$50.00
**SUB SYSTEM MEETING POINTS
“Eridacus – First”
7" star lathe + sculptural cover + mix CD
Edition of 1**
The empty Java Juice is still there, humming softly in **20003494994949 BC**, but now the floor is littered with **ancient MSU computer paper chips**—the brittle confetti of early academic computation. Green-and-white striped, tractor-feed perforations intact, the edges curled like irritated skin. Every step crunches softly, a papercut sound. The paper reacts to air the way skin reacts to pollen.
These are not printouts anymore. They are *residue*.
Each strip is punched with holes that once meant data and now mean *itch*. Columns of numbers fade into stains. Spool-fed logic decomposes into flakes. A few sheets still bear the ghosted header:
**MICHIGAN STATE UNIVERSITY
SYSTEM DIAGNOSTICS – INCOMPLETE**
They drift across the booth where the **edition of 1** rests, settling into the sculptural cover’s crevices as if they’ve always belonged there. The cover accepts them, absorbs them, becomes more abrasive. Artifacts bonding with allergens.
When the star lathe spins, the paper chips begin to move—not blown, not pulled, but *activated*. The sound agitates them. Tiny jumps, like fleas. Each flutter corresponds to a micro-spike in the waveform.
A **graph** inside the mix CD sleeve attempts to explain this:
```
PAPER DECAY / DATA LOSS / SKIN RESPONSE
^
| /\ /\ /\
| / \______/ \_____/ \
|______/________________________> TIME
```
The legend is missing. The axes are mislabeled. Someone has written in pencil:
*“Correlation strong. Causation itchy.”*
Environmental allergies dominate this section. Dust mites nest in the perforations. Pollen clings to ink that once encoded climate models and cafeteria schedules. The Java Juice itself seems to reject the paper, vents exhaling faint static, like an old mainframe clearing its throat. The air turns dry. The sound turns flaky.
Flea allergies erupt again—short, sharp ticks in the audio, like paper being torn along perforations. Each rip is precise, intentional, academic. The MSU paper remembers being fed through machines that never blinked, only reacted. Now it reacts back.
Another **graph** unfolds, printed faintly on translucent paper:
**FLEA EVENTS vs. AUDITORY SCRATCH**
Two jagged lines overlap until they are indistinguishable. At the bottom, stamped in red:
**SOURCE ELIMINATION FAILED**
Food allergies return as footnotes. Delayed. Confusing. A low-frequency swell vibrates the booth, causing a cascade of paper chips to slide onto the floor. Something was ingested long before agriculture. Maybe data. Maybe milk. The system cannot decide. The body cannot forget.
One last MSU sheet is taped to the counter, barely legible:
**NOTE:**
*Skin is a system.*
*Paper is a system.*
*Sound is a system.*
*Meeting point unresolved.*
When the needle lifts, the paper settles. The irritation does not end; it merely enters maintenance mode. The Java Juice remains empty. The graphs remain inconclusive. The **edition of 1** cannot be archived—only reacted to.
Outside time continues to itch.
Inside, Eridacus flows—through data, through skin, through the perforated memory of a university that once believed information could be clean.
Numbered unique edition of one copy.