Objects entangle each other, like the interior of a gigantic volcano/iceberg: you choose the element. Waking up inside an object, in an inner infinity, aka tfw REX. Atonal zombie vortices or parallel lines actually meeting; your grade school teachers told you that they don’t but they actually do. The weirdness of objects, aka sounds, in a moodboard of erotic curvature. The music only becomes a small piece of a gigantic puzzle; you and I, just two Hardy Boys armed with flashlights and Swiss Army knives that could, if we were attacked by small spiders, help us. But only small spiders. Attacked by music, by the phenomenological violence of it, two pads zoom in the crackles at different struts and speeds, the intersecting time-maps swiping our ears, exchanging one ambience for another, a mural of faces smiling on magnetic tape. A flurry of spells and counterspells cast by sounds, battling for space, for the epic chance to escape one computer and live on in another, where a person presses play on the Bandcamp page and a rift opens between past and present. A blurred scrolling of sound, vertical, not linear, unlike how Ableton designed it. Private house-worlds approaching and receding from one another in unpredictable orbits: fake plants and fake knives on a kitchen island in a large furniture store.
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