DAY CREEPER, a lazy, high millipede, stares with bloodshot eyes at the bright light of the world spying this miniature, odd living room of dark and twangy decor. Ancient wallpaper updated with dirt. Aaron Troyer is a devout creator of his own worlds, visually and musically, and his slant on modern life is as timeless as beautiful as accurate as strange. Every few months, for several years now, Troyer's "Strange Delights" would land in my (Monsieur TTT) mits with scrawled drawings and detailed lettersattached, more like diaries from the depths than "demos" of a band. It seems like we've talked for years about "finally geting an LP off the ground", and with this, HELL IS REAL. The first whole round and square triangular album, resounding with an oddly charming and scientific aura recalling big time HALF JAPANESE movement, timeless and very spaced, lethargic like Darby Crash's pulse, high and low, full of sideways genius and ennui to match all twisted all around. An album to be swallowed extremely whole and digested in the stomach of a snake. The fat American belly should be ready. It's all going to be ok.