I’ve been overlaid with more than sixty samples of funk
I’m way out past star cups, tingling with shoobydoo sounds. I’m the space lady who had too much to dream last night of mellow groups, an album leaf, tristesse or the languid. So, I was young and in love geographically challenged stuck in a car during a traffic jam. (Is it possible to detach yourself from the moment through music? You’re supposed to think about it) Am I ever likely to hear again "Seven and seven is", "Psychotic reaction"? I walk along a drive of tentative sounds. I’m expert enough to navigate using a guidebook though highly unlikely to begin my emotional nourishment. Oh, the music glacier is slow, tarpit thick. There's nothing to be afraid of! I quake and tremble using a rubber balloon to make all kinds of bizarre noises. And I’m brave enough to listen to earth littered with cigarette butts and empty cans. I’ll ruin my eyes on the CD digipak because I’m into the controlled and crafted side of noise. There's a heap of horns to be found there a...