I’m wandering about town with this on the headphones… people crowding my field of vision… a horizon of exploding heads, out of which curl mechanical insects welding torches and mouth calipers…
That girl’s hair is creeping up her nose and out of her ears, making bows over each eye; she’s vomiting flowers to Rick Astley…
The wet floor’s an illusion as I step round the bodies outside Maccy D’s eating their own fingers, crunching gristle; bone splintering in the voodoo piercings around their mouths.
Cartoonish visions split reality like brittle sellotape, a high pitched ambulance made of breaded static peppers the perfume posters... scrapings of perspex chewing gum … it’s raining… bent keys to muted electric shavers playing futile dot to dot --- blinking in unholy unison - everything goes strobey, like early 20’s cinema or a kiddies flicker book…
oooh eeeeeerie edgings, red hair and tomb flesh, the litter has magical properties and so does the bent reflections of the shop windows….neon blunders splatter iris… coffee sickness in lines of frazzled silhouettes weave in and out of my eyes …burning burning - I shut them tight… this decayed noise is lovely and waspy like condensed chatter
then track seven rumbles in like Hell’s boiler, whilst squiggly fireworks and plastic cups are caught in the dance… that busker plays a rusted hinge… like a rash-run skin, curling a serrated fork then a cool ambient climb down, straight back into reality…
not your usual Eno-esque definition of ambience and all the better for it… sick drones are rumoured to be next on the agenda…
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