An apocalyptic, menacing, experimental art-punk album that pivots from guitar driven rock, toward bass-heavy, electronic-influenced soundscapes. It’s surreal, with abrasive, claustrophobic energy and experimental song structures. Gareth Liddiard’s voice took me a second, but now it’s one of my favourite parts. it’s definitely a grower. Not something I’d put on casually, but when I’m in the right mood, it really lands. The production stands out for me, how cohesive it is despite sounding chaotic....Read more

The Stranger feels hollow at first. Not empty, just stripped back. No drama, no forced meaning, just a man who doesn’t react the way he’s supposed to. Meursault doesn’t pretend, and I guess that’s what makes people uncomfortable. It’s cold, quiet, and a bit unsettling. But also kind of freeing. The more it goes on, the more you realise it’s not about the story at all, it’s about how meaningless everything can feel when you stop performing for the world. Although I don’t relate to meursault’s ch...Read more

There’s something about Adventure Time that feels less like watching a show and more like remembering a life you never lived, but somehow miss. It starts off soft and stupid and bright, and then it quietly ruins you. By the end, it’s not about magic or candy kingdoms. It’s about growing up, badly. Loving the wrong people. Outgrowing yourself. Realising you can’t go back. Everything changes. Everything hurts. And still life just keeps going. This show shaped who I am, and will forever be my favo...Read more

Oh, perfect orb of morning light, Whose golden heart ignites my sight, In skillet or in pan you gleam, A simple, sacred, breakfast dream. You crack with gentle, yielding grace, And spill your sun into my space. Whites like clouds, yolks like dawn’s first fire, You answer hunger’s quiet desire. No crown, no gem, no regal throne, Could match the way you shine alone. Boiled, poached, or fried with care, Egg, you are love beyond compare.