This three-inch CD comes with a small bag of powder. Is it gun powder? Am I supposed to eat it? Sniff it? Upon closer inspection it is a bag of sand. And being dedicated to a day at the beach I can hear the ocean screaming. I’m glad I didn’t sniff it, because it turns out it feels like I’m wearing a jet pack when I press play anyway.
Blistering churning Noise. After 8 minutes of pummeling, a higher solid tone emerges and for 20 seconds I feel like I am hearing a war chant echo off the rim of the ricochet of static that was the Big Bang. Noise wall warbles into a barely discernible modulation repetition , like an oscillator finding its phrase and spiking out in a tearing flower beds of nails. This is brain erasure. I drift to thinking of my head submerged behind my now passed uncles motorboat as it rages into the waves multiple inner tubes en tow. By the end of the track it feels like the sand is in my shoes.