BLISS. I'm just about 3 minutes into track 3, and I know what's going to hit pretty soon, and the anticipation is beautiful agony. When I actually finish digesting things and make a "best of the decade" list sometime probably around midway through 2010, this will be right fucking up there.
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The toothaches got worse, she dreamed of disembodied voices from whose malignance there was no appeal, the soft dusk of mirrors out of which something was about to walk, and empty rooms that waited for her. Your gynaecologist has no test for what she was pregnant with.
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