This was composed using an electronic pencil and an electromagnetic notebook while cruising the shores of Monte Lesantigo just outside of Luna Monica. Believe it or not, I had some help on the bassline from Herrick Jiles.

He was on a leave of absence from Driven Trainor, and after he heard an earlier version of this song through the microgesic liner of his omniwurte, he insisted that I let him assist me.

I was super annoyed and offended, of course, but, if you know anything about this big bearded jerk, you know it's hard to tell him no.

Game in your mind.rpg

I was at the top of an ibizan playing cards with a fehlon when I wrote this song. The fehlon called it a little ditty but I think of it more as a medium-sized tune.

Either way, it was baked with love and electronic flour. 

Gandahar

As so many songs about space elevators do, this song about a space elevator begins—and I know I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, but bear with an old man, I've lived a thousand Earth years—on a space elevator.

When I was a boy, all the kids loved to ride the space elevator. It was much more exciting than the space escalator because our mothers wouldn't make us hold their hands to stop us from sitting down and getting our spacesuits stuck in the steps.

When I was a girl, the excitement of space elevators had worn off, but as a 1,000-year-old man, I enjoy them for the nostalgia.

I remember riding up the escalator with a crisp million dollar bill to buy ice cream at the mall on Europa (yes, you could buy a scoop of ice cream for just a million bucks back then), while music like this, my medium opus, played in the background. 

I'd often wonder, "Did early humans, animals, or plants invent music?" Likely it was a precocious young venus flytrap, high on the euphoria of youth (or maybe just stuffed with flies). Then again, maybe it was a space ox who went from planet to planet depositing the aural wisdom of his sonic philosophy. 

Mind you, I have no truck with space oxen these days. My father ran away with a promiscuous cow when I was going through my astrophysics phase and I never forgave him.

Space Elevator

If you heard this song at my wedding on Nebulon, I'd be interested to know how you got in. It was a private gathering, and we only invited our families and closest friends. 

We suspected wedding crashers were in our midst because doppelgangers of our loved ones were in attendance. Obviously we wouldn't have sent any of them an invite, and we expressly prohibited anyone on the guest list from bringing a doppelganger as their plus one.

And yet we found ourselves with extra guests whom we were unable to distinguish from their twins.

The security guards were all asses; they weren't any help at all. (I'm talking about talking asses capable of rational thought, of course. I wouldn't expect an Earth donkey to be of any use.)

Anyway, you cost us quite a bit of money at the open bar and on the buffet. I'm sure the statute of limitations would make a lawsuit impossible (as you know, it was over a hundred years ago), but if you're worried about legal trouble, I assure you that we have no interest in pressing charges.

We'd just like to get to the bottom of this mystery. And by the way, if you're the one who knocked up my uncle Nedry, your son would like to meet his mother.

on the comet

The first time I went to 3031, I suffered life-threatening injuries when I crash-landed in a Grambele ECZ. Not just any ECZ, but Garbor Pert, home to Hizor Bok. Over a period of years, my body parts were replaced with cybernetic implants and replacements harvested from a clone warehouse. 

This was done without my consent. I don't have a problem with cybernetic enhancements, but I am against the production of clones for organ harvesting.

Yes, I say that I am against it, but what does that mean? 

Who am I? 

What am I?

Taken apart, limb by limb, piece by piece. At what point does the ship of Theseus become an entirely different ship? 

I'd ask Nick Chopper, but I don't know if he exists anymore. 

Someone wrote this song about it. I think it was me.

Machine

I recorded this on a robotic octopus tentacle I brought with me to the year 43 BC. It's about the deep contradictions inherent in temporal transmission of sentient organic matter.

WOLF BRONSKI

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