Plastic Manor, Achtung! and Charlotte Sometimes
28th of August 2026
Dairy Cheeze; Really Yellow
Sort of grey today
Indy 500 Moto GP
Their difference is what drives competition
When I walked in the walls were reverberating the sounds of music. Opening line: This is the rhythm of the night, oh night, oh yeah.
Charlotte Sometimes
The provoking in time-lit dance rehearsal. Was on stage. Was the small nose. The notched/time-mode one / what if guitars were bigger and so the players' noses change tonal quality. “Don’t Cross Police Line Don’t Cross Police Line Don’t” / “Cross Crime Scene Don’t Cross Crime Scene Don’t Cross”. The stage was the recital of the amplified sound. It practiced for us on-wave; on-Ruth. A wall; forms itself around moments of friendship. If waltz-time had less move-movement, its strangulation, a process to beget the sorrows of sorrow-filled eyes. WEEP my guitar says. In orange amateurising/moisturising extensions tone-cake-pain. CRY it calls out; a sound from the drum kit.
In promotion sound mgmt. Honk lamenting. Notched again as I've been to Tresor. Indent. Indent on the back of my head. Sequel. Surgeon was playing. If like a pigeon, a sparrow they landed exfoliating techniques. Magazine-ize it, melon candy melon colony, if to colonialise the HEART. Melon body, very still. Still in love and doesn’t show in audio. Dear was great.
“more orange”
“blue orange brown”
“Woah”, Bangle said. For the first time in the night, speaking. “Vertice horizontile, Portracible”, all as if true. As if a closing remark, Bangle uttered almost completely to himself, "uplifting lateral stagnation”; was an attempt to better but already excelled.
Achtung!
“I’m.. oh my god.. You know you just can’t beat a space academy pizza”, a member; why? They said. But promotion-privately the sentiment was “Aw Yeah” collectivism. “But the space academy pizza beat Mew/Neu!”, a further weighted remark from tall men-man-mench meta-status. As mood reset, Bangle brought forward, “Just better than one”. “I wish I had clear skin like this young lad”. We all seeth, so does Bangle.
“This is one of our songs”, he mumbled. The smarm, quite and resulting politeness. His microphone begets him. He was also in a process, a re-jigging/jigging. The sound of scratches, of it all. Searching their way through the music out of record-ic quantity of low noise floor recording processes. On board, another, “Not very punk”, which he had no strong aversion to, “...is shoegayz (artistic liberation). It’s, “For any letter in the mail”, Bangle’s sentence, structured, clandestine as usual. Bringing in car lot dancing wain sentral theming. Dog.. is he happy? YES! To take the mic; complete neck dive while his epiphone wilshire’s epiphone pickguard senter peece logo glinted demonically in lightning centrally and capstoning.
“Bobble” smoke section, Inter – scribe – many, stand by to smoke and a loss for invendible hospice; age if more age. No age back there, no age. “Mr Fugu Gazé will be happy about this one”. With their rent-a-backline the lead murmured when talked too; four rows of serious head bob; relaxed and vocal at the back of room.
Plastic Manor
“I’m scared”
“I can’t remember the set list”
At this point the bottom left of my left eye was in a strange sort of pain and the top right of my right eye hurt slightly.
Having driven home for list, during heart and such… now someone can’t look straight in the crowd and now began music without the timed figure. He yelled, “This song is about a crane driver (maybe ‘plain crash’)”, on a distorting limiter exit. They begin music, carry on and end in pub preservation. “Why would you know…”, “make a pun at Drummer reverse a-meal would you…”, from Bingle, a tout came. With drummer's Bell 12.1K attack the band supported with heavy mic feedback. Carrying on, “My ear hairs has dying like lemmings”, Bangle led the charge of aggression, twee death, twin rebirth, “the world is oysterfied”. The screen was not close, a vision of the [blank], it led a charge of the humming of the fridge. After humming, Marcus captured screams in crystile modality. A ,“Jo”, a quote, “Quite good actually…. Lifelong marriage of noise and high pitch melody”, "...genre bendy, and not just a band”, fridge and, “Jo”, lit up the night, still humming hums.
Why look back from stage, MAN? Nightmare torso. His nightmare torso. Her voice is barrel-tone, vocalising bands of noticeable status, haunted spiritual northern filly trapped under rubbled and rumbled-in paddock — high, low but spike lee, (heh) his of sopranos. His and her hotel towelettes and miniaturised, buried behind music. No! Why did she in the crowd look back from the stage, in the crowd, and so did others. Spectral indeed but the rector went mad, etc. Further songs occurred if to be below under, sex style in New York, you can escape your northern english horse spectre, etc.
Two capo George, kill the scene be seen expose in stage-heat a solvent of dream, of 32/64th, “Love again” - Dua Leepa’, an older man loud-spoke to spouse. “Punk rock”, during unseemingly not punk rock moment in an old person grey hair confusion during moment of final song; if songs are going to go on too long they insist on their importance and the star into and around their new self of ‘the music’ performance transfer to audience, other, notes, arp, spanish. ON CORE. ON CORE! At this lasting moment, fender P led, leading vocals roar in words fast spoken of further drive tone. Reaching catharsis, ever flowing, scrolling down present the lyrics, love reconnection; what nose? If small large, the nose dive question (Pbass: Perfect, GTAR aye: So So, GTAB other: Very good) IT’S THE LOVE TRINITY, IT’S THE LOVE TRINITY, IT’S THE LOVE TRINITY, (sing a long with me) whisky cotton on tour-guise of cat, haire cross THAT ROAD DO IT NOW with wind, wild, on the sides of backs; sleep in porcelain!
By Cyrus