this big sexy regret machine

[ID: I'm watching the sunrise on a cost I had to walk to. The waves violently slope against a black brickish shore. Soon, I am leaning over an edge. I am a meter and a half away from the world. This space feels non-existent. I haven't eaten. The sunrise is on the other side of town. You have to walk to see it. You need to think of birdsong to hear them sing. The waves lisp and clammer, clammerating while I watch. I tried spotting seals earlier, though the waves were too active, alive. The sun comes over a far away hill and I let it spot me. I would let it burn my eyes out. Boats went past, (illegible) I (illegible) put on my headphones. There look to be no clouds above. The wind plays a salty tune. I lean, and I worry about falling. I look, and I (illegible) know what I see. I have  been here before. I listen, and I have never heard this song before. So many have! This is alright! (illegible) My hair gets in my face! The wind is costal and cold and local but I have my be...

In the closing moments of the song , Casey quietens. The trashing, explosive staccato chords seemed dulled, shedding their post punk armour for something more delicate, ephemeral. It is here where the saxophone seems to be in its spirit, Casey's free association poetry beginning to sound weak, broken, heartfelt. Everything will be different next next time. ‘Next time will be different’. Casey speaks with an awareness of the cyclical nature of what he sings about, and what Protomartyr have always sung about: brutality, hurt, and escapism into this post-punk, post-rock soundscape. The wild eyed animal is never tamed, rather, it becomes the victor, as Protomartyr sonically, and lyrically resign themselves to this cyclical fate. The effort of bothering, the effort of trying, is pointless when a cataclysmic end draws near. There is a brief episode of struggle, everything growing louder, abrasive, alive, until falling. The guitars become strummed, quietening. Even, arguably declin...

the world is ending. the world is ending. I am tired and out of work and the world is ending. University is closed and the world is ending. Digital Publishing, as I have been taught in one module, is theoretically thriving, despite the notion that the world is ending. Let's keep an ear out and see where this goes.