Part I - Operated under extreme psychosis, performed live in the dead of night at the studio of The Hague's pirate 'Radio Tonka', these two records contain an apocalyptic selection of the very darkest moments of its maker, an Anglo-French 'Bruxellois' driftwood expat washed ashore on the West Holland wasteland just to get even more lost in its empty shadow chessboard grid of luscious ghost town smoke screen structures built on nothing but loose sand, to get even more entangled in its reef-like vortex of the fleetwood parkland dune estates' artifice of ugly evergreen high-tech verdure of 'Rose and Thorn', oh, yes, its many, many flowers 'sans Mercee', red and white Carnation, Asphodel, or 'Fleur de Lys' and 'Fleur du Mal', all awaiting, lurking gentle softness of the flesh, perfumed for luring prey, yet strikingly hard-wired through the courtly appearance and the troubling foliage of the Count's many hidden pleasures, His many secret palace garden hedges, His Royal Seal concealed behind, oh, yes, its many, many spines, all hiding midst the ticket, like cloak and dagger, that poisoned slip of tongue, or poisoned tip of blade, and all's so easy to slip away and disappear into the vine and creeper, to make one trip and fall in smear of mud or was it blood? And then how swift and sudden one may hear the ominous approach, of tainted fearful hooves, of painful stainless steel, yet steadily encroaching, by mad design, this harsh and grinning, eerily certain sound of mind-breaking, body-slicing, brain-crushing, meat-cutting, soul-shattering Gargantua of industrial machines, this constant dissonant harmony, distant yet distinct, with certain paranoid unspeakable voices of deepest Hades' underworld despairs, this Abysmal flood of uttering words of God knows what madness, or God knows what truth? This one-way Path, this one-man War, this one-track Fate, this endless Road to hit Rock Bottom, I'm terribly afraid it's going to be a very, very lonely place out there...