These damn lobes won’t unwind…y’all can chill if you want. What about that time that man approached you with a proposition. To eat that hot dog in under a minute. In exchange for a bump. Where people you knew and didn’t, stood and watched. Where clarity was tied up inside paying its tab. The tremor that bullied connective tissue like a fifth-grade boy with spiked hair. Where do wind chimes fit in? Will they be linked to a grandparent porch or the shared house down the street with all the cactuses? The one you crashed your bike in front of. With your neighbor, the kid with the Lil $ega Genesis.
How about w~w~w? Pain relief crushed under a library card. Nat Geo collages keeping the room warm. You w~w~went to a show by yourself and tried to spark conversation, but the room is too noisy, but clarity at (8:45) guzzles cynicism like breakneck w~w~weed. It’ll fade. Six months from now it w~w~won’t matter. Six months from now w~w~we’ll be okay.
The art of Nicole Brennan has taken many names over the past few years – Hi-Hi-Whoppee, Wasabi Tapes, more recently consistently DJWWWW where Orange Milk’s Arigato now lives and flourishes – all sharing sides of one morphic cast. Now, Lil $ega steps into the arena, laying a still warm DJWWWW aside for a new 19-minute night at the premiere noise discotheque w~w~w @ Beauty Supply Records.
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