Friday, 3 July 2009

cream cuts

You fell from the sky, catching the lost aviators as you hurtled through the cirrus. Sand cushions your fall like the stolen three piece that remains unpaid for to this day. Sleep won't come though even though it's been on request for days. The sun burns like moonlighting vodka, the wind ruffles your hair like that wispy girl who fucks like a corpse. Sand grains slowly give way and you sink down down down. It's coming in your ears, your eyes and you can't rub them awake no matter how hard you try.

Falling through you tumble head over and over and over til you reach the floor. Like quicksand but not like the raven haired quiff lady. It feels like a floor. You get up. It seems you are at a desert disco rave. I thought you were going to die. Perhaps it is in fact a banquet. Or a Oriental funeral. All of these things at once. All the revellers grooving have honeycombs for eyes. Either way, you need to boogie. But please not too hard. Don't forget that. Nobody knows we're here. Be patient and you'll find the laguna with the discoball.

Tussle - Transparent C

Tussle - Night of the Hunter

And so that's where this album, Cream Cuts, by Tussle is. You can find it on the shelves in the not so safari location of Pure Groove at Smithsfields. Tell them I sent you. or iTunes.

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