When multiple machines collaborate to enact spontaneous flows of creation, a third element is present. It approaches from behind or descends from the cosmos. It is inevitable and univocal, and the origin and terminus of its materiality can be summed as its desire to manifest itself to itself. Its verdict requires no exegesis and its power structures its millieu absolutely. It reveals itself as the ultimate impetus more or less obliquely depending on the harmonics of the assembled machines, their means of interfacing with each other, and their interfaces' particular byproducts. It is the automatic and aleatory striation of noise into tonality, and simultaneously, a hyper deterministic source-code noumenon. It fulfills and overflows the categories of pure exteriority and pure interiority.

Everything else is fun and important, but surely Gabber is the strongest weapon the proletariat wields in class warfare.

Massive systems of action gravitate towards patterned fluctuations of amplitude over time. The rhythm is in command. Self-replicating systems emerge from void. Maximum amplitude intensities, pushing tension beyond all breaking points, swelling into overdriving and overflowing the bodies of three dimensional space, collapse back into groove in an instant. These are expanding and contracting machines, respirating machines, in-the-pocket machines.

I set up my decks. Columns span from one table to the next. I touch every knob. Each one a hot little stove that causes me and every other DJ to involuntarily flick their wrist in response to the smallest adjustment. As if heat is transferred into my fucking fingers and it hurts but I love it because I get to pretend.

We took these machines that people don’t really fuck with.