By Octopi Mills
The cover of this has some kind of damned 1980s feel to it, as if one is walking into an arcade in a place where one has imagined to be too advanced for their own time and a promo photo shows a fellow in front of a car in some blueish city setting. I browse the titles; "Neon Streets", "Exterminators", or "High Speed Cyborgs" and know I am in for something else here...
"Neon Streets" sounds like some bad synth music from an old 80s tv show and goes right into the next with the same retro worship of old movies and video games that will continue on for an albums worth of these banks filled with the lie of the era that should have been a cut above the thinkers of the medieval times. I have the opinion that the brain damaged pleasure centers of the time are nearly beyond repair, as if too much power has been had from the convenience of a good skull numbing milk shake and the Luciferian gratification caused by a continual spike in ones senses from a week of consuming premium double cheeseburgers at the flashing of the new arcade. An old farmer walks in and sees the spectacle, and either feels shame and embarrassed to be alive, or gives up out-dated methods of post-world farming entirely and flies into the new neon world of the science fiction lie of the dairy industry mixed with cool pop-culture and new age empowerment.
Cool one lines pop off and catch phrases fly out like pterodactyls. Like spyware never found on your operating system it runs in the background of these thoughts; a cunning key logger of all things of this aforementioned era, so have a nearly hallucinogenic dose from the soda fountains, pull down your cycling shorts and slip into the good time glow of the sound banks of when brainwashing first became so cerebral. By the time you get to "Night Blades" you will want to style out into some city streets and punch out a parking meter, or go jogging in your pajamas under the big lights of progressions gone wild where credit is seemingly endless and some one else is gonna pay later on down the line. Tonight though, it's suicide drinks and social interaction with clunky robots on the strip; it's down and out dirty dancing and iced crustaceans from exotic waters and it's all on Big Brother.
TORTURE CHAMBER >