A million thoughts fly around my head at once, a tidalwave of a headache, a flash flood of dizziness, a swirl of synapses and it’s all that I can do to grip the arms of my chair, to stop my teeth from grinding. I stare downwards and breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe and gradually the colours focus, the world stills, the speed becomes bearable, gradually the air tastes better and it turns out I’m listening to, no, languishing in, the blurry ‘bedroom pop’ of London duo Crushed Beaks, like a kid in the huge bowl of liqud chocolate he always dreams out. And then it abruptly ends, it dies, silence deafens and there’s not a trace and maybe I imagined the whole thing. (via SEXBEAT; out on Too Pure)