spclnch

Basicnoise – Echoes From Iconia | SPCLNCHBLACK02

SPCLNCH-BLACK continues: a series where minimalism becomes message, and sound drifts between the real and the imagined. Chapter two — “Echoes From Iconia” by Basicnoise. Shifting time layers, slow pulses, and distant patterns with no clear origin. The signal is a trace of something that was here — or still is. You listen. Something listens back. . Logbook. Exploration mission. Day 1. The planet is dead. An anomaly is detected — the time flow is slightly distorted. Day 2. Landed in the central crater. The clocks of our suits show different times from the clocks on the ship. The gap is increasing. Day 4. Logs contain records of events that never happened. A report of tomorrow’s evacuation appeared in the system. No one wrote it. Day 5. We found footprints leading from the landing site to the crater, identical to ours. The ship log was discovered nearby. Final entry: “Do not enter the crater.” Log transmission terminated. The crew did not reestablish contact.

Alexander Bogdanov – Traffic | SL84

Somewhere in the mobile lab… “As soon as the instructions have arrived, we will open the portal.” “Uploading the memory… and done!” Everything was going according to plan. Two figures in matte suits stood by the station where a smart bracelet was secured. Its flickering indicator showed that the synchronisation and data reading were in progress. The lines from the Protocol lit up on the holographic panel, along with Spacelunch’s face and the message: “Cloning completed successfully. Compatibility confirmed. Double awaiting command.” The professor’s copy looked more convincing than the original. The only thing left was to activate the teleport via a special procedure and send the double to Chinatown, for which the coordinates were preloaded. For millennia, the best minds of the Aerospace Corporation had built their reputation on cutting-edge tech. But at what cost? The Cybernetics Department had long mastered the art of acquiring — by any means necessary — external breakthroughs and weaving them into their own algorithms. This wasn’t just about innovation anymore. It was a confrontation. And its final result would be a delicacy for any of the Minimal Antagonist’s protégés.

spclnch podcast #93 / Asphalt Layer

They simply called it “The Laboratory.” There were no windows — only the hum of life-support systems and aquariums filled with lifeforms that defied classification. On evenings like this, Spacelunch would tune the setup, Cat would yank out unnecessary cables with his tail, and everything would freeze in anticipation of the signal. A deep, steady mix filled the space, seeping into reservoirs, consoles, and whispering sensors. Something flared, something trembled — as if the environment itself was trying to synchronize with the rhythm. Later, a new chapter would appear in the Professor’s log: “Sample 93.” @asphalt_layer

DP-6 – Distant Thunder | SL83

The casino, tucked away in an old freight terminal, had no name on the facade. Locals simply called it “The Hum” — a place where you could lose your money, and maybe even your mind. The air was thick with tobacco smoke and cheap perfume, and the ceiling sank into a pulsing dim light. Spacelunch passed a row of slot machines, where regulars pressed the buttons like condemned souls, and stopped at the roulette table. Fraudlin, a scrawny gambling addict with a blank expression, was sucking the last puff out of a cigarette butt as if no one else existed. Suddenly, a figure in a long coat appeared beside him. — You only show up when things get tough. — Fair. Today I need your ears. — Heard about Cat. Word is, the bracelet has changed hands — more than once. And not just the bracelet. Some data on your whereabouts, too. — Any idea who’s behind it? Fraudlin flicked the ash, watching the roulette pill slide into a black slot. — Rumour has it the trail runs through the old customs department. A lot of middlemen down there are working under the Corporation’s wing. Too neat to be a coincidence. — You think Cat set me up? — Sometimes it’s easier to blame the closest one than to admit you got outplayed. Silence fell, full of second-guesses and afterthoughts. Spacelunch reached into his coat and tossed a credit chip onto the pile of chips. — Let me know if anything new comes up. — Don’t worry. The Hum hears everything. Keep my channel open.

Upwellings – Magnetic Steps w/ Fingers In The Noise Remix | SPCLNCH13

The landscapes of Orlan 19 resembled the dream of a mad cartographer: cliffs were floating above the surface, horizons were bending and vanishing into infinity, and energy vortices were flaring up beneath their feet in psychedelic patterns. The familiar laws of physics didn’t apply here — gravity shifted chaotically, and time flew with unpredictable intensity. As Spacelunch, absorbed in thought, stroked the ground which distorted like a mirage under his touch, Cat’s grumbling echoed simultaneously from the past and future: — Doc, don’t you think we’re just walking in circles? — No wonder. That’s how inverse modelling works. Every action we take reshapes the surrounding space. — Can you explain it in simpler terms? There’s only one genius here. — Ever heard of the Philadelphia Experiment? — Of course! You know how much I love sushi rolls! — Well, I set myself up for this predicament… Back in my university days, we experimented with magnetic fields trying to program them by thought. You get where I’m going, don’t you? The planet is reacting to our intentions. So, focus on visualizing the portal. The confusion on Cat’s face gave way to a mask of detachment. Clusters of matter began to tremble pulling the threads of reality to their breaking point before finally forming a vortex. Having devoured as much as it could, the vortex snapped shut with a loud pop and dissolved in a blinding flash. As the scene began to take shape, silhouettes emerged under the soft glow of a desk lamp, evoking an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. A worn desk and a small bed stood by the wall adorned with faded photographs, while the floor let out a gentle creak underfoot. The clearer the interior came to be, the more paralyzing the realization, and the more elusive the explanation for what had happened became. — Holy…! Cat, are we looking at the same thing? — Yeah, but… This can’t be real. Spacelunch slowly approached the window and froze still. A single thought raced through his mind: “The only force strong enough to pull me this far… was love.”