Swooping about the mindspace of Portland Earth, discoveries, or disco-overies are ferreted out. Pixel testing suggest a late summer encounter of this brewhaha.
A Third-eye revelation, Electromagnetic Archeologist is at this table.
In a concentrated effort to mold the fleshy minds of mammals, it has been common practice to turn to the abysms of sound known as music to fulfill such and such goals. Bach scholars revel at the recent discovery of tonal experimentation in the maestro’s musings that predates the chromatic scaling of A.Schoenberg. Weird Fiction is stranger than such truisms, opting for the indescribable chroma of a meteor’s strange spectrum, or the variants emitted from a casio keyboard on the fritz. Such ficto-quizzicisms that no evenly aligned brain would wholly remember, not even as a tune to whistle!
Biomusicalologists are want to refer to entrainment in understanding the various synchronies that envelop humanoids. Indeed, yes indeed, but there are sync-holes, nay, –wormholes even in this sort of situation! As though preparing gale force winds, Weird Fiction tunes in to empty channels, weaponizing the soothing soliloquies of electromagnetic radiation into whispering lunacies. Translated into vidsonic oracles: sounds break off abruptly, and some small loops unravel. Free-floating signifiers blow away. Damage to circus tents and canopies.
At times, so many of these and other such occurences– re-staged with any old fragment from the noosphere. Any old fragment plus the percussive perplexities of external agents. Binauaral blast beats and zero gravity rolls. Figure ground reversals that should send shivers.
