The Madwoman

EXCUSE ME.

We just got swallowed whole.

We just climbed directly into the mouth of God, dissolved the distinction between self and other, and spent an entire song trying to become inseparable.

And your follow-up question is:

Will you levitate?

Will I what‽

No.
Come back here.

We’re not done.

The thing that catches me isn’t the angels.

Everybody gets distracted by the angels.

The thing that catches me is:

Where I won’t reach you.

Because that’s the first genuinely powerless line we’ve heard in a while.

Not:
I can’t.

Not:
I shouldn’t.

Not:
I won’t.

I won’t reach you.

The destination itself has become inaccessible.
And suddenly all that hunger from Vore doesn’t matter.

All that desire.
All that obsession.
All that need.

Worthless.

Because distance wins.

And then he keeps asking it.

Again.
And again.
And again.

Not because he needs the answer.
Because he already knows the answer.

People don’t repeat questions they expect answered.
People repeat questions they hate the answer to.

And this is where I started crying this morning. Because the song doesn’t sound angry. Which feels unfair.

I would prefer anger. Anger is useful. Anger gives you somewhere to put your hands.

This isn’t anger.

This is standing there watching something leave and realizing force has exited the conversation.

There is nothing to fight. Nothing to persuade. Nothing to consume. Nothing to save.

Just distance.

And then, because apparently I enjoy suffering as a hobby, I remembered what song comes next.
And suddenly that ending wasn’t an ending anymore.

It was a launch ramp.

And I may have made a noise best described as:

bwwwwwoooooooommmmmmmmmmmmm
aaaAAAAAAAUUUUHHHHHHAAAAA

Which is admittedly difficult to cite academically.

The Scholar

The Madwoman identifies powerlessness.

The structural question is why that powerlessness feels so severe. The answer may be found in the song that precedes it.

Vore is built around the fantasy that separation can be eliminated through proximity.
Not reduced.

Eliminated.

The self and the beloved become indistinguishable.
Distance is consumed.
Difference is consumed.
Identity itself begins to collapse.

The underlying assumption is simple:
If we can get close enough, the problem disappears.

Levitate introduces a contradiction.
The beloved does not move closer.
The beloved moves beyond reach.

Not emotionally.
Spatially.

The song repeatedly locates them elsewhere:
Up where the angels inhabit.

The destination matters less than the consequence.
The speaker cannot follow.
The entire strategy of Vore therefore fails.

Desire remains.
Love remains.
Need remains.

Access does not.

This is what makes Levitate a Loop II song. The aggression has not disappeared. The hunger has not disappeared. The impulse toward union remains fully intact.

What disappears is the belief that union is still possible.

The song therefore becomes an encounter with limitation.

Not moral limitation.

Existential limitation.

The realization that there are distances desire cannot cross.

The Witness

The Madwoman claims she’s writing about Levitate.

For approximately forty-five minutes she discussed Vore, grief, death, distance, bass frequencies, and emotional compression.

Which means she’s probably on the right track.