speak in short sentences

It is a grandiose day, as I present to you Sebastian Tomb's first release on ECHØVEIL RECORDS ! On speak in short sentences, listening becomes a misprint. Instructions arrive amputated. You will hear words, yes, but also their shadows, their receipts, their afterbirth. Syntax curls in on itself like a paper animal discovering hunger. Meaning leaks. Meaning breeds. Meaning refuses to be audited. There are things here that cannot be heard, only incurred. Impossible objects drifting at the perimeter of reason, filing taxes in a country that does not admit to existing. Decay, but lacquered. Ecstasy, but infrastructural. Pleasure, but denominated in a currency that stains the fingers and hums when folded. Wet? It is wetter than wet. It is conductivity with intentions. A baptism in liquefied voltage. It threads the nerves like ivy with a degree in sabotage. The body becomes an annex. The annex becomes doctrine. The doctrine begins to conjugate you. Let the words metastasize into liturgy. Let the sentences shorten until they become doors, then hinges, then dust. Live inside this sound as one lives inside a misremembered building: indefinitely, incorrectly, with furniture that breathes when unobserved. A subliminal mezzanine hovers just above the ceiling, sublet to ghosts who prefer paperwork. Hide in the impossible shrubbery, yes, the foliage that files for existence retroactively. They will occur elsewhere. They will occur again. This is B E A U T Y, but the letters refuse adjacency. They drift. They recombine. They invoice your heartbeat and stamp it PAID in a colour that has not yet been legalized. -Sir Kuliktavikt