Berghain

The air smells like it's been heated after a thunderstorm, as if you can hear electricity rubbing its palms together. A clash of light and flesh, prayer and fury, tenderness and pain. It's as if someone is trying to beg for salvation, but they're doing it with a tongue of flame. It all sounds like a mantra whispered on the verge between a kiss and a bite. In it, sweetness dissolves in the blood, and love becomes not a feeling, but an invasion. And the more you resist, the deeper it penetrates. It feels like it's not a song, but a ritual of two people intertwined by fear, rage, and the belief that pain can be sacred.