Emme Phyzema
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Let us travel many years back in time to a lonely place shrouded in heartbreak, isolation, narcissism & nihilism. A foul, fetid place where impish abominations writhe up from the abyss, give name to nameless and overwhelm the senses with illusionary bliss. Make believe vortices give birth to numb complexities; Meanwhile, the psyche, starving for identity, becomes stuck in a circular state of reverie, reminiscing ‘round and ‘round until remembering the memories so incessantly dismembers the memories until they become sheer lunacy.
In other words, kick back, crank the bass and pretend you’re in a little cabin in the middle of nowhere with no one around and no mind to lose.
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