Category: Writer in Residence — Published:
Layered with pop beat glitches and loops but detached from visuals and props, Phillipson’s voice deadpans a monologue on the heart to be consumed at the listener’s leisure. Her words roam from hearts as shiny approximations for affection to the strained, pulsating organ at our centre.
In the constant cycle of fitness ambitions, selfish indulgence and the all-consuming quest for love; how do we articulate, associate, absolve ourselves of this heavily loaded muscle, to which we are totally indebted?
