This is a transcript of a live performance. The video has been censored by robots from the future.

A middle-aged man in rock star garb and a superhero mask stands in front of an audience of mostly inattentive kids. The band is playing  a space jam.

“Hi, I’m Will Dailyrest, and this is the Spacerex Band. Tonight I’m going to be entertaining you by reading excerpts of text and transcripts from a video and internet correspondence between our past and our future which was, briefly, webcast before being shut down by the fcc working in conjunction with robots and spiders from the future, intent on suppressing our story.

Will indicates the other members of the band who are all deeply into their own thing.

“Pre-apocalytes, Tom Gilbert and Greg McGrath are going to be interpreting the actual electronic signal, the raw sine-wave metastatic data. “Greg and Tom are able to interpret the spacerex transmission’s through electronic instruments and, by running the signal from their ears to their fingers and back through the guitars and ipads, they will set up an harmonic interface which will stimulate you and, through this Gestalt Collector, patent pending all rights reserved…

Will indicates onstage devices with microphones and satellite controllers plugged into them,

“…we will collect and input your enthusiastic gestalt to our nifty device which will, in turn, jump us–or ME at any rate, back into communication with the future.

“Eugene Brennan on drums and Micheal Fitzpatrick, playing bass and guitar will be accompanying Tom and Greg’s raw sine wave metastatic improvisations with a rhythm that will make you want to get up and dance. If this happens, it’s perfectly normal, and you should not fight it.

“While this satellite controller and it’s nuclear powered flux generator are technological devices, they are entirely dependent on the human agency of love and the more carnal aspects of the same.

The band starts building toward a heavy rock and roll and Will starts to shout over them to be heard. Some people in the audience start to sway.

“We are already in enough trouble with law enforcement and we don’t want to add lewd public displays to our rap sheet, but, short of that, please, leave your inhibitions behind. Yeah! Dance! Dance! Dance!

Will dances. The band rocks out. The song slows down again. People clap and whoop.

“Our president and founder, Spatz Curtis, was seized by federal agents working …

Will holds his hands up to indicate [braces].

“[in conjunction] with Agents of the Consortium of Multinational Corporate Spooks, in essence, Robots and Spiders from the future white collar crime syndicate known as Fat Baby Food. His webcast was shut down, his real and intellectual property seized, and he himself taken away in total violation of his civil rights, by the same agents who are now using his equipment to further their own agenda–which includes ludicrous programs like hydro-fracking the Marcellus Shale–right here, under our feet.

Members of the audience boo and hiss. Heckling, both for and against. The space jam continues.

“Our goal, again, and for those of you who just arrived, is to jumpstart our time machine with rock and roll and whatever physical and psychic electricity you all can contribute by dancing and rubbing up against one another.

A couple in the front of the room start to respond.

“To re-establish our link to our friends and allies in the future. This satellite controller and it’s temporal flux generator is a joint venture between John Mauchley, the man who invented the ENIAC computer back in the days of vacuum-driven punch cards, and the denizens of the far-distant future, who have helped us break into and steal what we need from Air Force bases, nuclear physics laboratories and synchrotron facilities.

As Will lifts a nuclear core out and shows it to the audience, many run for the door.

“Don’t leave! It’s perfectly safe! Nothing to worry about!

The door slams behind the last person to leave–then opens and slams again repeatedly. WONK, SLAM, WONK, SLAM.

“Ah, look! it’s already starting to work. That’s just a little hiccup. Could someone grab that please?

A Teenager who’s been standing there with his mouth open looking at the temporal anomaly puts his finger to his chest inquiringly.

“Just grab it. It’s harmless.

The Teenager grabs the slamming door and it stops.

“Now I can see that some of you are intimidated by my device but I want to assure you that it is completely safe. I built it myself under the influence of mild hallucinogens and calibrated it to tolerances well above the safety standards of todays most stringent hydro-fracking and nuclear power facilities

Those who haven’t fled are paying close attention now. The band starts playing softly and building as Will continues.

“OK, it’s not safe and you are in some danger but please…. please hear me out. You have to understand what we’re up against here. They are not going to play fair. They already have our previous flux device and they are using it to rewrite history and pass disastrous legislation and start endless wars.

“We are the last and the best hope for the future of the human race–against Fat Baby Food and their syndicate of future white collar criminals.

The trip hop gets dense. More people come into the room. Big genies of weed smoke come billowing out of the crowd asking “How can I help you?” Will Dailyrest, eye’s like whirlpools behind his superhero mask, continues:

“The science behind this is a little dry for the vibe that we are trying for, but, in broad terms, we are extracting the electronic signal that you people, as a group, are emitting in response to the music we’re playing, which is based on data from the future and interpreted by our band.

“As you are rocked we collect your collective rocking with this Gestalt Collector® and feed it back into the quantum flux and beam it out to our friends, who are in orbit above a desolate, soiled ruin that used to be the cradle of humanity.

A slide of bit of space wreckage with a building and a force field around it, orbiting planet earth comes on the screen above the band.

“If we can get you all dancing and get the yaw and the pitch of our satellite just so, we will succeed. This is a song I wrote and transmitted from your future to my past and only recently learned how to play.

The Band kicks in with a deep groove. Will’s eyes roll up into his head and he jerks spasmodically as he sings.

“A bag stuck in the barbwire of a lonely fencerow.
Leaves like lemmings in the road
We got no idea where we’re going
And cold winds blow

Tom Gilbert builds a virtual palace of seething guitar notes.

“Wing-shaped standing waves on our glass shield
Driving by feel
Rumble strips and potholes take us home
Wash us in water.

Again, with the architectural riff.

“Tears of the whole world follow

The tubes in the back of Tom’s amp do miniature renditions of the aurora borealis. Notes plucked from the aether and tossed into the chemical storm of Tom’s brain  sprout flying buttresses of reverb and delay and burrow through time and space to the molten core of the planet. Will gyrates. The audience swoons.

“The first time, you said it was the second time you told me.
I got a wonder what the third guy’s gonna think.
I guess we all look the same
in the rain

We are dying and it’s great. We don’t care. Play on.

“An overworked trainee
Drivers and greedy jerks sending
paper bags of dirty dirt
Out to the poor quarters

“Tears of the whole world follow.

This is the chorus. Between each repetition there is a guitar hook. Crenellated towers of holographic sound, of rock and roll. Cymbals and rhythm reign.

“Diamond signs for hazards.
Diamond signs for hazards.
Diamond signs for hazards.
On the road.

“Austerity measures oversight
Corrosive’s, toxic gas, acid, flames like
Hard drugs and firearms
it’s a bad combination

“The certificate on the wall
Or the dirty backend of a trailer going out to
your next Love Canal
Flip book pictures to avoid

“Tears of the whole world follow

“Diamond signs for hazards.
Diamond signs for hazards.
Diamond signs for hazards.
On the road.
headlights on.

The band plays on. The audience screams.

The Gestalt Collector hums greedily.

“Thank you thank you. I can see that our Go light is blinking which means I can channel, like a spirit medium, I can channel, not the dead but the unborn.

“Through certain streams, with some configuration, we can contact the past as well. They come through as ghosts

“but not tonight. Tonight we are going to the future, to channel the soul survivors of the apocalypse.

More  coming

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