Tradition has it that nomads and travellers would gather at the surface of LIME KILNS, in order to benefit from the warmth of the fires, deep below the ground. This is where BEN LOST found himself, under a hot August sun in 2012, on the lips of a pit in LLANYMYNECH. And after an intense TABATA session around the mouth of the kiln, while a man conquered SLOBBERLOB below – Ben Lost’s ‘semi-automatic writing’ technique would seemingly predict the birth of his son, under a rare August moon, one calendar year later. † THE AUGUST MOON WAS SHINING DOWN. REFLECTING BLUE, SO BLUE FOR YOU. MOTH BLESS APOHENIA. BE THERE is, however, a riddle of parallels. A tale of COMMITMENT / OBSESSION / LOVE +/or DESPERATION.

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