SPYKES "Acking Tape 2" lathe cut LP + insert

$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.

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