$45.00
**SPYKES “Acking Tape 2”**
*lathe cut LP + insert + sand-slick whisper*
The package arrived in a whisper. Not a knock. Not a bell. Just: *sfft.*
Inside: a lathe cut LP sealed with ochre resin. A single insert, hand-cut from something that smelled faintly like varnished shell. In one corner, it read in smeared red ink:
**“This tape is a breach. This breach is a zone.”**
The grooves spun sideways.
---
Somewhere under the **Ochreous Desert**, a cave shivered with electroplasm. Buried within the stratified silence:
**Phobos The Narrower**—a worm with no bones, cataloging sounds in pitch-dark joy.
“ɘᴚɒɿɒɿɘɿɘʞ ɘʞɔɒ ɘɘɘɘɘ” it hissed, coiling around a dusty speaker.
On the vinyl’s second track, **Omar Ancient**'s voice rises like burned honey through walkie-static, mumbling about **Eridanus**, a river no longer mapped—only remembered by the accessory glands of sand wasps.
“Enilno snoitcesbus elbissecca era ereh. Spermathecae erots—emordnilaP rof flesym...”
---
Behind **Misted Panes**, a single chamber flickers with **Phonemic Paraphasias**, words falling sideways and reforming themselves:
> “¡sápmet eloh!”
> “Nidnob yllautriv sah noitces eht.”
> “Щетка яичная, говорит зонд.”
Beneath the insert, you find a crude drawing: a pair of eggs, cross-sectioned, with arrows pointing to ducts lined with *cuticle*. One arrow is labeled “CONTROL ROOM.”
The record finishes with the voice of a choir stitched backward:
> “ʎllɐɐǝɹɹns ɥʇɹoʍ sı ǝɯıʇ ʎɐldoʇɐɯɹnɐɟ”
---
And then silence.
But you hear things in the wall now.
You remember nothing about receiving this LP.
You begin sketching **Phobos The Narrower** in the margins of cereal boxes.
The insert smells stronger now.
You have not opened windows in days.
You whisper “spermathecae” and mean it.
Handmade, edition of 1.