The Transmissions have started again. I thought they had retreated to whatever deep, forsaken nebula birthed them. But they have reemerged. This time of year, when the Veil is thin, and the edges of reality begin to flash with possibilities terrible and sublime, that's when these things happen.
This time, it came as an echo from deep within an ancient rock. A distorted cracking, like radio static focused into a drum beat. A rave in the Aether. I've heard this before. It seems like a dream that I forgot. Last time there was more burning flux and circuitry. But I know that sound. That wild, barely tamed electrical impulse could have only one origin. A brand new Cahill vs. Kalma single.
I stood immersed in the waveform. It cut like diamond dust. Wearing down edges and preconceptions. It was halting and heaving like a heart attack or an orgasm. Sudden. Visceral.
The last time I dared to listen to Cahill vs Kalma, I swear my DNA became altered. This is not just music. This is code. It rewires you. Like a defibrillator to your vagus nerve. This song demands things of you. It is not a casual listen. This sound requires a sacrifice. It will take four minutes and twenty two seconds of your life. And you will give it freely.
In return, you will be momentarily erased from the Collective Consciousness. You will hear only Cahill vs Kalma. You will be part of this sound. It will be like your breath. The song will be part of you. And then, it will be gone. Ignore it at your own peril for you will find yourself whispering “Cahill vs Kalma” in your sleep and absently tapping rhythms into space with your fingers in hopes of connecting with that transmission again.
You have been put on notice. P.O.S is coming, and there is not a goddamned thing you can do about it.