Wednesday, September 28, 2016

EATQS (ETHEREAL AND THE QUEER SHOW)
“Fairy Super Crystal Blue”
(Noumenal Loom)




Whose half face is sculpted on the cover of Fairy Super Crystal Blue? Our patron saint of carbon, carbonation, the free leader of the carbon nation, benevolent and smiling (in an unobservable dimension) while simultaneously being created and disappearing. You can’t explain it, not with Word(s), but with Paint, MS Paint, and synth patches. This plastic cassette has already done a better job than me at understanding and perceiving. My expressions, my language, have physically materialized into an ectoplasmic puddle on the floor of my office. I’m staring at it, and it’s not moving – it’s inert. I’ve failed. I look to the cover, and the face is still obscured, hovering between creation and extinction. My escape is through the window, up the ladder, to the clouds. Yeah, that’s it.

Vapor drifts in through the open window, in case it wasn’t already obvious enough.

I can’t detect the nodes EATQS has attached to my body via fiber-optics through this seemingly innocuous cassette tape. At once narcotic and efficiently kinetic, Fairy Super Crystal Blue pulses through my nervous system. I see in iTunes Visualizer palettes. It’s my worldview now, and my office, ectoplasm communication failures and all, has all but disappeared, replaced by cybernetic geometry and strobe lights. My mouth struggles to make words to describe this living music, but the sounds become one with the tones, and the tones become one with each other, stretching over their allotted time frames. Voices appear then disappear. My blood is purple milk. My heart is a gas giant.

I can’t detect the nodes EATQS has attached to me because they’ve taken control of me and they’ve erased any trace of themselves in my consciousness. I can see the complete absence and presence of the cover bust, and the extradimensional result, out of place when perceived in human terms, is terrifying. But the music soothes and smooths and points me to the ladder by the window, by which I now must escape to the clouds if I’m going to come back from this close to what I once was. It’s not a done deal though either way. My wave patterns might be cosmically altered.



--Ryan Masteller

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