We trash lost in a nebulous fog of psyche and distortion, blinded by blurry lights which shine first left then right, like the flashing eyes of a probing Cyclops. Our legs are lacerated by the acid spikes of unnatural flowers which rise strange and proud in the red soil, we stare into blood-coloured puddles and behold the reflections of smudged faces staring back at us from the intersection of the dying waves, it is quiet but not quiet, like someone was rubbing its bony fingers against the edges of the glass of the universe. We trash lost, walking in circles in an spiritual corn-field in whose emaciated trees we anticipate the skeletons of scarecrows, although the soil is graffitied with esoteric tracks, so far we haven’t seen anything alive here, only those flowers.

And suddenly a shadow looms large in our path, a roaming beast stalking its prey, no, a house crouching between the pillars of mist, pale yellow lights glaring from its gaping windows, a broken melody trickles from the inside, keyboard spirals that engulf us like the smothering cloak of Mother Night, creaks and cracks as we walk up the stairs, Nothing People’s Late Night spins with strange intent in an antique turntable.

Nothing People-Another Rattle

We trash lost in a nebulous fog of psyche and distortion, blinded by blurry lights which shine first left then right, joyriding demons on payback night cradling a shotgun loaded with heavy vibes on our lap. We push hard on the pedal and speed down a straight line of melting petrol, green eyes stare past our trail from the sides most indifferent, we have become the hallucinated blur of a cannibal roadrunner dodging crawling mausoleums of fading colours with the bloodshot precision of a madman reading God’s twisted script on a blackboard made of asphalt.

And suddenly crash like a needle slid off the record by the eager hands of an epileptic joker, a sticky red shower splashes over the fake leather upholstery as spikes of metal slide cruel into our flesh separating the vertebrae of electrified spines and spilling bone marrow for the vultures to sip, above flips into below and for a second we drive into the sun like scruffy angels before the momentum becomes weight and we hit the floor a bison collapsing shot between the eyes, not realising we were dead the moment we stepped on the accelerator and slid the Talbot Tagora tape into the stereo.

Talbot Tagora- Internet Fixture

This tune is included in the Talbot Tagora/Bipolar Bear 10” split our in OlFactory Records soon.

We trash lost in a nebulous fog of psyche and distortion, blinded by blurry lights which shine first left then right, stroboscopic reflections in the multifaceted eyes of an insect God. We slide past scented dark panthers twisting in feral rewind, contorting ourselves into bizarre shapes to stay right off their zone, we slide past curtains of silk and sweat into private crypts where the flesh spreads over surrealist sofas, dali clocks made of butter jam and honey and pupils floating in milky fishbowls now attentive and serious like owls perched staring at us mice lost in the killing fields of a decadent forest.

And suddenly past a gold-gilded door covered on glyphs representing the history of a primitive religion, and into a cube which is the metaphorical cellar under the black and white tiles of every chessboard, an overflowing toilette gapes at us with lust and hunger from a corner, between its marble lips we slide inside the rabbit hole at the bottom of the rabbit hole, the door slides back and closes muzzling a song by The Oh Sees that still resonates outside.

The Oh Sees- Can You See

This tune is included in The Oh Sees new album, Help.

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Don’t miss out this weekend: it’s the end of the beginning.