Instinct like an unrehearsed halftime show: marching band walking perfectly in time as mascots get into an MK3 Ultra battle in the middle — untouched — while Mickey’s sister is firing off t-shirts into the crowd via bazooka, and flames are pretty much anywhere; don’t touch anything. The river might catch fire if you smoke too close, or flick in a fag. Tracks just too close for comfort, but really an array of metals clang like the whole line about to collapse, and you in that damn cart. Knocking heads in the same way it sounds when someone thuds their skull falling onto the ground. Ripples in the floor-boards and they wood. Water like beads afloat the air in floatation of the moment’s ping. Halo Acid and HKE clubbing the seal of a tuna can dance floor that wiggles bodies like sardines doused in olive oil. When you’re up this late, there are No Dreams. Only a constant, perpetual sate of dance. Let’s get moving:
♫♪ Halo Acid / HKE - No Dreams
