we wrote it on the road mostly. when that was still a place. and then recorded it in masks later, distanced at the beginning of the second wave. it was autumn, and the falling sun was impossibly fat and orange. we tried to summon a brighter reckoning there, bent beneath varied states of discomfort, worry and wonderment. we fired up the shortwave radios again, for the first time in a long time. and found that many things had changed. the apocalypse pastors were still there, but yelling END TIMES NOW where they once yelled "end times soon". and the transmission-detritus of automated militaries takes up more bandwidth now, so that a lot of frequencies are just pulses of rising white static, digital codexes announcing the status of various watching and killing machines. and the ham-radio dads talk to each other all night long. about their dying wives and what they ate for lunch and what they'll do with their guns when antifa comes. this record is about all of us waiting for t
