$25.00
Somewhere on a dusty ridge of the Martian moons, a lone LP spun slowly in the orange-tinted wind. Not just any record: SPYKES “Sax & Electronics Vol. 4”—pro-pressed, pristine grooves still holding the smell of Earth studio nights—but it had a guest. A parasite, long and segmented, with mandibles like tiny shears, latched onto the grooves, sucking in vibrations as if the music were liquid nourishment. Every jazzy squeal of the saxophone seemed to twitch the parasite’s body, and every electronic pulse made it curl tighter.
The parasite hummed along with the rhythm, antennae tapping in sync with the beat, as though it understood both the saxophone improvisation and the modular electronic layers. Around it, Martian dust swirled in tiny micro-storms. The moons were empty except for red soil, floating rocks, and this absurd, music-sucking critter. Sometimes it would sneeze a tiny cloud of dust, which got caught in the grooves and made the LP hiss like static.
Meanwhile, somewhere in orbit, a human on Tinder tried to review this cosmic experience.
"So… I matched with someone who said they were into live music and space travel. Big mistake. On the red moons of Mars, a swarm of parasites battled for dominance over the grooves of SPYKES “Sax & Electronics Vol. 4” pro-pressed LP. Each one had its favorite note: one gnawed the low-end sax riff, another latched onto the crackling electronic pulses. Their segmented bodies vibrated, antennae twitching in perfect—or imperfect—sync with the music. Dust from the Martian moons rose in tiny spirals, coating the LP like cosmic glitter.
Meanwhile, a human somewhere on Tinder typed a review that quickly devolved into absurdity:
"Matched someone who loved music and space. Turns out… they’re obsessed with mouth insects. Literally. Mandibles, maxillae, labium, hypopharynx… I learned everything while floating on a Martian moon. Parasites gnawed a record. Hilarious? Horrifying? 0/10. Swipe left for sanity. Would not recommend for humans or Martian dust enthusiasts."
The parasites ignored the review, of course. They gnawed, slurped, and occasionally sneezed tiny clouds of dust. The grooves pulsed with improvised sax solos and electronic warbles, now modulated by the frantic feeding of a dozen tiny, multi-legged musicians.
And then the letters appeared. Scattered. Vertical. Nonsense. Everywhere.
H
a
r
m
o
n
i
c
B
l
i
p
s
X
Q
Z
f
k
M
a
r
s
L
u
n
a
r
S
w
i
r
l
They floated in the Martian air, or maybe in the human mind reading the review. There was no pattern. No meaning. Just vertical letters scattered like the dust storms outside, spelling nothing and everything all at once.
The parasites continued their feast, vibrating the grooves. The LP hissed, scratched, and spun faster as if it too were confused by the letters. Saxophone squeals echoed off rock and dust, electronic pulses looped infinitely, and somewhere in the absurdity, evolution’s mouthparts danced with cosmic chaos.
The Tinder reviewer kept typing, but the letters spread vertically on the screen too, each new sentence breaking apart mid-word:
S
w
i
p
e
l
e
f
t
Dust cascaded off its back like a shower of red glitter. The LP continued spinning. Saxophone notes wobbled over electronic pulses, and somewhere between Earth and Mars, evolutionary history of insects met interplanetary absurdity.
f
o
r
s
a
n
i
t
y
?
And the parasites, undisturbed, sucked every vibration from Sax & Electronics Vol. 4, leaving behind a Martian moon covered in dust, vertical letters, and echoes of absurd music that would haunt both human minds and insect ancestors for eons.Turns out they were actually a mouth insect enthusiast. Literally. During our date, they explained that a 'mouth insect' is just a way to describe insect mouthparts: mandibles, maxillae, labium, hypopharynx, all super specialized. I mean, I knew mosquitoes pierce and butterflies sip, but did I need a full lecture while floating on a tiny Martian moon with a parasite gnawing a LP? No. 0/10. Would not swipe right again."
Back on the moons, the parasite yawned, a tiny musical vibration escaping its segmented throat. Dust cascaded off its back like a shower of red glitter. The LP continued spinning. Saxophone notes wobbled over electronic pulses, and somewhere between Earth and Mars, evolutionary history of insects met interplanetary absurdity.
And as the Martian winds whispered through the moons, the parasite sucked every last nuance from Sax & Electronics Vol. 4, humming along like a tiny, multi-legged DJ in the middle of a cosmic void.
Numbered edition of 100, few left.