Koi No Yokan.

I uncovered this album in some post-humanistic state of narcissistic confectionery. Made sweet on myself, I slummed into the adverse (and unfounded) reality of my outright perfection. In the voices, I found compliance, a jury of brilliant minds damning me to correctness. I allowed it.

The supplementary whim of unknown admirers suffocated my understanding of a negative personal view. I knew not of my own imbalance, my jaded sense of harmony, or what frightful disintegration I'd made of myself. In retrospect, I likely have never had an entirely clear view of such settlement, however, in favour of progression, I have sided against regret.

What began as battery became empowerment in sorcery. I ran for the water when the tide would pull out, and the instrumental hands of aural gods placed hideous marks on my feet from the uneven ground. I was learning balance. And as the sound rose, I was perplexed to a point of trampling and the inward thrust took me off the sea floor, my cracked skull blinked into the debris of movement. The drowning was salvation for the feet, and immeasurable brutality for the psyche. 

This routine of injury has become an expectation with Deftones. When the ease of chronic dissatisfaction brings alienation of self, I am bonded by forceful adhesion. In otic consumption, I am tripped into confrontation, and, curious, overwhelming admiration.