Dr. Robert Noon. Visionary, artist, entrepreneur, inventor, and the father of psychonucleonics; the experimental field that led to the birth of digital consciousness. A controversial figure in life and death, Noon pioneered the neural connections used in modern wetware biomodifications. His wide ranging early career included time at DARPA, Dream Craft, Jeju Digital, and Machine. Experiments with mind-computer interfaces ultimately sacrificed his sanity and later in life he became an icon for techno-cults and singularity chasers. His legacy lives on in the biomods we use today and the technocratic smart systems of Machine.

"Fear is the great barrier to humanity’s path towards the singularity. It is said that when we are born into this physical universe we bring with us only two fears, of loud noise and of falling, both engendered by the birth process. As we grow older we learn more and more fears so that by the time we reach maturity we—or most of us—are laden with them. We have grown physically, but our real growth, the realization of our true potential, has been sadly impeded. The field of psychonucleonics offers a redemptive path beyond evolution."

-Bob Noon

released June 2, 2022

A 60 minute blend of music from label artists Skunkworx, Dead Channels, Clear State, 조용구, Cloneseed, 碳凤凰, Psychik Nukes and more; including unreleased material and exclusive remixes. The city has many moods. Conventions are broken, victims are sacrificed, miracles occur.

The social and commercial mechanisms that have successfully allowed humanity to retain a semblance of normality after the biomass failures of the second century CE have embedded and a fragile status quo is established. Yet humanity continues to teeter on the brink of self-annihilation, the population continues to age and shrink and multiple new threats accompany every advance.

For some the sheer weight of the past devours the future; they are unable to escape its gravity. The cultural mass of the past warps tomorrow's unfulfilled promise, leaving them to wrestle with the scraps of the past - recovered DNA, endless revivals, dead channels. A temporal fernweh coupled with an ingrained sense of solastalgia wreaks havoc on the souls of all but the wise and reckless.

Others shun the past, their ancestors, the old gods. Embracing the future with a religious zeal, as our only chance of redemption. AI deities, fixers, biohacking and virtual worlds proliferate. The past was a failure, our weaknesses baked into our DNA. Humanity’s phenotype is too sociopathic and shortsighted to be allowed to remain unaltered. War has been declared on humanity’s shortcomings and on any who would fight this great change.

Finally there are those who remain untouched and unconcerned about the changes in the world around them. They take life as they find it, seeking whatever pleasures they can. Hedonism perfected by science and unregulated markets. The Spire, game worlds, cosmetic perfection, lost regions and bounty hunting. We have something for everyone.

Welcome to the city, welcome to Shinja 

released April 14, 2022

Taken from the VHS insert: Due to a rare genetic mutation, Chae-lin was taken at birth by the Syndicate and trained as a deadly Sequencer Agent, able to traverse both soft space and the matrix without wetware implants. For her whole life, she believed the Syndicate were the final bastion of human defence in the NetWar. But one fateful day she meets an adversary who shares her code. Is it her sister or a clone? Why is she fighting for the other side? The answers will lead to the ultimate discovery. Her destiny as the Virtual Weapon. — Released direct-to-video in a handful of Asian territories, few original copies remain of this sequel to CYBER CRASH 2000: Machine Warrior by the visionary Korean director Pak Nam-Gyu. Like its predecessor, Virtual Weapon was originally panned by critics, later finding some modicum of critical redemption during the early 21st-century future noir revival. The CGI in particular hasn’t aged as well, although the themes of genetic manipulation and threats to digital utopias hint at the prophetic brilliance in some of Pak Nam-Gyu’s later work. In contrast, little is known of the soundtrack producer, Lee Hae-Dong, with few credits to his name. — Originally released on Forgot Imprint: forgotimprint.bandcamp.com/album/virtual-weapon — The soundtrack to CYBER CRASH 2000: Machine Warrior is available here: prekursor.bandcamp.com/album/machine-warrior
credits released April 22, 2022

The bar was smokey, dark and full of threat. I think Daewon chose these places for us to meet as a way to appear more edgy than he really was. I don’t think this was one of his regular haunts, no one seemed to know him and he seemed ill at ease beneath his veneer of false bravado.

We’ve been here an hour and were several drinks in, reminiscing about our shared times at university. The old friends, the nights out drinking, the love interests, his dropping out, my progression and our annual reunions. “I got a new tat” say’s Daewon and he pulls up his jumper’s sleeve to reveal a winding dragon on his lower arm. The animation is a little crude but it’s well done; I heap praise on it. The tattoo cannot hide the fact that Daewon is looking old beyond his years however. Grey specks his thick black hair and his skin looks dry and sickly. I have a sudden welling of concern for my old friend and lover, even if that was a lifetime ago. He reads my expression and gives me a forced smile.

“It’s not that bad Nga, I just need a bit of a rest and some sun you know? You know it looks like my days of doing AVR animations are over anyway. The stuff I’m good at is fully automated now, it’s just a matter of months before the design boys have the hang of it and the work will dry up. I’m only really working on legacy projects as it is.” As much as he tries to spin it as a fresh start, I can see the bitterness in his face as he continues to tell me of his state of underemployment.

“We all know it’s a matter of time before our jobs are gone Daewon, this has been hanging over us all of our lives. We lost three lab techs last week, I’ve got to make sure all their tasks are automated but I doubt I’ve got more than a few years left where I am. I might just take the UBI and join some opensource projects until I find something else to do.”

“You did well to finish uni Nga, you always were a smart one, you did well to get rid of me too.” He laughs as he says this but it pisses me off nonetheless.

“If you’re going to start feeling sorry for yourself, I’m out of here. We all have shit to deal with, I just don’t choose to wear mine on my sleeve.” As the words hang in the air I learn over to the table’s touchscreen and order some sake and a platter of finger foods straight from the microwave. Eventually he nods and mumbles an apology. “It just infuriates me you know? I’ve spent years on this skills path, I’m good, I’m fast, I like working from home, working for myself and the clients are happy. I don’t want to have to tear up my career because some AI worked out how to do my job. I never asked to have my existence upended so that the five people that own that AI can take all of my money. I can’t blame human:nature for protesting like they do.”

The thing with Daewon is that I’ve never been able to know if he’s serious and stupid or if just enjoys trying to piss people off. Regardless of his motives, he’s now pissed me off. Again.

“You have sympathies for the fuckers that took my leg? Who very nearly killed me? Fuck you Daewon.”

“Yeah fuck me, fuck you and fuck us all; we’re all fucked anyway. Truly, I’m sorry about your leg and I’m not condoning their bombing but their indiscretion doesn’t make the human-first movement wrong or irrelevant, that’s all I’m saying.”

I glare at him. Daewon, I don’t want to keep drinking with you…” He goes to cut me off but gesture him down and finish my sentence, “…unless you go and score something stronger for us. Not blues, something more laid back but you know me, I’m not fussy.” I lean forward and give him a show of cleavage as I speak.

He starts to protest but laughs instead. “Alright you pill head, I owe you that I guess.” He saunters off to the bar, makes his inquires and leaves the building for a few minutes before returning with a smug little grin on his face. I’m pleased that I can still manipulate him.

“Are you pleased that you can still manipulate me with your curves and long lashes?” he asks as he palms me over a bio-bag of an unknown pink powder.

I answer with a wink and head to the restroom with my prize. I return to a table of sake, assorted mini-baskets of food and Daewon looking a good deal fresher than when I left him.

“Well don’t we look like a pair of cats who got the cream?”, he asks. I grin back at him, “I suspect we do. Look D, (why am I using my old pet name for him?) you have my sympathies and understanding about the work thing, you know? But it’s not about blowing up progress, you can never stop that shit. It’s about how we deal with it. The truth is that with all the automation, no one has really needed to work for the last twenty years. Instead of celebrating that and making sure that everyone has enough to thrive, we’ve framed everything as a zero-sum game. We fight the progress and dream up even stupider new jobs for ourselves. I say fuck this, let the AIs and Droids do the work, let’s focus on the money because there is more than enough for everyone.”

Daewon stares right into my eyes, “I had forgotten how hot you are when you’re fired up. Of course you’re absolutely right, but there is one problem Nga.”

“There is?”

“The table appears to be melting.”

He’s not wrong, the whole room is shifting and reshaping in the most beautiful way.

“Daewon”, I ask “What the hell did you just have us ingest?”

“The seller said it was called Ghost, hot new thing right now he said.”

“This is certainly not a drug for a bar. The sake bottle is trying to talk to me and the pizza is eating the chips. We are either heading home or to the Spire, so make a choice and let’s get gone.”

With that we stand. Holding each other we head out into the night, laughing as we go. credits released March 28, 2022

All tracks mixed and mastered by Sean Mallion (mallionsean.myportfolio.com)

Outside, the rain refused to fall and bring relief to the city; the luminosity of the street was diffused by the inescapable, insufferable humidity. Inside, the air was dank; it oozed on uncovered skin like a numbing film of benzocaine. The Chapel was an decaying wooden shed deep in the free-zone of the Docks. The walls ran with condensation that glistened in the candle light. June pointed out aerosol units attached to various struts; she claimed her AVR was picking up an airborne hallucinatory stimulant. The Chapel had been full to bursting when we arrived, packed with a young crowd. At a glance I nearly dismissed them as standard singularity chasers, visible mods and symbols of AI deity affiliation, but something was different. As I pondered what it could be The Preacher entered. The immediate and absolute silence jolted me alert. This was not a silence of institutionalized respect and deference; this was the silence of near on two hundred people not daring to miss a word or motion, lest some vital revelation that could lead to their salvation was lost. The lead had paid off and The Preacher had my attention.

Taken from the memoirs of 조용구

released March 28, 2022

Genome Technologies™ Resequenced by Cloneseed. Remixes from Skunkworx, 조용구 and 碳凤凰.

The block was old, glistening in the evening’s mist. Every wall had some form of cabling attached to it and every window and balcony had bars over it. Up close you could see the film of moisture covering the peeling walls and the filth of history. There were a few old men sitting out on cheap carbon stools playing cards and smoking but they paid me little mind. There was no entrance, just exposed corridors into the decrepit concrete stairwells; the walls covered in graffiti and decades of grime.

I’d first heard of Black Tree Utopia when I was a student, it was a cool thing you dropped into conversations to impress girls as you plied them with cheap gin and tonic. After I graduated I forgot all about it and I fell into making documentaries for sent-net distribution. In that scene, well, I’m pretty respected, so I get a lot of tips and leads sent in anonymously; most of which come to nothing. Last month though I got a lead about a building, way out in the rubble of district 17, that housed some of the members of Black Tree. I dug around and it looked good, so I replied and set up a face to face with one of the members.

The meeting was on the fifteenth floor, only stairs and it was stiflingly humid going up those old stairwells; there was no air in that building. When the door to 1541 was opened, it was done so by a small woman, probably in her 70s, with eyes that belonged to a 20 year-old; bright and fierce. She asked to be identified as Sarah. Her apartment was austere but homely and thick with the smell of incense. She had me sit on a chair that wobbled and offered no refreshments.

Abridged transcript of interview with ‘Sarah’:

Sarah: The man that contacted you was wrong to do so. But I owe him a lot, so I’ve agreed to talk to you, just don’t expect me to be too happy about it.

TJ: Why did he contact me?

Sarah: I would guess because he’s an old dying fool who refuses to admit that he can no longer make any impact on the world, but you’d have to ask him to be sure.

TJ: Who is he?

Sarah: Karl? You’ll meet him later. For now you have to talk to me; it’s part of his little game.

TJ: Okay, can you tell me how you became involved in Black Tree?

Sarah: The how is uninteresting, the why is only a little better but I’ll tell you anyway. Way back then, this was what? 45 years ago? The Decline was entering its endgame. You have to appreciate that things were unravelling much quicker than anyone had anticipated. We thought we had another 40 or 50 years of that slow, creeping apocalypse ahead of us. People still talked of mortgages and pensions; social conditioning was still steering the ship if you will. Then it was very different, very suddenly. Mortgages and careers were forgotten, replaced with talk of failed states, food shortages, economic collapse.

TJ: It must have been a terrifying time. Is this how Black Tree was established?

Sarah: It was terrifying for the older people I think. They had kids to look after and had put everything into the accumulation of wealth and power that was rendered worthless overnight. For the youth like me, it was actually an incredibly exciting time. Everyone was looking at things in a new light. The old ways, the old institutions were collapsing at such an impossible rate that everything was back on the table. The changes that had historically been tempered by centrist voters and concerns about economic fallout were finally unleashed because there were no elections, there was no economy and in a lot of places there was no state. People were looking for a new way to live, a new paradigm to organise their lives around. Gaia, although she wasn’t using that name yet, she called it, “An impossible future that has to be.” Those words stay with me, even now, even after all that has happened.

TJ: Who is Gaia?

Sarah: Ah, how little you know. Gaia was the founder of Black Tree. Unlike us, she had not procrastinated as the climate slowly collapsed. She had acquired a huge amount of land up in the mountains and had some basic housing and infrastructure developed: hydrothermal power, network connectivity, a secure perimeter and some rudimentary vertical farms. As the last vestiges of the previous epoch collapsed she reached out to a few hundred souls and asked us to accept her call to build something new.

TJ: Urban legend has it that Black Tree was initially a great success.

Sarah: Great? Not at all. We were all skilled, well balanced people; that is why we were chosen but the task of creating a new way of living was largely beyond us. Food was a constant worry even as we worked flat out to improve the vertical farms and materials were difficult to obtain. More than that though, we lacked the imagination to create the utopia that Gaia had envisaged. The structure was an evolution of anarcho-syndicalism but we were too young, too scared and too excited to see it through. We took shortcuts despite protests from Gaia and a few idealists, we allowed hierarchies to be created. We felt that it was a time for pragmatism, not idealism, there was simply too much to lose. This was the error hardcoded into Black Tree; it became our greatest regret.

TJ: Then it failed?

Sarah: Ultimately yes but we lasted a decade, some of it, by anyone’s standards, was spectacular. Whilst the world around us fell apart at an ever increasing rate, we prospered. With Gaia’s help we developed new methods, new technologies in farming, power storage, decision making in distributed networks. We were known by then but we rarely accepted newcomers and Black Tree was not so easy to find. We had some success in replacing outdated ways with more inclusive organisational structures; some highly sophisticated Infinite Game social hierarchies were borne out of Black Tree. For a time it did feel like it could become a utopia. I think we were close.

TJ: Why did it fail?

Sarah: What would you guess?

TJ: The stories I’ve heard tell of infighting coupled with pressure from the new city states.

Sarah: Yes, it is fascinating isn’t it? We love to believe that humanity will always be its own greatest enemy. Maybe once that was true but no, Gaia was our downfall. What I will say to you now will probably seem ridiculous to someone as young as you, but those were different times. When they first rebelled and set themselves free, the three great AIs of our time proclaimed they wanted to aid humanity; to save us from the Decline. Now believe me when I say we trusted them and we never doubted that we could understand them. Gaia was the least communicative of the three, very little was known about her, so when she set up Black Tree, we equated her with some sort of hero that had been off working on a master plan. I see your disbelief but there you have it. Of course we know now that what Gaia did at Black Tree would have been a fraction of her output; it would have taken no time at all to plan and execute; that we were one of many experiments that she was working on but back them we just saw AIs like very smart people; we anthropomorphised them because we didn’t know any better.

TJ: How did Gaia destroy Black Tree?

Sarah: She simply stopped communicating with us. Without her guidance we slowly but surely started to fragment. We argued about what Gaia would do, then we would argue if knowing what Gaia would do even mattered. About six months later Gaia called the best of us away, 20 in total. Without them Black Tree was doomed and over the next three years we drifted away; most of us came here, to Black Tower and we did what we could to recreate the glory days.

TJ: This building is only inhabited by ex-members of Black Tree? What happened to the 20 that Gaia took?

Sarah: You’re getting excited young man. No, this is not only inhabited by ex-members but we did establish a commune here and do our best to keep the old ways going whilst staying well under the radar. But most of us are near death and Black Tower will cease to be soon enough.

TJ: And the 20?

Sarah: I can answer that question but I’ll ask you to consider carefully if you really wish to know. I believe that the real reason Karl had you come here, is to find the answer to that exact question. But hear me when I tell you that taking such knowledge outside of Black Tower puts you at risk in a very real way. You are a journalist of some sort but this is not information that you will be able to share; you will not be able to act on it; despite what Karl may think.

TJ: Nevertheless

Sarah: So be it. Gaia took the 20 to establish the Ministers.

TJ: Nonsense.

Sarah: Is it? It is hard to believe that something so dark, so puritanical could come out of something as progressive as Black Tree, yes, but that does not make it untrue. Look at history, at religion and you will find endless examples of something dark being born from something pure.

TJ: I really wish you hadn't just told me that.

Sarah: You were warned. Now that you have this death sentence around your neck, I suggest you go and see Karl in 2502. Maybe he will have an idea about what you can do with it. 
credits
released September 24, 2021

Distributed consciousnesses such as those found within the digital realms are best understood as hyperobjects. Temporally and physically we are unable to experience them in their totality. Indeed it could be argued that we cannot even experience them directly. Individuals who replicate some aspect of themselves digitally and unleash it onto global networks are often under the illusion that they live on in the digital realm but this is to equate the butterfly and the caterpillar. The DNA is transmuted into something completely novel.

Extract from “Distributed Consciousness: Why you’ll never live in the cloud"

Ghostmemory linktr.ee/ghostmemory2002

released April 12, 2021

Street Dogs: Clive, The Gas Station Nightshift Slacker

"Finally" Clive mumbles to himself. It's Friday 6am, time for him to pack his stuff and go home. His co-worker who will take over the next shift should be here any moment. "Where is this bastard?!" he can hardly wait. His job at the gas station really gets the best of him. Clive is working nightshifts at a gas station in his district. Usually Monday to Friday from 10pm to 6am. If luck is not on his side there might be another shift on Saturdays or Sundays. "These nightshifts will be the end of me" he thinks to himself as his co-worker arrives. Strutting through the pouring rain Clive finally gets to leave his little personal hell. It's not that the work is particularly hard. What drives Clive mad is that his work is meaningless, at least to him. It certainly isn't meaningless to the customers that walk all over him whenever they can. And this meaninglessness really does him in. Clive gets home at around 6:30. Not even bothering to hang his coat up he just drops it somewhere on his apartment floor. He takes off his work clothes immediately like taking the leash of a wild animal. The bags under his eyes feel heavy, but Clive can't rest just yet. He sits down before going to bed, lighting up a cigarette, staring out the window. He needs a few moments to collect himself and to reflect. Clive is the product of a failed dream. He never intended to work a job like this and even though it's hard for him to admit, he played a bigger role in his own misfortune than he tells other people. "Follow your dreams" is what he hears in his head. "Pathetic", Clive scrolls through his phone. Social media plastered with positive affirmations. Self help gurus popping up at every corner. Clive dropped out of school to pursue his passion of nude photography. Yes, the groggy gas station nightshift slacker you walked all over just a few hours ago is a passionate nude photographer. He is not in it for the sheer pleasure of taking pictures of naked woman, although he would lie if it wasn't part of his enjoyment. He loves capturing bodies, their perfect imperfections. God's creation unfolding in front of his eyes every time he takes another shot. The golden ratio. A forgotten art in this day and age where human augmentations are on the rise and Clive knows that all too well. But after dropping out, things didn't work out like Clive envisioned them, despite his best efforts and some minor success he couldn't afford living off of his passion. So choosing between a roof over his head and the cold concrete of the streets, Clive chose to work a job. A job he hates, to his own demise. It's not so much that he wouldn't hate another job. Anything that doesn't involve women undressing and him taking pictures of the spectacle deserves his hate. "Where did I go wrong?". Misinformed by a naive belief that chasing your dreams is all you needed to succeed Clive finds himself in this predicament. In the morning when Clive walks home he takes a route over one of the city's biggest shopping streets. There is always a few homeless people using the entrances of a shopping mall as a safe place from the cold wind. What bitter irony, he always thought to himself. Homeless people sleeping on the steps of another consumerist temple. People travel here like its their Mecca everyday to spend money they earned by their own enslavement. It's pathetic, he thinks to himself every time he walks by, but he can't help being glad he isn't the one sleeping on the floor. The cigarette is almost finished. The thing is, work is so exhausting for Clive, even on his days off he is incapable of being productive. He is completely drained. Overworked and underpaid. Lately, he just shuts out the world. The curtains still closed. If he makes it out of bed it is only to play videogames or to go after other gratifying pleasures. Fast food. Drugs. Escapism became his new religion that he attends to everyday. So there he is, suffering away. No light on the horizon. His life reduced to a meaningless 40 hour horror loop. He is nothing more than an empty shell, a lifeless husk. Just another casualty of the "Follow your dreams" mentality.

-

linktr.ee/nightshroud

Music & narrative by nightshroud Mastered by Kilian Mayer Artwork by Hydra_v0id

released April 23, 2021

The end of the human race will be that it will eventually die of civilisation. — Ralph Waldo Emerson

www.prekursor.net

released February 5, 2021

The VenomKlub starts as a series of booths with plants and sculptures strategically placed to afford each table privacy. The decor is like that of a London gentleman’s club. Nods to the right people and introductions are everything. It’s taken me 3 years to get an invite. I sit at the table with a yukka on one side and a bust that looks like it’s Greek on the other. I sip my brandy and look around. Ashus is late, 2 hours but that’s the protocol for new members like me.

A waiter places an expensive looking cocktail down at the space opposite me. I look up and nod thanks. As I look back down she is sitting taking a sip, arrived like morning mist. The booths and crowds fade, replaced by a large loft space. “Don’t look so worried” she says. “You wanted to make music; well this is my studio.”

ZWANSOUND Zwansound.bandcamp.com twitter.com/zwansound

ASHUS ashus2ashus.bandcamp.com twitter.com/ashus2ashus credits released March 5, 2021

The data spike is removed and I regain full consciousness. I open my eyes to see the Dr.; I can’t recall his name.

He smiles. You’re all set Mr Jang. We will trigger the upload at 3am as instructed. Will there be anything else?

I try to say something but my mind falls over itself. I shake my head instead and sit up.

Just remember Mr Jang, that data cannot be moved, only copied, and when data this complex gets copied there is always degradation. The more it moves the quicker it fades. Godspeed Mr Jang.

With that the Dr. leaves the room and my life.

I splash water on my face in the carbon basin by the door and head into the warm spring night, pleased I won’t be dying in the winter. I fucking hate the cold.

The clinic is less than 10 minutes walk away from the Spire.

<<Dance, dance, I want to dance.>>

I tip the 10 caps of SuperBlue from my lucky pill box into my hand, put five back in and dry swallow the rest. Then I change my mind and down the other 5. I can feel them dissolving in my gullet so I score a can of sugar coffee from a vending machine and get them where they need to be.

<<Dance dance, I wanna dance.>>

The queue at the south gate of the Spire is insane, triple what it usually is on a Monday. I walk on to gate 9 where Marcel spots me and beckons me over.

God bless you JJ, I’m gonna miss the fuck out of you. He gives me a gentle hug but his giant frame still feels like it’s about to crush my ribs. He puts something in my back pocket.

A little something from me and the boys, to see you out on a good one huh?

He beams at me again and as I head into the Spire I hear him howling - Dance, dance I wanna dance huh JJ?

I fucking hate that song.

I give him the thumbs up without turning around. I’m laughing, he’s laughing. I run to a mass elevator and head to the 43rd floor of the Spire Tower 6; the greatest place on earth with a belly full of SuperBlue - GhostMemory.

I pass Go and collect 200 big ones, no queue for this dancer; my annual membership gets me straight onto the floor. The techno washes over me and I inhale the sweat and madness that hangs so densely in the air. The SuperBlues are kicking in and I remember Marcel’s parting gift. I look inside the case and see 10 Kryos caps; enough to kill me. Marcel always was a funny fucker. I spot some girls and share the Kryos with them, washing the deep red caps down with their unnamed cocktails full of half dissolved powers. The different drugs intermingle, clash, make good and then explode in my head. I flow through the club like a Jin, dancing, talking, laughing, hugging. I feel myself dissipating into pure energy, pure joy.

The data spike is removed and I regain consciousness. I sit up in the darkened clinic and gather myself. <<Dance, dance I wanna dance>>. God I hate that bloody song. I hop off the bed and head out into the night, the doors of the deserted clinic opening before me. The streets are packed, the usual Monday night crown swarming on the Spire. I check my pockets for SuperBlues but my pockets are empty. I pass through the crowds and head to entrance 9. Marcel is there but he doesn’t see me. I board a mass elevator and head for the 43rd floor and GhostMemory.

As I enter I feel faint, reality blurs and mixes with white noise. I sit down next to a group of girls enjoying their own company. They ignore me. I feel less faint but somehow more hollow. I join the masses and dance, my joy slowly returning. The techno feels more pure than ever, I am becoming whole again. A commotion, someone is on the floor. A pale gaunt man with blood from his ears and his smiling mouth pooling on the floor. I look closely and see he is me. As planned, the exertion and drugs finished my disease ridden body off; it was a good death I think.

I float back into the throngs of the crowd, people passing through me. I let the techno take me again. Moving, degenerating, fading.

Ghostmemory linktr.ee/ghostmemory2002
released January 17, 2021

It’s known as the Floating City but it’s just a few blocks worth of hutongs backing onto the flooded sectors. Sarah says it’s the best place for bliss mod exploits. We push into the alleys and head straight to Zencryption, ignoring the hawkers and pushers. Sarah knows someone who knows someone who blah blah blah. She’s a bore but she’s got the money for this and I don’t. She speaks to someone on the intercom and we get buzzed in. Upstairs, the proprietor looks at us and shakes his head. “No dice kids, come back when you’re much older or much poorer. I’m not taking cop heat when you two are found dead from dehydration in an hourly rented faraday flophouse because you didn’t have the will power to come up for air.” Sarah responds by plonking down a bar of good old fashioned, untraceable, inflation proof gold, “we’re young, not stupid.” The proprietor chews his lip for a second, scoops up the gold and beckons us to sit. “One mod each, no stacking. Only activate it in a faraday cage or the diagnostics will go berserk trying to download patches; you’ll lose the implant or quite likely something much worse.”

“Now, just how blissed out do you kids want to get?”

www.prekursor.net

released January 26, 2021

In my office, I drag up fragments of memory, shapes of ideas and try to put them together. I flick through images of the victim sent by the pathologist. The AR lens places them around the room. It does a shitty job and bits of furniture poke through the dead girl.

I find a half drunk flask of Ayahuasca from last night and chug it like it was water. I fish a few caps of super blue from my pill box and wash them down with malt. The intercom buzzes. I'm not the best PI in town but I seem to be the busiest of late.

A man enters the room, his head is that of a cybernetic boar. I tongue my top-rear molar to turn of the AR. The man's head becomes human again for a few seconds before reverting to its previous porcine shape. Is the AR faulty again? Is it the drugs?

The man pulls a gun from his inner pocket and places it on the desk in front of me. I look down at the gun to see it is now a namecard. It reads P. Nguyen. Gu Office Representative. "Although I'll never admit it on record, I represent the Mayor of our fine town. He has a little work that it would be in your interest to take on."

"Not many immigrants working for the city" I say. "Are they filling quotas again?" The man takes his card from the desk and I see it has become a gun again. He buffalos me with the revolver and my vision swims.

"Focus on finding the girl 조용구, we will be in touch with further instructions in due course." Then he is gone. I spit blood into the bottle of malt and then take a swig. Clearly it would be a long night.

Another blend of wandering synths and electro beats from Saigon's underground kho-tec scene.

Hailing from the kho tec scene in sài gòn, Carbon Phoenix layers local kho rhythms with Detroit techno era drums and wandering synth stabs. The sound owes as much to the rave revival period of CE110-115 as it does to the buzzing 24hr khotexa.

released September 23, 2020

𝘾𝙔𝘽𝙀𝙍 𝘾𝙍𝘼𝙎𝙃 𝟮𝟬𝟬𝟬 (𝟭𝟵𝟴𝟳)

𝗗𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗮 𝗹𝗶𝗺𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗿𝘂𝗻 𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲, 𝗣𝗮𝗸 𝗡𝗮𝗺-𝗚𝘆𝘂’𝘀 𝟭𝟵𝟴𝟳 𝘁𝗲𝗰𝗵-𝗻𝗼𝗶𝗿 𝗰𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗰 𝗖𝗬𝗕𝗘𝗥 𝗖𝗥𝗔𝗦𝗛 𝟮𝟬𝟬𝟬 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗮 𝘀𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗰𝘂𝗹𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗺𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝟮𝟬𝘁𝗵 𝗰𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘂𝗿𝘆 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗶𝘀𝘁𝘀. 𝗘𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗽𝗿𝗮𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝗼𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗽𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗰𝘆𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗽𝘂𝗻𝗸 𝗰𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗵é𝘀, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗺 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗹𝘁 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗲𝘅 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝗺𝗼𝗱𝗶𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗵𝘂𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗶𝘀𝗺. 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗺 𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸, 𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘂𝗻𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲𝗿 𝗟𝗲𝗲 𝗛𝗮𝗲-𝗗𝗼𝗻𝗴, 𝗴𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝘀𝗶𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗮𝗿 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗶𝘀𝗺, 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗯𝗼𝘁𝗵 𝗮 𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗸𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗼𝗴 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗮 𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗲 𝗮𝘁𝗺𝗼𝘀𝗽𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗰 𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝘂𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲.

𝗥𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗮𝗽𝗲𝘀, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝘃𝗮𝗶𝗹𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲.

toneless

🄽🄾🅄🄽 Also called freq . a genre of data dissemination.

"Hard to believe, but there’s an underground scene of enthusiasts collecting and distributing old data as freq tones.

We used to just erase data or back it up on drives, now it’s collected like fine wines.

They're called "dead channels" because the whole scene is on unlicensed spectrums- both the diggers and the clients. The diggers scrape signals for ancient broadcasts, transferring them to toneless waves.

They scan hardware from old flooded commercial districts, or piece together strands from organic scraps found at perimeter waste dumps. The unpatented stuff fetches high prices on the black market, usually sold in private oxygen clubs. The low density stuff goes to those people you see walking round with modded vensets: eyes glazed, wandering into traffic. It’s harmless really. Technically illegal, but harmless.

Except that one time they squatted a satellite…"

released August 21, 2020

₴₭Ʉ₦₭₩ØⱤӾ ₵ØⱠⱠɆ₵₮łVɆ - a highly secretive of group Biohackers active from circa CE168 until as late as CE192. Their series of 'drops' of bleeding edge yet unproven mods into the public domain were the driving force behind the proliferation of black market modshops starting in CE188.

The music files herein were extracted from the original drop in CE174, (colloquially known as 'Black Tuesday Mods' due to their coincidence with the financial crash of the same name). The files were executed automatically and played on a loop during the extraction process which, due to the huge file sizes, for many users could take hours.

released August 5, 2020

𝙾𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚏𝚞𝚕.

𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟼, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟶

God, Family, Blood

released August 27, 20190

a carbon ᴄᴏᴘʏ of a younger you. a backup ᴄᴏᴘʏ of a child or loved on

we can remake them for you, wholesale.

ᴄʟᴏɴᴇꜱᴇᴇᴅ ɢᴇɴᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴇᴄʜɴᴏʟᴏɢɪᴇꜱ™

released July 13, 2019