Is this the bitter-sweet side of ourselves?
We portray great misery, of course, and a tipically human desperate need of survival but, at the same time, joke and irony are always present to exorcise the fear of decay and death.
Here we are just musicians playing airs that make you dance and cry at the same time, and while doing this we say to ourselves: “Take your bloody knife and start exploring your killing nature, be not politically correct, sing and play as a fucking gorgon if you wish and have fun".
“Paris Spleen” and the following “Spasms” are works in progress, both musically and as live performances, and our main actor Paul Patchy is just a disseminator of chaos.

“It’s not true that cold is clean, cold paralyzes the mind and the body. It paralyzes the thoughts. Cold stinks. If you move your blood runs, you exist, you feel, you contemplate. Cold is dirty, with time dust covers you and you change into a grey-like-smoke statue of glass. Stinking. And grey.

....... So, I must have died. Bah, it doesn’t matter. If I think of this right now, I remember well my last magic night... The moon was there. Full. Fluorescent. « You can make as many wishes as you want in the time you have between my bright appearance and the next cloud » she told me. One, two, three, ten, a hundred, how many I made... And more wishes came out, more time I had. Its’s the vibrating quantity of our wishes that defines the time” The moon has thaught it to me.
One, two, three, ten, a hundred...........”