Recursive Music A Huge Hit Despite Being Unlistenable

Post modern times evoke post modern desperation.  The latest adventure in "time to shock the masses" is as curious as any other dutiful stroke down the leviathan that is the current minute in space-time.  This un-closable jar is called Recursive Music. 

Expression

 



Dimebox Old Time College

Redeveloped by engineers at Dimebox College in Selma last summer, Recursive Music exploits algorithms that were discarded by Harvard scientists in 1954. 

 

The events that led the Ivy League quintessential hog-fiends to "destroy the code and all traces of the authors of the code" is an interesting story itself.  Apparently, university administrators at the time decided to pursue more idealistic goals than the model prescribed by the haughty "we will destroy all of existence" statement that was the motto of the project led by Dr. Hiley Boll. 

Suppression

Boll and his students were crucified senior citizen style and their severed carcasses were paraded through the campus common and left exposed until the flies were so grotesque that a few deans got together and demanded that something be done about the stench. 

A second match of Sulla-style bloodshed was followed with fits and sketchy details, but the main point, relayed by an orderly on duty at the time, is that, unbeknown to most, the code actually survived:   the punch cards that contained the program were buried 80 feet below Tikrit.  Adding to the awful news, they were retrieved by Dr. Arlis Richards of the Dimebox College Research Center in early 2019.

Obsession


Dr. Richards and his desert-combing crew, here dressed as Norman Schwarzkopf at Dimebox Masquerade Ball, Bill Ed's Barn, Halloween 2019.  Much time and effort were expended in creating authentic costumes and masks. 

"When I first heard that the code may have been preserved," said Richards via U-Look-At-Me Thursday, "I nearly choked on an entire bottle of pain medication.  Weeks later, after my recovery, I was determined to find the punch cards, and compile them if only to reopen that door that must never be opened.  I only mildly regret that decision at this time, and that, to me, from my perspective, is exactly, I think... not exactly bad."

Dr. Richards and his team probed the deserts utilizing infrared gamma-space cameras, once used by Martian agents at or near area 51 to detect zombie lines.  It took less than a week to reach the truck full of delicate punch cards over 50 years old.

"If one card had been destroyed," said Richards, combing his scalp with a razor blade, "it would have meant that the entire code would have been worthless.  If that had happened, perhaps the world would have been saved.  Why the geniuses at Harvard didn't burn the code is, well, an unfortunate consequence to all life on earth."



Card number 22

Following orders, or not

Actually, Harvard overlords did order the cards incinerated.  However, Sam Nelson, the orderly on duty at the time, bossed his men to bury it in a tractor-trailer instead.  Being mostly uneducated ruffians, the crew did as commanded without considering the possible ramifications, namely asymptotic and infinite mega-death. 

Donovan

"Now look here, I couldn't let the chance go by, see," remarked Nelson at his home drinking bubble tea, "Have sympathy - that was long before I first heard Donovan."

Mechanism, or, wild about saffron

Recursive music works in a peculiar, yet ironic way.  It replaces the standard variables in the stack with a set of non-readable, exception-exempt proton rings.  A song is placed on top of the heap and allowed to "seep", crossing into the recursive method via bitwise swapping. 

This releases a fairly honest rendition of most songs with the added component being a malicious infinite mind loop, caused as a resonance of the main process, that replays embarrassing moments in history and fundamental hidden truths with vivid and often shocking detail, all without warning.  The listener is often left awareness-exempt and becomes a virtual machine for the beast.

A very detailed infographic about the nature of Recursive Music.  If you cannot understand it,

it may be because the process has already rendered you awareness-exempt.  Seek help.

 

Besides revealing every known conspiracy, listening to Recursive Music reorganizes the brain around wavelengths that are considered "much too good" for the mass taste.  Leaders worry that exposure to these frequencies may or may not cause extensive damage to prosthetic devices, which Recursive Music has been known to vaporize when placed within a one yard radius.  Fortunately for the victim, the prosthetic is replaced with a perfectly healthy limb that is often so much of an improvement that there are reported cases of patients who removed their own limbs to grow fresh ones.
 

How this is not good

"This is certainly not good," said Melany Chanwick of Camway Detail Arms and Limbs, "when you think about it, it is not the best thing that can happen.  Am I concerned?  I'm going to guess the answer is certainly.  Does that make sense?  No... Camway will benefit the most from the news.  We will probably retool for recursive audio systems.  Still, it bears pause."
 

The ever tired heel-scrape Arthur Front, in typical form, is referring to the moment as "the most pitiful proof known to exist that mankind is ever doomed to die for miserable and worthless causes all the days of their chain-leash lives".  This is despite the fact that Front is a devoted fan of Recursive Music.  The Center For Keeping Pets On A String At All Times has widely condemned Front, making him their ass-of-the-mouth in their slanted news-zine Total Order for three straight weeks.

Banner speaks out

"Uh, I don't know about this, lady. Is this a by-product designed by the shadow society for something else, like lawn care?  I don't know who to believe anymore.  Does that make sense?  Let me ask you something, what is your dream outcome?" asked Floyd Banner, who is the great-grandson of the late, great Dr. Bruce Banner of Hulk fame. 

"When it comes to society, civilization is behind by two.  One for being a stingy ass-hat who won't even kill random neighborhoods in occupied lands, and two, for being, having the gall, the gumption, the unkempt street-clothes to come in here, randomly call someone a bitch, then wonder off as if nothing was the matter.  Three, hindsight, given that benefit, it is clear, or should be clear, that, aside from name-calling, responding to these cowards is not becoming.  We certainly should not be calling a function from within itself except in very well defined contexts, under very specific guidelines," a random individual is rumored to have mused in reply to Banner once (and only once).
 

Hope is dope
 

"That the program ever existed, I cannot say for sure, that it will ever be unleashed to its full capacity, I haven't a clue.  I don't have brain capacity beyond four things total.  What I do, I try to hope that before long, and it won't be long, there will be towns full of empty dust and few left to file the police report," said Ty Landers, local of Smack Dab, rubbing his hands together, gathering friction, "I'm expecting it like a southern preacher, relishingly."
 

A Light In The Forest
 

One enlightening consequence of the recursive chain of events is that the number of roads that a man must walk down before you can call him a man is now known to be approximated by the function μ(ρ):

The change in roads in respect to manhood, μ(ρ), is proportional to the integral of the inverse of age, t, raised to the speed of wind, v, from i to ρ, plus a constant, c.  In a bizarre twist, the equation is actually equivalent to its own inverse:

The post modern may very well be a thing of the past, but its unbeating heart is still devouring, via a rampage, the entire soul of mankind.  At what point do we take a pause and just ask, "wait a minute?"  Never?