It happens sometimes that we can feel as if we're just shorting out, like there's something in us that's just malfunctioning. You can feel like you're repeating yourself over and over again, that you're doomed to suffer through the same petty grievances that you've already suffered through. You've developed a nervous tick in the corner of your eye that keeps you focused on the steady, if slight bleeping there in the loose flap of skin that should just lie there.
You've noticed that you feels all sorts of off-center and yet you're able to still slide your finger across your phone's screen to get all of your news, to check all of your scores, to update all of your walls, to keep up with all of your social personalities, to make sure that people are liking you and wanting you and that they're paying attention to everything that you're calling their attention to. You've noticed that you always have time for those things and for night drinking. You notice that you're still able to get through your days, even with these noticeable defects.
The songs that The Forms make kind of take us to these junkyards, where there's something going wrong, but there's nothing really explaining what's wrong, just that it's not at all ideal. We feel like our feet and bodies are doing what's coming naturally to them, moving to these extended notes and these sounds of the computer tropics - those vacation-y, oceanic spots where the beautiful calculator passions romp. We feel the heat of cold metal and we feel like we're picking up bonus points/coins as we fall through these different mazes, after which we pull the first person who walks by aside and we ask, "What just happened and where am I, good sir?"