Behind the barn—its planks swollen with age, its paint a weary crimson that peeled like old lips—our little piglet discovered a cube. Not gold, not jewels, not mithril dredged from the bones of mountains, but salt. Ah, the vulgarity of it! A block so common it should have sunk into straw and silence. Yet it gleamed under the pale, mournful moon, gleamed as though it cradled secrets no innocent tongue should dare to taste.
“Merely for cows,” sniffed the Elders, their chests puffed with the solemn vanity of creatures who mistook their gossip for scripture. “Harmless! Utterly harmless!” And they tilted their snouts skyward, silhouettes etched like grotesques against the night, savoring the perfume of their own authority.
But the piglet knew otherwise. Or rather—he felt otherwise. For the Saltlick was no farm implement, no humble block of mineral. It was bliss incarnate, alchemy of the basest stone, smoldering with the sweetness of eternity.
He touched it with his tongue—once, only once. And behold! The rafters released sighs long hoarded, the straw crooned lullabies too ancient for mortal ears, and Time itself slouched back in its chair, heavy-lidded, unfastening its velvet belt. Misery unfurled like a wilted bloom and collapsed into a hum of warmth, as if sorrow had been melted into honey and poured straight into his belly.
Another lick. And another. Soon the piglet was enthralled, bound to this crystalline sin with the fervor one saves for fallen queens, forbidden herbs, or scandalous whispers about Farmer Maggot’s turnips.
He did not ask who had set the Saltlick there. He did not dare. Such enchantments wish to be found. And the piglet, rosy wanderer of muck and straw, wished only to forget.
Thus began his pilgrimage: an hour’s drift through velvet numbness and barnyard rapture, a masquerade of forgetting dressed in straw and shadow. The air glittered as though it had been painted with powdered glass; the shadows pirouetted like puppets at play, their strings pulled by hands unseen. And the soundtrack swelled—Peachlyfe’s fevered thrum, Lady Dijon’s sultry hymn, Dame Juliet of Fox murmuring in decadent harmony. Minstrels, untethered and unsupervised, flung their music like ribbons, radiant and perilous.
And the piglet, tongue pressed to crystalline bliss, smiled as though all sorrow, all sweetness, and all eternity had been distilled into this single shimmering block of salt.
Swamplyfe (Intro) . . . Peachlyfe 🐊
material hor$e . . . horsegiirl_ 🐎
Jaded . . . deadmau5 🌀
Pit Stop Papi . . . Maroki ⛽
Our Bodies . . . Ireen Amnes 🩻
Hot Mess . . . Catz 'n Dogz & Nala 🔥
Highlife . . . Elyas 🌆
Conversion . . . VIVEZ 🧬
Dual EP B1 (Honey Dijon Re Rub) . . . C&G Southsystem 🍯
Feel the Beat . . . Joshua James 💓
The Day Will Come (Deniro Remix) . . . INSOLATE ⏳
The Witness . . . Âme, KÁRYYN 👁️
Rave Generator . . . Confidential Recipe ⚡
When We Touch . . . Juliet Fox ✋
We Trawl The Hurts (Deetron Remix) . . . Man Power ft. Louisahhh 🎣
