A collapsed car on the highway with its headlights still beaming begins to be visible in your path. You slow down as you approach the jutted frame, oozing smoke from underneath its hood. You stop and get out. You look around.
You’re in the middle of nowhere, and the car is empty, but the radio is still on. Cuts of static and pings and clinks from the engine are all that’s audible. The sounds seems ordinary in their chaos at first, but a pattern soon develops, almost as if the dying rumbles are synchronized with the black fumes lifting upwards. You stand and watch the car, listening to its innards with a quite detachment.
After finally sitting down to fully witness, listen and think, the radio eventually dies. The smoke’s long since stopped. The sun is setting and the temperature is dropping. You stand up, to relieve your anxieties about location and proximity, and walk back to your car. You grab a pen and some paper, and you begin to write down the licence plate number, the nearest mile marker, and the serial of the wrecked vessel. But the serial is impossible to read. It’s been scratched out many times over. All that’s visible, underneath the scored identification plate, deeply etched in the hull of the vehicle, is “Moulttrigger”.
[Visit full site to view media]Sature by Moulttrigger
• Moulttrigger: https://moulttrigger.bandcamp.com
• 5CM Recordings: https://5cmrecordings.bandcamp.com