HEAR!

the tragic ways to death on the high and low roads of Infictive County;

DISCOVER!

the puissance of what can only be called It;

WITNESS!

the astonishing resurrection of Chuck “Brainbeard” Crump;

UNCOVER!

the secret wisdom and terrible power of the undead!

Be Merry for Tomorrow
Episode 04.

Title: “Boy, you’ll be damned to Hell!”

A Halloween 2009 mix-tape from the Infictive crew to all you creeps out there. Walk free ’til dead… and then maybe a little more.

Duration: 00:54:33
Download: Episode 04: "Boy, you’ll be damned to Hell!", MP3, 99.9MB

Brought to you by Taco Pop. Taco Pop — Quench Your Hunger.

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Chris Titan reads from “Nova Express“, by William S. Burroughs; specifically, “A Distant Thank You“.

Not everything below is included in our brief reading. Take what meaning you like, sirs&madames.

. . .

“I am having in Bill&Iam,” she said—

“But they don’t exist—tout ca—my dear have you any idea what—certain basic flaws in the—”

“You can afford it—You told me hole is always there to absorb yesterday—and whatever—”

“The Market you understand—Bill tossed a rock and a very dear friend of mine struck limestone with dried excrement purposes. And what purpose more has arisen—quite unlooked for—”

. . .

“Lucky bastards,” Bill always said as he walked around smoking Havanas and directing the work in color flash language of The Silent Ones—showing his plans in photo-collage to grim Gothic foreman—

And The House moved slowly from Inca to Mayan back to peasant hut in blighted maize fields or windy mountain slopes of the Andes—Gothic cathedrals soared and dissolved in air—The walls were made of blocks that shifted and permutated—cave paintings—Mayan relief—Attic frieze—panels—screens—photo-collage of The House in all periods and stages—Greek temples rose in clear air and fell to limestone huts by a black lagoon dotted with gondolas—a terminal life form of languid beautiful people smoking black berries in little jade pipes—And The Fish People with purple fungoid gills—And The Controllers drifting in translucent envelopes of spinal fluid with slow hydraulic gestures of pressure authority—These people are without weapons—so old they have lost their enemy—

. . .

Running Time: 8:46
Media Format: MP3 (Download), 128, 8MB

Be Merry for Tomorrow
Episode 03.

Title: “MXD 2009”

September 28, 2009 was “Mystery X Day” in Infictive County, a date marked by much celebration of all kind. To them that missed that happy day, fear not: we give you now a synthesis of encoded songs and words that you might listen close, and so hear the inner wisdom that is the Mystery X!

Joy, joy, and more joy still!

Duration :: 00:54:57
Download :: Episode 03: "MXD 2009", MP3, 101MB

Download.

Klint Finley, the Psychetect, returns with a new single release called simply “Remembering“. Attune your senses to the wave forms, and you might find something that you’ve lost, or just maybe you’ll find something that wasn’t there. The train about to start rolling again…

Download.

Download.

Born John Jacobs Lazar in a rural Virginia community, Lazar later moved to Dallas – Fort Worth, electing to live some six blocks away from the Dallas County Administration Building (formerly the Texas School Book Depository). He was an active participant in William Cooper’s “Citizen’s Intelligence Agency,” financing investigations and reports for the group by selling futuro-primitive Real Estate with heavy emphasis on Geometric innovation to the shape and Geomantic innovation to selection of locale, leyline dowsing reading being considered before design and building of any project.

Lazar is supposed to have authored an unpublished conspiracy manuscript entitled “The Hand of Madness,” though questions about the authenticity of circulating photocopies of this work have started all sorts of rumors of COINTELPRO attempts to discredit the him as a theorist. Critiques of this supposed-work seem to suggest a sort of half conspiracy text, half hypersigil dealing with a Cabal battle. In it the Hand of Madness refers to a new Group of vigilant Anakim battling traditional authoritarian power centers via advanced technological means. It is largely considered a work of fiction with fact-seeds indiscriminately interspersed with the rest of the text. His works are supposedly the first time the phrase “The Hand of Madness” has been used in this fashion.

In 2004, at the age of 47, Lazar’s run came to an early end during a mugging while visiting Detroit on investigation. There are suspicious circumstances regarding the investigation into his death, circumstances which have caused some to question his death. No bullets were found despite his cause of death being listed as hemorrhaging from a gun-inflicted wound. The only remaining authenticated body of work from J.J. is his album, “A Narrative in American Paranoia“.

From Infictive Research Wiki, entry “J.J. Lazar“

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Be Merry for Tomorrow
Episode 02.

Title: “A Court of Inquiry”

The Recorder said: “We have subpoenaed witnesses to the number of three, and up to this morning only two have arrived that I am aware of. I wrote to the Department for certain data in this case, and as to whether there were any accusations, imputations or charges against Philip K. Nixon or Wes Unruh, and in reply thereto I have received certain files which will require time to give a careful examination. There are several questions to be decided by the Court, one of which is as to the best mode of procedure, and these matters might be taken up first. I have an official copy of OSK’s application for a Court of Inquiry, and also a letter from the Adjutant General transmitting it to me, which seems to be the basis of this inquiry…”

Duration :: 00:47:59
Download :: Episode 02: "A Court of Inquiry", MP3, 90MB

T.I.T.A.N. researchers have been performing full-spectral analysis of recovered data modules left behind by the Toxick Network, all in an attempt to reconstruct the events that led to the disappearance of Chris Titan. As part of this effort toward understanding, the Chris Titan Show has been posting the story of the Golden Clothes from its genesis through the present and into the distant future. Join us now as we seek to definitively uncover Whatever Happened to Chris Titan.

The first four parts of this story as follows:

XIPE TOTEC stalks Agent Titan through incarnational gateways…
Blacking out on pirate rum, intermittent consciousness.
It is possible that this was a poisoning from the future…
Reptile eyes like a crocodile.

Be Merry for Tomorrow
Episode 01.

Title: “Inficon Alstance Minigame”

“Yes, that’s right kids: We’ve kidnapped your beloved host of the famed Occult Talk by breaching his weakly constructed no-hex zone with a large gang of bandits. He’s currently locked in Cell No. 5 in our basement, and being forced into compliance for this new podcast, so expect more soon. In the meantime, however, enjoy this ARG-integrated audio narrative, mostly constructed by Dr. Mystery X…”

Duration :: 00:58:44
Download :: Episode 01: "Inficon Alstance Minigame", MP3, 138MB

Be Merry For Tomorrow, a free-to-syndicate online-radio release from Brenico Media, in association with OSK. Sponsored in part by Taco Pop — Taco POP: Quench Your Hunger.

Product Name: Infictive County Motto Shirt
Description: Infictive County’s official motto, “Walk free ’til dead,” in I.C. Roughneck green for all you lonesome travellers.

Type: Men’s Standard Weight T-Shirt
Brand: Fruit of the Loom
Detail: Classic-cut standard weight t-shirt for men, 100% cotton
Price: $10.40 + shipping

or

Type: Women’s Standard Weight T-Shirt
Brand: Gildan
Detail: Relaxed fit standard weight t-shirt for women, 100% cotton
Price: $10.40 + shipping

This is a non-profit offering by the Infictive County Tourism Board, with assistance from Brenico Media and Infictive County Records. All order processing and shipping is handled directly by Spreadshirt.

. . .

vii. Alex Ansary Cannot Be Defeated.

Did you not see the majestic crane offense worn back by an unhinged barrage of cruel snake strikes? Did you not hear the disembodied voices commanding the action to their pleasure? Did you not bear witness to that Strange Ghost Hand in action?

Observe now the single recording of the Duality In Person of the Ikipr battling for supremacy against Alex Ansary!

(The musical backing of “Neural 27 Augmentation” by Harney County Orchestra was later added to the video for effect.)

. . .

viii. This post was really just made so we could link to the above video.

ix. New ZMAQ agitators were made to say “YES“.

x. The People. From Shaun Brantley, Psychotronic Assassin, to Bobby Pringle, to the Motel Six Gang, to Professor Power, to Gary Busab, we all know that what really made Esozone 2008 was Our People.

Walk free ’til dead, and we be seein’ ya’ll when we be seein’ ya’ll.

. . .

—–

—–

—–

01

FLAC / MP3

02

FLAC / MP3

03

FLAC / MP3

04

FLAC / MP3

05

FLAC / MP3

—–

Staticy interference hisses on his GUI as He looks down at black luminous orbs a swirl in a radiant etheric fluid, charged to the point of becoming toxick yet forged with so much purity as to shimmer against the frequency backdrops of cutty lightwaves – “I shouldn’t have to consume such a dish alone, now should I? WE have consciously chosen to make sound our new source of fuel for these rusty biomechanics.”

“Shall we monopolize sound, then?”

—–

Likewise Horus too must be consumed by his self projected down the corridors of time, the Shadowy Reflections of the wall grinning Harpocrates transmutes with empathetic wisdom. Interference clear.

“I really wish my .God mind would quit being peddled 2012-ish apocalypse bullshit, don’t you? .God is holy eye and needs something better to behold.”

(In order for the signal to be properly aligned it must resound with and be justified by the point of reception.)

A Circuit bent greeting card invitation, cutup and glued together with a waxen scarlet seal reads:
“We are Playing this Game, Because we Choose To.

Just a Reminder.

–295–”

“Cursing people be like work, negga and I be puttin’ in lots of work, you feel me playa?” one LHP cyber punk gangster trash magician comments to the other in a shady corner of a diner. “You talk of secret paths?” the other says in response moving his hands at shifting vertical and diagonal angles. “I take them.” his fingers contort in an ’s’ like shape “The shortcuts are non-linear.” His eyes ablaze with echoes of Shin and Aries.

He looks out the window, pieces of sunlight reflected catching distant fading shards of light in his eyes “Magick is the reverbration chamber which the properly tuned circuit steps into in order to amplify it’s signal” he assures his younger associate with great certainty.

His associates’ eyes go blank. He drops his cup of coffee starring off in the distance and with a loud resounding voice, montonous in rythym and stride, he states cleanly and clearly: “I Became one with the waters again, and when I emerged this is the new skin I was wearing.” The older gentleman’s sinister grin grows wider. The younger man’s hand extends pushing forth electric sigillic light broadcast – “It’s that empathy circuit you’ve been needing.”

A Sharp piercing echo resounds as the companion to the lightwave burst “You shouldn’t need to work through your interface, the interface should work through you.” a distant fragment of data echoes somewhere amdist the collapse of a million galaxies in the form of atomic-clusters. “Thanks be to the denizens of Sh’Aoxkov for blessing us with such potent venoms as to make us sharp and prepare us for this bountiful harvest our AI nanoswarms shall reap.”

—–

Download.

Brenico Media were at Esozone 2008.

0. Many new agents were inducted into T.I.T.A.N.

i. Ikipr/PKN, on stage, together at last. Bobby Pringle says to me “I was crump knobbin’ level 9 for dis shit.”

So… what happened?

Were Infictive artists PKN and Ikipr chased from the stage by the Bear and Clown act? Who was saved from werewolves? Did they really burn down the Watershed? If you just don’t remember the show going off at all, you need to immediately get down and vote to have the act reinstated to public memory by signing on to the Eso08wormhole petition. Don’t let them steal your memories.

ii. Did the mighty wizard Ben Mack really summon the Behemoth? We saw the show, we saw the elephant, and we’ve been anxiously watching BenMackBlackMagic.com for more details on his powerful invocation.

iii. Chris Titan, of the Chris Titan Show, made a last-minute addition to the “Which Tomorrow?” panel on Sunday.

“When did the future go from being a promise to being a threat?”

Speculative fiction generally falls into one of two camps. First, there is the utopian, Star Trek-style vision of the future. People from disparate backgrounds working together towards common goals in a world largely devoid of the problems of the present. However, the dark twin of this literary trope- the dystopian fantasy- has largely eclipsed the former over the last thirty years. Visions of zombie apocalypse, last man on Earth death fantasies, and technology as oppressive monster have largely replaced the Camelot-era visions of a future where humanity finds peace. What will tomorrow be like and how can we tell? More importantly, how does one influence the future on a macro scale? Don’t look for any easy or comforting answers from this panel!

iv. Infictive Crump Off.

v. The AMF Bowling Center on SE Powell Blvd was host to a brief lesson in Bowlbetterology on Saturday night. We at Brenico Media again extend our thanks to Dr. Ben Mack, the man responsible for not only making Bowlbetterology an official Esozone sponsor, but for presenting us this opportunity to offer our teachings to such an open and welcoming audience.

vi. PARTNERS IN CRIME FOR ALL TIME.

. . .

More detail, photo, and video to follow, gentle readers.

Need more now? Bloggers on Alterati have begun loading captured content. Papers covering the event included Willamette Weekly and the Portland Tribune.

Download.

“That faceless agency hears as they experiences they own death by Strange Ghost Hand technique; the sound here for you, slowed + vibed to the audible frequency by MMD. Sum Kidz Just Don’t Learn E-Z.”

Download.

As part of the Titan Classics series, the Chris Titan Show presents a full reading of the first book of John Keats’s incomplete epic “Hyperion” (1818-19), performed here by Chris Titan for your listening pleasure.

Running Time: 25:13
Media Format: MP3 (Download), 128, 27MB

For your convenience, we have included the full text of the poem below.

A Fragment, Book I

DEEP in the shady sadness of a vale
Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,
Far from the fiery noon, and eve’s one star,
Sat gray-hair’d Saturn, quiet as a stone,
Still as the silence round about his lair;
Forest on forest hung about his head
Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there,
Not so much life as on a summer’s day
Robs not one light seed from the feather’d grass,
But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.
A stream went voiceless by, still deadened more
By reason of his fallen divinity
Spreading a shade: the Naiad ’mid her reeds
Press’d her cold finger closer to her lips.

Along the margin-sand large foot-marks went,
No further than to where his feet had stray’d,
And slept there since. Upon the sodden ground
His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead,
Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed;
While his bow’d head seem’d list’ning to the Earth,
His ancient mother, for some comfort yet.

It seem’d no force could wake him from his place;
But there came one, who with a kindred hand
Touch’d his wide shoulders, after bending low
With reverence, though to one who knew it not.
She was a Goddess of the infant world;
By her in stature the tall Amazon
Had stood a pigmy’s height: she would have ta’en
Achilles by the hair and bent his neck;
Or with a finger stay’d Ixion’s wheel.
Her face was large as that of Memphian sphinx,
Pedestal’d haply in a palace court,
When sages look’d to Egypt for their lore.
But oh! how unlike marble was that face:
How beautiful, if sorrow had not made
Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty’s self.
There was a listening fear in her regard,
As if calamity had but begun;
As if the vanward clouds of evil days
Had spent their malice, and the sullen rear
Was with its stored thunder labouring up.
One hand she press’d upon that aching spot
Where beats the human heart, as if just there,
Though an immortal, she felt cruel pain:
The other upon Saturn’s bended neck
She laid, and to the level of his ear
Leaning with parted lips, some words she spake
In solemn tenour and deep organ tone:
Some mourning words, which in our feeble tongue
Would come in these like accents; O how frail
To that large utterance of the early Gods!
“Saturn, look up!—though wherefore, poor old King?
“I have no comfort for thee, no not one:
“I cannot say, “O wherefore sleepest thou?’
“For heaven is parted from thee, and the earth
“Knows thee not, thus afflicted, for a God;
“And ocean too, with all its solemn noise,
“Has from thy sceptre pass’d; and all the air
“Is emptied of thine hoary majesty.
“Thy thunder, conscious of the new command,
“Rumbles reluctant o’er our fallen house;
“And thy sharp lightning in unpractised hands
“Scorches and burns our once serene domain.
“O aching time! O moments big as years!
“All as ye pass swell out the monstrous truth,
“And press it so upon our weary griefs
“That unbelief has not a space to breathe.
“Saturn, sleep on:—O thoughtless, why did I
“Thus violate thy slumbrous solitude?
“Why should I ope thy melancholy eyes?
“Saturn, sleep on! while at thy feet I weep.”

As when, upon a tranced summer-night,
Those green-rob’d senators of mighty woods,
Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars,
Dream, and so dream all night without a stir,
Save from one gradual solitary gust
Which comes upon the silence, and dies off,
As if the ebbing air had but one wave;
So came these words and went; the while in tears
She touch’d her fair large forehead to the ground,
Just where her falling hair might be outspread
A soft and silken mat for Saturn’s feet.
One moon, with alteration slow, had shed
Her silver seasons four upon the night,
And still these two were postured motionless,
Like natural sculpture in cathedral cavern;
The frozen God still couchant on the earth,
And the sad Goddess weeping at his feet:
Until at length old Saturn lifted up
His faded eyes, and saw his kingdom gone,
And all the gloom and sorrow of the place,
And that fair kneeling Goddess; and then spake,
As with a palsied tongue, and while his beard
Shook horrid with such aspen-malady:
“O tender spouse of gold Hyperion,
“Thea, I feel thee ere I see thy face;
“Look up, and let me see our doom in it;
“Look up, and tell me if this feeble shape
“Is Saturn’s; tell me, if thou hear’st the voice
“Of Saturn; tell me, if this wrinkling brow,
“Naked and bare of its great diadem,
“Peers like the front of Saturn. Who had power
“To make me desolate? whence came the strength?
“How was it nurtur’d to such bursting forth,
“While Fate seem’d strangled in my nervous grasp?
“But it is so; and I am smother’d up,
“And buried from all godlike exercise
“Of influence benign on planets pale,
“Of admonitions to the winds and seas,
“Of peaceful sway above man’s harvesting,
“And all those acts which Deity supreme
“Doth ease its heart of love in.—I am gone
“Away from my own bosom: I have left
“My strong identity, my real self,
“Somewhere between the throne, and where I sit
“Here on this spot of earth. Search, Thea, search!
“Open thine eyes eterne, and sphere them round
“Upon all space: space starr’d, and lorn of light;
“Space region’d with life-air; and barren void;
“Spaces of fire, and all the yawn of hell.—
“Search, Thea, search! and tell me, if thou seest
“A certain shape or shadow, making way
“With wings or chariot fierce to repossess
“A heaven he lost erewhile: it must—it must
“Be of ripe progress—Saturn must be King.
“Yes, there must be a golden victory;
“There must be Gods thrown down, and trumpets blown
“Of triumph calm, and hymns of festival
“Upon the gold clouds metropolitan,
“Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir
“Of strings in hollow shells; and there shall be
“Beautiful things made new, for the surprise
“Of the sky-children; I will give command:
“Thea! Thea! Thea! where is Saturn?”

This passion lifted him upon his feet,
And made his hands to struggle in the air,
His Druid locks to shake and ooze with sweat,
His eyes to fever out, his voice to cease.
He stood, and heard not Thea’s sobbing deep;
A little time, and then again he snatch’d
Utterance thus.—“But cannot I create?
“Cannot I form? Cannot I fashion forth
“Another world, another universe,
“To overbear and crumble this to nought?
“Where is another chaos? Where?”—That word
Found way unto Olympus, and made quake
The rebel three.—Thea was startled up,
And in her bearing was a sort of hope,
As thus she quick-voic’d spake, yet full of awe.

“This cheers our fallen house: come to our friends,
“O Saturn! come away, and give them heart;
“I know the covert, for thence came I hither.”
Thus brief; then with beseeching eyes she went
With backward footing through the shade a space:
He follow’d, and she turn’d to lead the way
Through aged boughs, that yielded like the mist
Which eagles cleave upmounting from their nest.

Meanwhile in other realms big tears were shed,
More sorrow like to this, and such like woe,
Too huge for mortal tongue or pen of scribe:
The Titans fierce, self hid, or prison-bound,
Groan’d for the old allegiance once more,
And listen’d in sharp pain for Saturn’s voice.
But one of the whole mammoth-brood still kept
His sov’reignty, and rule, and majesty;—
Blazing Hyperion on his orbed fire
Still sat, still snuff’d the incense, teeming up
From man to the sun’s God; yet unsecure:
For as among us mortals omens drear
Fright and perplex, so also shuddered he—
Not at dog’s howl, or gloom-bird’s hated screech,
Or the familiar visiting of one
Upon the first toll of his passing-bell,
Or prophesyings of the midnight lamp;
But horrors, portion’d to a giant nerve,
Oft made Hyperion ache. His palace bright
Bastion’d with pyramids of glowing gold,
And touch’d with shade of bronzed obelisks,
Glar’d a blood-red through all its thousand courts,
Arches, and domes, and fiery galleries;
And all its curtains of Aurorian clouds
Flush’d angerly: while sometimes eagle’s wings,
Unseen before by Gods or wondering men,
Darken’d the place; and neighing steeds were heard,
Not heard before by Gods or wondering men.
Also, when he would taste the spicy wreaths
Of incense, breath’d aloft from sacred hills,
Instead of sweets, his ample palate took
Savour of poisonous brass and metal sick:
And so, when harbour’d in the sleepy west,
After the full completion of fair day,—
For rest divine upon exalted couch
And slumber in the arms of melody,
He pac’d away the pleasant hours of ease
With stride colossal, on from hall to hall;
While far within each aisle and deep recess,
His winged minions in close clusters stood,
Amaz’d and full of fear; like anxious men
Who on wide plains gather in panting troops,
When earthquakes jar their battlements and towers.
Even now, while Saturn, rous’d from icy trance,
Went step for step with Thea through the woods,
Hyperion, leaving twilight in the rear,
Came slope upon the threshold of the west;
Then, as was wont, his palace-door flew ope
In smoothest silence, save what solemn tubes,
Blown by the serious Zephyrs, gave of sweet
And wandering sounds, slow-breathed melodies;
And like a rose in vermeil tint and shape,
In fragrance soft, and coolness to the eye,
That inlet to severe magnificence
Stood full blown, for the God to enter in.

He enter’d, but he enter’d full of wrath;
His flaming robes stream’d out beyond his heels,
And gave a roar, as if of earthly fire,
That scar’d away the meek ethereal Hours
And made their dove-wings tremble. On he flared,
From stately nave to nave, from vault to vault,
Through bowers of fragrant and enwreathed light,
And diamond-paved lustrous long arcades,
Until he reach’d the great main cupola;
There standing fierce beneath, he stampt his foot,
And from the basements deep to the high towers
Jarr’d his own golden region; and before
The quavering thunder thereupon had ceas’d,
His voice leapt out, despite of godlike curb,
To this result: “O dreams of day and night!
“O monstrous forms! O effigies of pain!
“O spectres busy in a cold, cold gloom!
“O lank-ear’d Phantoms of black-weeded pools!
“Why do I know ye? why have I seen ye? why
“Is my eternal essence thus distraught
“To see and to behold these horrors new?
“Saturn is fallen, am I too to fall?
“Am I to leave this haven of my rest,
“This cradle of my glory, this soft clime,
“This calm luxuriance of blissful light,
“These crystalline pavilions, aud pure fanes,
“Of all my lucent empire? It is left
“Deserted, void, nor any haunt of mine.
“The blaze, the splendor, and the symmetry,
“I cannot see—but darkness, death and darkness.
“Even here, into my centre of repose,
“The shady visions come to domineer,
“Insult, and blind, and stifle up my pomp.—
“Fall!—No, by Tellus and her briny robes!
“Over the fiery frontier of my realms
“I will advance a terrible right arm
“Shall scare that infant thunderer, rebel Jove,
“And bid old Saturn take his throne again.”—
He spake, and ceas’d, the while a heavier threat
Held struggle with his throat but came not forth;
For as in theatres of crowded men
Hubbub increases more they call out “Hush!”
So at Hyperion’s words the Phantoms pale
Bestirr’d themselves, thrice horrible and cold;
And from the mirror’d level where he stood
A mist arose, as from a scummy marsh.
At this, through all his bulk an agony
Crept gradual, from the feet unto the crown,
Like a lithe serpent vast and muscular
Making slow way, with head and neck convuls’d
From over-strained might. Releas’d, he fled
To the eastern gates, and full six dewy hours
Before the dawn in season due should blush,
He breath’d fierce breath against the sleepy portals,
Clear’d them of heavy vapours, burst them wide
Suddenly on the ocean’s chilly streams.
The planet orb of fire, whereon he rode
Each day from east to west the heavens through,
Spun round in sable curtaining of clouds;
Not therefore veiled quite, blindfold, and hid,
But ever and anon the glancing spheres,
Circles, and arcs, and broad-belting colure,
Glow’d through, and wrought upon the muffling dark
Sweet-shaped lightnings from the nadir deep
Up to the zenith,—hieroglyphics old,
Which sages and keen-eyed astrologers
Then living on the earth, with labouring thought
Won from the gaze of many centuries:
Now lost, save what we find on remnants huge
Of stone, or marble swart; their import gone,
Their wisdom long since fled.—Two wings this orb
Possess’d for glory, two fair argent wings,
Ever exalted at the God’s approach:
And now, from forth the gloom their plumes immense
Rose, one by one, till all outspreaded were;
While still the dazzling globe maintain’d eclipse,
Awaiting for Hyperion’s command.
Fain would he have commanded, fain took throne
And bid the day begin, if but for change.
He might not:—No, though a primeval God:
The sacred seasons might not be disturb’d.
Therefore the operations of the dawn
Stay’d in their birth, even as here ’tis told.
Those silver wings expanded sisterly,
Eager to sail their orb; the porches wide
Open’d upon the dusk demesnes of night;
And the bright Titan, phrenzied with new woes,
Unus’d to bend, by hard compulsion bent
His spirit to the sorrow of the time;
And all along a dismal rack of clouds,
Upon the boundaries of day and night,
He stretch’d himself in grief and radiance faint.
There as he lay, the Heaven with its stars
Look’d down on him with pity, and the voice
Of Coelus, from the universal space,
Thus whisper’d low and solemn in his ear.
“O brightest of my children dear, earth-born
“And sky-engendered, Son of Mysteries
“All unrevealed even to the powers
“Which met at thy creating; at whose joys
“And palpitations sweet, and pleasures soft,
“I, Coelus, wonder, how they came and whence;
“And at the fruits thereof what shapes they be,
“Distinct, and visible; symbols divine,
“Manifestations of that beauteous life
“Diffus’d unseen throughout eternal space:
“Of these new-form’d art thou, oh brightest child!
“Of these, thy brethren and the Goddesses!
“There is sad feud among ye, and rebellion
“Of son against his sire. I saw him fall,
“I saw my first-born tumbled from his throne!
“To me his arms were spread, to me his voice
“Found way from forth the thunders round his head!
“Pale wox I, and in vapours hid my face.
“Art thou, too, near such doom? vague fear there is:
“For I have seen my sons most unlike Gods.
“Divine ye were created, and divine
“In sad demeanour, solemn, undisturb’d,
“Unruffled, like high Gods, ye liv’d and ruled:
“Now I behold in you fear, hope, and wrath;
“Actions of rage and passion; even as
“I see them, on the mortal world beneath,
“In men who die.—This is the grief, O Son!
“Sad sign of ruin, sudden dismay, and fall!
“Yet do thou strive; as thou art capable,
“As thou canst move about, an evident God;
“And canst oppose to each malignant hour
“Ethereal presence:—I am but a voice;
“My life is but the life of winds and tides,
“No more than winds and tides can I avail:—
“But thou canst.—Be thou therefore in the van
“Of circumstance; yea, seize the arrow’s barb
“Before the tense string murmur.—To the earth!
“For there thou wilt find Saturn, and his woes.
“Meantime I will keep watch on thy bright sun,
“And of thy seasons be a careful nurse.”—
Ere half this region-whisper had come down,
Hyperion arose, and on the stars
Lifted his curved lids, and kept them wide
Until it ceas’d; and still he kept them wide:
And still they were the same bright, patient stars.
Then with a slow incline of his broad breast,
Like to a diver in the pearly seas,
Forward he stoop’d over the airy shore,
And plung’d all noiseless into the deep night.

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“The Coffin Whop Cigarette,” the first full-album from August Glitch, is a novella of twenty-four chapters, using vibration and sound in place of the words that tell the story. It is a violence of the soul and meditation of the heart that shows just why August Glitch may be one of the most important artists working in the infictive scene today.

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The Crumpocrats roll around about town smashing, pillaging and setting flame to weaker creatures than they, all in the name of their lulzful-minded spectra-madness. They shout in glossolalia at all hours of the night while driving through residential neighborhoods in their orgone-powered timefluxing cars, high on adrenochrome and glitchy Neural 27 Port augmentations. They very well may have run over your cat already. They have been known to traffick in alien Pineal gland secretions and extracts on the inter-planetary black market. This elite upperclass of hooligans reside in the Orbital Sky Colonies, below the ruined Da’athian SpaceStation, and only come down to scrapyards and junk heaps of Malkuth to incite chaos and feed their sick lust for turning purity into unnatural mutating abominations emitting melting hues of toxick light. Ahhh, the Crumpocrats, where would our world be without them?

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“Nightmare Lab” is a mix of several tracks composed by Klint Finley between 1996 and 1998. Most of the samples were recorded with a Fisher Price tape recorder, then played into a cheap computer microphone and manipulated with Gold Wave. Additional samples were created with a Roland JP-8000. Samples were then arranged with Fast Tracker 2.

Special thanks to Daniel Rafatpanah for the cover art.

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The Hyperstition of Philip K Nixon

Unquiet Mind Obey
During the album, the elements from the mind of the unquiet project Truthseekers, Lovers and the guerrieri that never completely completed are used, rimescola and change to you essentially to you in covers of PKN of the tracks that never have been freed intentionally like public performances. This first track is a exorcism of these varies elements audio that transport residual the hubbards of the body and are responsible of the anonymous actions on the superorganism – originally freed as video on the months of the altertube before that the release of the album

Made of Ma’at
Are move and the senior person to the God person of tentacle those of the copy of mythos and meme… and all maade which completely do not have we maat? Doesn’t this star which is made shape prove that? As for our brains it can hear at last making use of the unique investigation which crosses frequency, black with it shines. Think. 6 sic 6 think of 6 Sic. Hit the faucet of the faucet

Hegemon
How strong it is the hold of hegemon in the time? A dense appraisal of cutlures, points of rupture, rewiring of meaning. Television, noise, the fears that grow, the financial crisis, nothingness — forward in the elements of the control, the melody appears, the wolf that speaks, the wolves raises its heads — of mountains, what it happens after that is an accessory appalling our mines of silver

444
A difficult marks to establish a line between friends — rhythm lasts time to be inside… some the strangest new identification make samples for systems, for in between conditions, a pipe of syncopation, radio NIC available frequencies, a change at the neuralen arrangement in expectation. A pipe of the synchronized metaphorical structure, a baseline for refraction of the dynamics getting

Smart People Should Hope
Even whereas they cleared to head of a dog, devising elaborated patterns, python coils and swallows the whole mind, moving of a pull with memories like cards, rejecting the pain, mixing the functions and coordinating synthaesia dragging and breaking the conflict. Dead FOTEMACUS and Gods

To Deicide
At the day, on side, the gods dead. Built out of the irony, a folding of two worlds in one, a layer of chronologies – instructions for assassins

Phronesis
The first beginning it pulls up, the evil intention epileptic stomach. The ぶ which has greeted to your consciousness it is the ぶ it is the shaman of the insect which is said. Corps of heart of honeycomb, howling sea urchin. Bubble of meaning, childlike toy of quaver basket. It shone red the God of pipers and hentai of the lunatic of the feet. The flow object where the dog is sacrifice you remembered rise, as for heart acquiring meaning, passing by the back section of peak at the time of pattern, showing to the rear, complexity and the DNA electric light, redivides where society cracks, the blip of the time when March is acquired to up steals the machine joy of being complete the skyline of the cold hand, satellite of cyborg, with us

TzuKeeper
All we can speak with the door. In order to examine, the cold automatic day of telephone communication, which zerstossen ideas mixed by the anonymous masses taken and, the noises within the brain the America are, press note asks. The noted voice, boredom of the unknown Interpolators and challenger. The guard frameworks by observing the correct perspective

KILL POP ART
murder behind with the killing andy of warhol of the time shooting the infection to the relative source one factory that it regulated to wrap down, the broken jolt. Grinding Demonology — the cyborgs of outcry of the bug that follows the inks of RFID in theirs calligraphy disowned through etching of the chaotic currency ant-podere new that transports the detritus of a thousand-year makes a picnic. The consequences of the proletariato one for a esbat of the pariah, benedicono

0peratorIter
The petty rain teens, the man machine drum which is not it awakens and will evaluate theyn place shout the matrix brain of the author blind whom it hits improve objective gets up the rededacted island. The noir the hazard perfume sleeps, — test foreign nation science and psychological in the fight star lower part which it carves at the hillside it shines in the valley — agency burglar a market collapse and listening closely which it does afraid it writes

Eudaimonia (Though these Walls are made of Sound)
A reflection in Phronesis, meaning, valentine mill, the creation of this, hues green purple of different mental frequencies, the movement with the fear, the joy that leaving goes, the pure reflection of the OTHER even so has doors in the frequencies in the way and dustbowls, black fridays of the machine, the loss them thneeds

M.C.
A model develops, the virbrates virus (said we it before) and comes to him crawling. Suggestions are given. Built inside – outside. High play and bolume close to the targets symbolic systems of assassination. Undulations of monarch. The modification of brain of high intensity of ultrasounds adapted the body of mood of torsions, compresses structures of data. The divination by the épistaxis, the eyes roll behind. Auditive contagion — do not function Égalise the reversal of spirit-body — the year réinoculent to contain the antibodies of phase. The hearing impairment will cause

Hegemon (Ikipr’s Mix)
Correction of melody and sound with the sample where is new from the radio has audio quabbalist is best from Austin, mesmerizimz… adjusting monotonous mantra of depthsquad of the liquid boiling of orgasm of the pulse beat of north American combination dance, blue scream and cannibalized it repeats

Chained Shapeshifter
Computer control study sound casting through the strange arithmetic, the black gateway, ouranic toungues, Mt. Belial and the devil throne, the high place, we calls

Frank Church Bop
We know that he noticed his river to us this way no return, no to become from tyranny. Dance. He knew the third sex, walking of the points, the war homecoming. Nothing the structures to the resolution, bringing the cancer superseeding, the identity and rapids sweeps it far, suffocating in torrents and the past that destroys all the hope by a future beyond this moment. Energy in the hands of the immortal, ill putting themselves

Sexual Transmitter Tool
we apart cut, slept the music too, gebumst too, grew to during the time and cut them, solvents and purpose, intention apart reframed, a drop between that topic tanks

Military Radionic Devices
To it makes warm the haarp and, it vibrates, to change the dark abutment, the heart which is aimed and the solar plexus the thought which changes covers presentation two which puts the solar timbre soul of the altitude which hereupon, the glue is reorganized, time portion, it imagines to protect, the clothing inside it end which covers age flayed of the man

Bad Codec
The false operation, the trap for is not careful, wearily is drawn by the circle. Zugblot. Behind the indictment gilds the cross the association, the rose appearance, the inactivity is borrowed. A minute 譴 fleet follows on somebody’s heels, rise tide, seven kind of renewals sins, an embryo fictionalizing fight in platypus womb

Radical Alterity
tear up forward into the place. Roadways the dead litter of television old – always conclusion. Million it is vocal turning, blue light avoiding from the hyperbolic camera, hyperbaric space of attention. Thorazine injected directly into the bubble. Whistling noise between the suns, polluted from our earth. Why alien race they entreat to us to stop with strange Logos through the harvests – from this disorder something new entreats to our notice, differently to formation beaten into peaks imps of the high places hillside the twin twin

Black Circle
The circle is opened, annotated, anointed, and beaten in form dying elektronikasob which in comprehending call souls that ahead version of languages beg which we do not know

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