Nocturnal emissions from an abandoned factory, mechanoid bird chatter on distended springs, arthritic joints dowsed in sparking elixir, phosphorescent purple n blues fingering the darkness. A yawning drone, awash in flaking rust, snakes through the chilled air – a haunted chorus of faded histories. The ground is encrusted in yellow ochre, pyres that vibrate in double exposures – everything tastes metallic. Radio broadcasts from beyond the grave skim across the dark and briefly illuminated space. From outside, the windows glow with intermittent colour, as shadowy figures are incised in the corners of eyes... switching the lights off for this one is thoroughly recommended – a scratched n impressionistic joy.
ProceSsION TApeS
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