$40.00
Deep in the bog, where moss grew thick and water stank of decay, someone had decided that a swamp could be more than a wetland—it could be cement. The liquid was thick, dark green, bubbling faintly, with bits of rotting reeds and algae floating like tiny islands. Into this living mixture, they poured the Johnny SPYKES “Art Book One” CD, the 5" picture lathe, and the matching book set, watching as the grooves and pages warped and sank into the swampy slurry. The music from the CD crackled faintly through the ooze, mingling with the wet gurgles of mud and frog calls, while illustrations and lathe images dissolved into the liquid, creating a chaotic, moving tapestry.
This swamp-cement, now infused with sound and art, was spread over the marsh floor. It hardened slowly, but not entirely—swamp gases bubbled through cracks, carrying the smell of decomposing leaves and distant, forgotten music. The liquid acted like glue and mortar simultaneously, sticking to roots, stones, and twigs, trapping small insects as it flowed over them.Deep in the bog, where the air smelled of moss, decay, and faint electricity, someone had decided to turn the swamp itself into a medium—un matériau vivant, a living mixture of mud, water, and history. The liquid was thick, undulating, bubbling faintly, carrying bits of reeds and algae like miniature islands afloat in an endless green sea. Into this wet chaos, they dropped the Johnny SPYKES “Art Book One” CD, the 5" picture lathe, and the matching book set.
The CD spun faintly in the slime, crackles whispering over the bubbling swamp, as if the music itself were fighting to be heard through the viscous medium. The 5" picture lathe sank slowly, its grooves capturing moss fibers and minuscule insects mid-flight. Les pages du livre s’imbibèrent de l’eau sombre, transforming into a gelatinous tapestry where text and illustration swirled with mud and algae.
Cement? No—it was cement vivant. La mezcla se extendió sobre el suelo del pantano, hardening partially while still breathing. Gas bubbles pushed through the sludge, smelling faintly of wet paper, algae, and vinyl scratches. Tiny insects became trapped in the evolving matrix. Chewing insects—locusts, dragonflies, beetles—gnawed at algae, reeds, and mud, their mouthparts preserved in mid-action. Mandíbulas cerradas, maxilas extendidas, labrum poised—frozen as if time itself paused to observe evolution in a moment.
Other insects relied on piercing-sucking adaptations: mosquitos stuck in viscous green, proboscises jutting futilely, while aphids clung to partially cemented leaves. Die Evolution ist hier eingefroren, each functional mechanism of insect mouthparts immortalized. Labrum, mandibles, maxillae, labium, hypopharynx—all became tools and scaffolding in this surreal, living construction. A locust’s mandibles clamped a reed mid-bite; a dragonfly’s hypopharynx emerged like a spire from a mud mound; the tiny jaws of beetles traced the grooves of the lathe.
Larval moths chewed imperceptibly, their adaptations preserved in the wet cement as if to illustrate future generations. Le mélange musical—grooves, scratches, hums—vibrated through the ooze. Chaque vibration faisait tressaillir les insectes piégés, donnant l’impression qu’ils chiquaient, suçaient et mordaient encore, en rythme avec un enregistrement oublié depuis des siècles.
Dust, spores, and moss fibers settled on the book pages, merging illustration and text into the cement itself. Gli insetti, bloccati e vivi, wriggled faintly in reaction to the vibrations. Even frogs leaped across hardened mounds, sending micro-vibrations through the sludge, syncing with the SPYKES lathe, amplifying the CD, turning the swamp into a grotesque symphony of biology and art.
Sometimes the mud quivered as if thinking: 泥土は生きている—the soil is alive. Mandibles scraped against grooves in rhythm; proboscises pierced minuscule algae droplets; labia and hypopharynx trembled. Evolution’s convergence was visible in every curve, every joint, every frozen or wriggling mouthpart. Each note of the CD, each spin of the lathe, carried tiny tremors through the swamp, like a heartbeat for a world caught between decomposition and creation.
La música y la biología se mezclaban, the book pages dissolved into fibrous sludge that still bore hints of ink. Tiny letters floated in mud streams, vertical, inverted, unreadable, yet somehow meaningful:
L
a
v
i
e
d
e
l
l
a
S
p
i
r
a
l
e
M
a
r
s
Swamp-cement hills rose like skyscrapers of organic and inorganic chaos. Chewing insects clamped frozen reeds; piercing insects twitched in rhythmic agony; larvae gnawed unseen fibers in the mud, creating micro-grooves. Every vibration of the lathe made trapped mandibles snap, hypopharynx flex, and moss tremble. Tiempo y espacio se doblaban, the cement breathing, music guiding evolution in a grotesque, artistic cycle.
Months passed—or was it centuries? The swamp hardened partially, but within its veins, the latent music continued to resonate. Gli insetti si muovevano con il ritmo, the vibrations moving mandibles, labium, hypopharynx, minuscule jaws of beetles and larvae alike. The CD still spun faintly, scratches vibrating through moss-fused paper and hardened algae, lathe grooves etched deeper by tiny gnaws and piercing proboscises.
Even as the moonlight of distant Mars touched the swamp’s surface, the cement breathed and hummed. Vertical letters floated upward in micro-dust:
E
V
O
L
U
T
I
O
N
M
U
S
I
C
A
L
S
P
Y
K
E
S
Frogs leapt, algae swayed, insects froze and wriggled simultaneously. The swamp-cement was alive, vivant, vivo, lebendig, a grotesque museum of insect evolution, sound, and artistic decay. SPYKES, long forgotten, seemed to smile from the grooves as every mouthpart, every chew, every suck, every scrape was captured in viscous perfection.
Time had no meaning here. The mud, the books, the lathe, and the CD merged into one ecosystem, breathing music and evolution. Mandibles clicked in rhythm; larvae wriggled in perfect tempo; moss fibers vibrated with every note. The swamp-cement was not only construction, it was ritual, symphony, sculpture, and grave all at once. Some of these insects had chewing mouthparts: dragonflies nibbled at algae flakes, beetles chomped tiny bits of mud, grasshoppers gnawed on hardened reeds. The swamp-cement preserved their mouthparts in mid-chew, creating an odd, living sculpture.
Others had piercing-sucking adaptations: mosquitoes wiggled helplessly in the ooze, proboscises jutting futilely from hardened green liquid, aphids stuck to decaying plants, frozen mid-sip. It was as though evolution itself had been poured into the swamp-cement, the functional mechanisms of insect mouths captured forever in this hybrid medium.
Labrum, mandibles, maxillae, labium, hypopharynx—all became tools in a surreal construction project. A locust’s mandibles clenched in hardened mud, its maxillae spread like scaffolding. A dragonfly’s hypopharynx poked from a mound of cemented reeds. Even moths and butterflies, chewing only in their larval stage, had remnants of larval gnawing preserved in the sticky goo.
The swamp now hummed with latent music. The grooves from the lathe reverberated through the hardened ooze, making trapped insects vibrate faintly, as if they could still bite and pierce, chew and suck, in rhythm with a long-forgotten soundtrack. Frogs croaked over this living artwork. The air smelled of wet paper, rotting leaves, and vinyl scratches.
Someone—perhaps a forgotten alchemist, perhaps SPYKES himself—stepped back. The swamp-cement was complete: a solid yet breathing canvas, capturing evolution, chewing insects, and the art of sound all in one grotesque, mesmerizing landscape.
Pro pressed 5" art book limited 28, final copies. Numbered.