The incessant, unrelenting hunger to fill vast uncompromising emptinesses. Impermeability. Marketing. The Insect Mother. Post-apocalyptic dream-scapes. Dying cities built from every thought you've ever had. Malleable museums of experiential debris. Modern ruins. The constant, static accumulation of endings. More. And more.
Sounds Like
post-motown, space-love, fuck-jazz, cute-core, core-core, grind-diamond, huff-hop, summer-step, speak n' spell-ectro, chip-pop, bubblegum-breaks, children's-landscape, 'a bullet from a fucking gun.'.
Cancer The Kid uses data on the biochemical effects of various sound, frequencies and rhythms to physically reproduce certain experiences. Film scores and popular music are sampled, electronic beats are generated and broken, to create precise neurological responses. Listeners completely and viscerally believe themselves to be snorting cocaine on a Florida beach or watching a friend die in combat. There is a sound to the violent self-disassociation of the American psyche. Countless auditory fragments careen outward from a collective self we must run from, that we can not bear to hear. Cancer The Kid captures these disembodied sounds from the air and reintegrates them into us; no matter how violently we struggle against it, no matter how great the injury he must inflict.
Yeah, it was really good to see you man. Sorry we had to bail without warning. I had to work at 7 and Carson had to get up early to see her mom off, but we should totally get together sometime soon.
Hey, when are you coming back to Cali? You and Naia should make a trip soon. I miss you guys and I didn't really get to hang out with you last time. Also, I'm finally 21 (I notice I didn't get a phone call...) so we can party it the fuck up!
Online Now!
![[audra]](http://c1.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/26/s_8cc3baaf1895dfcd63a01958fcf863e0.jpg)
