Conceived as spring condescended to a stupefied gaze with blossoms and the faint spoor of romance, these tracks pair well with the decadence of a cosmopolis as experienced by one who sniffs and sighs among its evacuated parks and ominous groceries.  Listen closely and you will hear the ambience of quarantine: the guttural peal of motorcycles departing Greenpoint like Sodom, part Dürer, part Terminator; the flatulence of a garbage truck lurching up the street; tires rolling out rain slicked streets like sourdough starters in the phantasmagoria of instagram...the nose of an epigone picking up the trail, a path that leads through the immensity of leisure directly into the abyss

Possibly Maybe (Björk)

𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔦𝔪 𝔤𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔩𝔢, 𝔟𝔢𝔤𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔴𝔢𝔡? 𝔫𝔬, 𝔪𝔶 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢. 𝔦𝔪 𝔟𝔬𝔫𝔢: 𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔰 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔦𝔱 𝔰𝔫𝔞𝔭𝔰.
𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔡𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔶 𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲, 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔯𝔲𝔦𝔫.

Possibly Maybe (Björk)

Matthew Fox