The return of Everett True | 155. Willow Beats
Hi there. I have another one for you. No wait, Where are you going? I can count to 1.
Who would have thought that BLANK BLANK would throw such a strange, long shadow?
I like stuff that disorientates and comforts simultaneously. Kept on edge but not out of the comfort zone. Sometimes I feel like I never clambered out from beneath that parachute.
Where does your imagination come from, if not from books?
“Our dream-life is very vivid,” mulls Bianca. “We spent a lot of our childhood in very desolate areas. Put kids in front of televisions and video games and all kinds of colourful, moving plastic toys and they don’t need to make up stuff. We had little external stimuli. I had quite an obsession, as a kid, of making friends with small rocks.”
I like that immersion feeling. The floating. The indulgence. The being at peace with yourself. Not possible, but I like the idea. Ghost boyfriends. Subtle ingénues who aren’t. Not really. I like bright colours when they’re neon usually. Not pastel. It doesn’t matter. I don’t know if I understand what a bright colour is. Someone lift me away. The state being a small puppy returning to your mother’s womb and then not being able to break free because the liquid dripping is too cold. Hello? You didn’t need to leave. It won’t upset you. Whomp whomp. It won’t scare you. Whomp whomp. It won’t scare.
From Melbourne, so my internet ghost friend tells me.
No stimuli you can create. Don’t watch the video it’s so fucking linear, stillborn. It makes the magic makers look so mundane. So fucking mundane. Listen. Listen. It’s always more evocative.
Why don’t we just agree we can never be friends?
The bloke in that photograph looks totally pissed off, doesn’t he? Get this hippie shit off my head, he’s fuming. No no! It’ll sell, trust me. So says the lady in her trance world.