"You ever been to 'Stanbul?" 
"Couple days, once." 
"Never changes," she said. "Bad old town." 

Bone Set (Istanbul)

Willis Corto, Colonel, had plummeted through a blind spot in the Russian defenses over Kirensk. The shuttles had created  the hole with pulse bombs, and Corto's team had dropped in in Nightwing microlights, their wings snapping taut in moonlight, reflected in jags of silver along the rivers Angara and Podhamennaya, the last light Corto would see for fifteen months. 

The Indelible Weight Of Memory (Screaming Fist)

He closed his eyes and told himself the shuttle was only a
big airplane, one that flew very high. It smelled like an airplane,
like new clothes and chewing gum and exhaustion. He listened
to the piped koto music and waited.
Twenty minutes, then gravity came down on him like a
great soft hand with bones of ancient stone. 

Icarian Sojourn (JAL Shuttle Flight)

The drug hit him like an express train, a white-hot column
of light mounting his spine from the region of his prostate,
illuminating the sutures of his skull with x-rays of short-cir-
cuited sexual energy.  His teeth sang in their individual sockets
like tuning forks, each one pitch-perfect and clear as ethanol. 
His bones, beneath the hazy envelope of flesh, were chromed
and polished, the joints lubricated with a film of silicone.  Sand-
storms raged across the scoured floor of his skull, generating
waves of high thin static that broke behind his eyes, spheres
of purest crystal, expanding...

Jovian Dawn (Freeside)

Submission to the Stussy x Teenage Engineering "Make Beats" contest.

Violin sample is used under the Creative Commons license, and can be found here: http://www.freesound.org/samplesViewSingle.php?id=42953

Infinity Fingers

Just a little song I came up with earlier today. Having some fun with multi-track recording.

Please excuse the static hiss, my microphone is in fact a potato.

Marrakesh

     ...one step in that dance was the lightest touch on the
switch, barely enough to flip––now––and his voice the cry of a bird unknown, 3Jane answering in song, three notes, high and pure. A true name.
     Neon forest, rain sizzling across hot pavement.  The smell
of frying food.  A girl's hands locked across the small of his
back, in the sweating darkness of a portside coffin.
  But all of this receding, as the cityscape recedes: city as
Chiba, as the ranked data of Tessier-Ashpool S.A., as the roads
and crossroads scribed on the face of a microchip, the sweat-
stained pattern on a folded, knotted scarf...

True Name (Access Granted)

...he was frozen, erect, fists tight against his thighs, head back, his lips curled, shaking.  While he watched the loser's zodiac of Freeside, the nightclub constellations of the hologram sky, shift, sliding fluid down the axis of darkness, to swarm like live things at the dead center of reality.  Until they had arranged themselves, individually and in their hundreds, to form a vast simple portrait, stippled the ultimate monochrome, stars against night sky.  Face of Miss Linda Lee.

When he was able to look away, to lower his eyes, he found every other face in the street upraised, the strolling tourists becalmed with wonder.  And when the lights in the sky went out, a ragged cheer went up from Jules Verne, to echo off the terraces and ranked balconies of lunar concrete.  Somewhere a clock began to chime, some ancient bell out of Europe.

Midnight.

He walked till morning.

Mission Creep (Midnight on the Rue Jules Verne)

"Steppin' Razor," one said, as Molly drifted into the chamber.  "Like unto a whippin' stick."
  "That is a story we have, sister,' said the other, "a religion story.  We are glad you've come with Maelcum."
  "How come you don't talk the patois?" Molly asked.  "I came from Los Angeles," the old man said.  His dreadlocks were like a matted tree with branches the color of steel wool.  "Long time ago, up the gravity well and out of Babylon.  To lead the Tribes home.  Now my brother likens you to Step-
pin' Razor."
  Molly extended her right hand and the blades flashed in the smoky air.
  The other Founder laughed, his head thrown back.  "Soon come, the Final Days...  Voices.  Voices cryin' inna wilderness, prophesyin' ruin unto Babylon..."
  "Voices."  The Founder from Los Angeles was staring at Case.  "We monitor many frequencies.  We listen always.  Came a voice, out of the babel of tongues, speaking to us."  

"It played us a mighty dub."

***

Lyrics written and performed by Spacetime (https://soundcloud.com/spacetime). Music by the Plc.

Neuromancer Audio

Inna Demon (Zion Cluster) w/ Spacetime

"It would be customary," the old man said, "for me to kill
you now." 

Case felt her tense, ready for a move.  

"But tonight I indulge myself.  What is your name?"

"Molly."

Kill Jar (Straylight - Molly)

His fingers brushed the cold wall.  There was a fire, in there, shifting shadows on the sides of the entrance.

He ducked low and was through, inside, in three steps.

A girl was crouched beside rusted steel, a sort of fireplace, where driftwood burned, the wind sucking smoke up a dented chimney.  The fire was the only light, and as his gaze met the wide, startled eyes, he recognized her headband, a rolled scarf, printed with a pattern like magnified circuitry.

Fogbank (Brain Death)

The service cart was crying.  The betaphenethylamine gave it a voice.  It wouldn't stop.  Not in the crowded gallery, the long corridors, not as it passed the black glass entrance to the T-A crypt, the vaults where the cold had seeped so gradually into old Ashpool's dreams.

The transit was an extended rush for Case, the movement of the cart indistinguishable from the insane momentum of the overdose.  When the cart died, at last, something beneath the seat giving up with a shower of white sparks, the crying stopped.

Surefoot (Straylight - Case)

Shorter experiment at 170 bpm.  Composed over two days, much faster than most pieces.  Inspired by winter and the William Gibson novel "Neuromancer".

The frenetic pace and buzz/hum/static in the background is meant to imitate the constant biz in Ninsei, Tokyo--a relentless torrent of people, drugs, and stolen goods underneath a sky the colour of television static.

Fairfew (Ninsei)

I live in Edmonton (previously Toronto, before that Montreal).

I do chemistry.

I make music.  

I hope you enjoy it.

the Plc

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