depth 1

muted:

It’s a shifting, quasi-minimalistic album that echoes the lite-dubstep sensibilities of The xx, throbbing synth-bass trades aural footholds with beeps and claps in the intense titular song which opens the album, and the rest of the EP is forced to play musical catch-up

like allt he painting sfalling dow ninto thel ap of the doll, that’s enoug hfore play

yours wasn’t the house to go into anyway, but brill, she felt her fingers flying, beveled surface, not the prose she enrolled for, he said, stick out your hand, she said, no please, like the second earliest beginning possible is a stork, laugh yes,

spiral, back, and we are back here, he plays it loud and you warble rock cities through laughing chairs, the cover is a white long-sleeved painted black and rainbows, paper sleeves you folded into the night

it’s already, it’s here, it’s those things, the fourth attempt, it’s ready,

oh, fuck off already

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