The Controlled Bleeding
Can You Smell The Rain Between CD - Tone Casualties

So tonight my friends left. While I haven’t seen Meril in awhile, it’s seems like moments since I’d seen her last. She looked the same, sounded the same and acted the same; the only thing that was different was the paint. I watched dimensions separated by colors; I was astounded by the weather. She sat in slight repose; abound on voyages of Transatlantic currents and cities ravaged by the storm. My commitment has suffered, my direction follows in transit with the smoke; our dreams have passed us by. In this repose, my attention has been constricted, torture as discussion and values placed on statements we’ve exchanged. There have never existed such formalized passages as those stylized in nervousness and scholarship or such formal stations than those developed in response. In all my days never has there been such confusion about a record. Controlled Bleeding installs parallels in spaces utilized for reconstruction, unaware of deterioration. This review of Can You Feel The Rain Between can be seen in different ways, 1) as the most normal record review ever written, or 2) as the most confusing record review ever written, or 3) as the most legible piece of stoned-out, drunken, useless garbage ever committed to your attention. Thing is, you’re reading it right now. And for the time being I have am in total control, well, at least until someone uses it against me. So, the disc at hand… right, the Can You Feel The Rain Between thing, sure… Until experimentation is involved nothing that can be re-directed can be considered. There have been abrupt changes in human nature and vision. Lips move in coiled vocals encircled around patterns of deliberate curiosity. These days have formed upon themselves morbid places in history. The only exchange is time. Waterfalls of piss cover the sides of the city. Instead of after-school pranks we spent each afternoon studying for the regents. Didn’t think nothing of it until the girls came along; they took it upon themselves to show us the ropes, they always did. The stereo became mature. Crests of vibrating waves violated the tension, coasting atop silences crafted with our distraction. In the mad scramble we ran, destined to find positions suited to follow our intention; some were fashioned to debate; others, to argue. Amidst throbbing convulsions and anointed synthetic circumstance I wait, committed to a non-committal situation. Never have I been so stoned. In the history of time there have been tribes rumored to subsist solely on marijuana and beeswax. In the history of time never has there been more ridiculous an article written on Controlled Bleeding. Nothing this preposterous can ever, or will ever, be written again about the record causing this review. Nothing has sounded this unique all day. Slang is all it takes, as slang is all that works. Buy this. (Josh Gabriel)



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