shooting a bullseye was always a strength of mine, but the 15s killed me. loud bar improvisations with saxophone, guitar, and voice. like a blues festival gone horribly wrong. intimate bedroom meanderings as well, but structure has no home here. like a long standing pact between the chaos theorists and transcendentalists, everything here is covered and nothing is left to the imagination. let arnoux take you on a long aural expedition, and cover you in burning hot sand. 80 copies