Drowning in the Absence of Your Soul's Blue Light

The recordings are available now.

Some of them survived the first winters intact.

Some only survived in fragments.

I spent the last months going back through old tapes, damaged sessions, unfinished transfers and notebooks that should probably have remained closed.

There were recordings where the signal was still there beneath the static.

Those stayed.

Others were too deteriorated to carry correctly anymore.

Those had to be rebuilt from memory, from remaining stems, from sleepless notes left between older transmissions.

Some tracks were recovered almost untouched.

Others became new recordings wearing the shape of older ones.

The apartments remain inside them.

So do the stations.

The fluorescent kitchens.

The winter trains.

The people who disappeared correctly and the people who disappeared slowly.

Most of the archive was recorded between impossible hours.

Some of it still sounds like that.

There are more transmissions in storage.

More unfinished material.

More damaged tapes that may eventually become survivable enough to release.

Later for that.

For now: the signal is finally outside the apartment.