A 90-second vocal loop: “Sun is a banana / moon is a peel / I forgot how to feel what is real.” Treated vocals, underwater piano, the sound of someone biting into a frozen fruit bar.
The protagonist (call her Lula) wakes to find her bedroom floating. Bananas dangle from the ceiling like chandeliers. The law of up/down now depends on how ripe something is. A green banana sinks; a spotted one rises. She learns to walk sideways. bananafever sky wonderland
In the sky-wonderland, clouds aren't water vapor—they're the shed skins of sky crocodiles, who are friendly but have terrible breath (smells like overripe plantains). They offer Lula a ride, but only if she sings a jingle for a fictional brand of soda: “FizzFang.” A 90-second vocal loop: “Sun is a banana
At the Refrigerator Mountains, the Last Perfect Banana is guarded by a bored, chain-smoking monkey in a crown. He doesn't want to fight. He wants to talk about existential dread. “What’s the point of a perfect banana if no one shares it?” Lula offers half. He cries. The sky turns pink. The law of up/down now depends on how ripe something is