Erratic shadows conceal the silhouettes of what once was.
Flickering imagery haunts and conceal the forgotten past of our vaudevillian apparition known as Vermapyre.
Distorted, broken sounds from the deteriorated reels of many lost, 1920s silent era horror film devours the listener within the blackened, grit-pocked nightmare that is conjured through thee Vermapyres home-made electric cigar box guitar. Dilapidated victrola players warp delta blues unrecognizably while distressed memories shatter themselves across the weathered moving picture screen. Blurred glimpses of unfocused darkness splinters its way through your innermost fears. Specters illuminate against a barrage of horrific sound, cornered inside your dogged imagination.
Creole hallucinations gather lost worlds inside our minds. We wait and we watch you. Our disintegration never fades. We are the beginning and we are the end.