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Cassette
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PRTLS 007CS
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In this age of electronic surrender, when identities and realities slough off as easily as leprous skin, one must consider: What is the storage capacity of our personal spiritualties? Does our ease of transition affect only the exterior, or do our humanities become ragged with use? Or do they become compressed as these fragments of reality splinter away? What is the sound of a soul in 2016? The scream of such corruption may be incomprehensible to the untrained mind, yet in the aural abattoirs of Gainstage these flayed metaformations are brought into unreality. Beneath the sediment of humanity, the sun shines in RGB; convert to grayscale and watch a world of self-buried definition open up. In this landscape, cold light illuminates shattered ideologies and the dust of forgotten deities left behind from some cosmic flea market. Inhale this world; serrated serotonin dragged up spinal digitalis, crushed-god ecstasy snorted up behind the third eye. Pounding metamorphosis as the void whispers incessantly. A celebratory consumption of self, filling the pipes of the body with shambling effervescence and an eternity of hissing and indecipherable voices. Soft light -- the color of stone, of ancient mountains and dirty concrete -- fills the spaces behind the eyes: Eigengrau as lover, its crushing arms enfolding with the promise of silent dominion. In these alien pieces of audio, one need not find terror, but enlightenment. There is no deception in destruction or in death. Allow the weight of Elevated Noise to act as psychogenesis -- you may find yourself rising faster than you fall.
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