left. He still need make it through more bramble, the place where trees frown , and that wretched lair of long silence. Only then would he see those lands again. After the book concludes, and all is said and done, who’s to say nothing lies beyond? Time will come and time will go, but a story lives on and on, though this aged man’s story was done, for now.     

Producer and composer Josiah Wilkinson produces "sacral medievalist electronics"-- intense, alluring mirages under the name DIM.

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