#009

A disgusting, perverse manifestation of the glimmery bubblegum pop sound. Blown out, overdriven, clipping, busy. Sensory overload. An affront to anyone with good taste. A corruption of something good and pure. Bliss. Bliss. Bliss. Thrown open doors to infinite sun-bloomed fields and utopic visions but there’s something wrong. Rich like rotten fucking chocolate. A deep melancholy and rapturous joy hidden in countermelodies, abrasions, and glitches. The thesis statement to my doctorate program in minorly disappointing my father as a child. Uncontainable bittersweet happiness among three years of dulled experiences. Eleven minutes and fifty seconds where everything makes complete sense.

favorite tracks: fuckin' all of it