Typing Textures: glocque

Word-texture of my head-insides, as the song, skin on skin by glocque, streams in: the scene set outside, in vast ambience, where the wind blows loudest for me, the sea; yet given the name of human’s hugest> this thing, hugging and heaving all muscles of the mind, the matter, skin’s skin’s touch, yet, still, the scene set in the empty sea air, seamlessly and without scribble, glocque truly fulfils headspace with its title, like all true artists of the day do.

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Brief, brittle, breadth, everything beginning with brrrr, connected curtly; we’ve caught a connection here. Cold word, cold world collected here in big brassy arms, branching oddly swaying breaking in our reverberating, southerly winds, downwards and only the matters left pressing. A stifled awkwardness, caught short in the world wide air. A connection here, an evening bandwidth, edging into some berth, some standpoint I’ve reserved with scouring thought. Now, I’m moved, moving, cold warms stroking their warm cold palms, the creeks of the back and the nose of the upper arm, edging outwards, cool sweat broken, akin. Ahoy, ahead, awake, embed. A bed with ends abrupt with sea-curdling, sea-cresting; the hard to savour night-lit greys, the bruise, the almost goodness, for sure, washing away evening clams, water, dismantling the dead shells, salt, only the beginnings of goosebumps remain, smoothed over. Word texture of this song subsiding, skin on skin by glocque: dark wet mounting waves, fresh, tantalising a tide, a current, waves that can only be ridden, northwards, lull me, sleep, wake, sleep, let’s go, good.

  • .some text missing. < continued > .

Oh, goodness, words lost, accidental, texture sent out in typical typing waves, practically a chaos, an abstraction of the theory. The sea, the skin, the communicates and evening noising aches. Shhhhhh, brrrrrr, whooshes and wishes, climbing the shore; the snare drops over, and over, and then sinks into its rafted bed, the sensitive, behind, my head. And then stops. So I stop. The words stop, and they send to glocque, to you all, for your unscrolling, to your listening eyes and evening ears.

Engage, enjoy

Let this perhaps lead you to the social, active and lively text-stream of the guy behind the above: <https://twitter.com/glocque>

As with a lot of instrumental hip-hop posted on my part, (not that this slow reverb joint is particularly hip-hop) the above almost seems intended to be read as a fast-paced rap over the song: it’s not, but please, feel free. Word.

George

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