One of our New Year resolutions for 2013 is to visit alien sites in Earth more promptly, as soon as we hear about them.
This will help us ensure that whatever alien technologies may be stocked in these sites are kept away from the hands of evil pop music moguls behind abominations such as those that have bombarded & almost shattered our timid spirits while we carried out the quaint rituals of the Christmas shopping trip.
We fear that through their dabbling with things that they don’t respect, even less so understand (i.e. those powerful technologies that we mention above), these moguls may generate an infectious music meme with the potential to corrupt whole sections of the galaxy.
We are confident about the response from the powers that be and listen. Recall the Eschaton’s admonition to mankind in Charles Stross’ Singularity Sky (and replace the term ‘causality’ with music, or beauty, with which it is connected).
I am the Eschaton. I am not your God.
I am descended from you, and exist in your future.
Thou shalt not violate causality within my historic light cone. Or else.
We speculate that the ‘else’ that concludes the statement above would involve the cordoning and obliteration of a cube with a face diagonal of 10 parsecs centred around Earth.
This would result in the extermination of the human species (including many innocents who have not yet succumbed to or are actively fighting the morbid shriek of the pop moguls who are of course the ultimate cause & destination of this Eschatonic ‘else’), as well as a number of extra-terrestrial civilisations who share Earth with us, or are our neighbours.
Yet understandable. Music is a platform for trans-cultural and trans-species communication, as well as contagion. This is why Laurie Spiegel provided the musical opening for the golden disc Carl Sagan commissioned to be sent out with the Voyager Spacecraft. We want those listeners lurking in the sidereal void to want to be our friends.
We don’t want them to fear a human-created virus setting the Universe aflame in a holocaust of ugliness, the cosmic drone transformed into the stomach-churning wo-wo-wo-wo-wobble of a bro-step banger.
If it came to it, we would be the victims of their violence, respect its reasons, and probably admire its implementation. We suspect it would sound a little bit like this:
That is, like the building momentum of a pan-galactic freighter transporting a load of genetic napalm into your face, or Factory Floor’s mutant brother, locked in the basement for all eternity. Or the simple and cruel directives regulating the behaviour of the arachnid hunter seeker squadrons that would scour the wreckage of Earth looking for survivors after our extremely prejudiced erasure.
Liquidrome is Mikale de Graff from Lazer Crystal. This is all the information we have, sorry.
We all agree that keeping powerful alien technologies away from modern pop moguls who may misuse and subvert them thus condemning humanity & its innocent neighbours to final obliteration is a good plan.
We could launch our own pogrom against hidden alien sites around Earth – that is, follow the scorched mystery path of the Hollywood/ Triple A console game. Yet that would play into the hands of the pop mogul overlords who’d like to avoid competition from the people from the Outer Spheres and their human allies (among which we count ourselves).
Doing this would make life in Earth insufferable by voiding it from the strangeness from Beyond. It would make the Eschaton that we previously described almost desirable.
For how could we give up on things like…
… Blizzardo’s River Rouge, the latest hit in one of those alien sites we mentioned (a discotheque hidden somewhere in Brooklyn that receives most of its wax through the trans-Cygnus FTL pipeline)?
…A track that is so obviously and beautifully alien it makes us long for utopic Sagittarian planets of never-ending dance we are not even sure exist.
Yet they must, if not in this universe, then in a parallel one shaped by the waves of River Rouge as it streams through our subconscious. You can almost see it: the bubbling of a pan-oceanic jacuzzi from which the dancers emerge reborn with a nimble bounce in their synthetic step, running into a luxuriant jungle haunted by tigers of acid roar, after the call of Gaussian bells tolling, & holographic sirens singing, to converge into a clearing of blinding light…
…the rest is levitation.
You sure can hear it. How could we give up on this?
(In coming posts, we will develop and test different strategies to balance the need for collaboration & cross-pollination with our extraordinary alien guests, and prophylaxis against those who would use their wonderful music like pimps use love. Watch out).