Here we are; we find ourselves trapped in the middle of another nightmare paradise. Ain’t no game this time, this maze of sounds layer and flayer and pulsate. Yo, pulsate, b! The two true gems of Treasure Island EP are but a quest.
Outsider magic curves in strings of six levels, each layered in dungeons of murky, late night fuzz. A witching hour of sorts, and more like a summertime witch. Mix with a few rays of UV-sunlight. But then the path reveals itself, a split second, when it all comes crashing down at melt-pace. Improv demolished. And the last boss is Jackson Pollock.
You just have to sit there and work your way out of a mind trick. Sorta like telekinetic, MK Ultra, dimensional-slide analysis collection, running on infinity cylinders. Nobody is aggro with anyone rn. Once you break free, you are then chased by a stamped of jungle animals without a jungle. Sweat like tears, crawling back from the black hole that spit you out.
There’s no place to hid on R. BHOODHOO’s Treasure Island EP. Unless there’s a clue!