I write this in the room I sleep in that sits above an envelope-glue and powder-coating factory. My room sits directly above the intercom system used in the office below to A) call to attention the employees for any and all news from the main office, and B) to play Spanish radio from before the sun rises to when the work day concludes in the evening. Once when returning from happily playing music for a few months I inhaled so much of the fumes from the factory I asphyxiated and coughed until I vomited into my living room trash can.
Upon this invitation I delayed production because I did not feel qualified to any longer impose my recent taste in a consolidated mix for sharing. I listen to maybe three or four records a month, obsessively. Sometimes it is just two records constantly, or one song a week. Mostly they are recordings that friends, or people I think are friends, make. Present in this mix are recorded ideations of how I view perfect club music, music I am putting out on 7" releases for friends when money is right(does that time even exist???), music I want to be intoxicated with, and little tells of songs that narrate the harrowing depths of my ability to feel.