…first transmissions from the remote outposts… tempestuous skies and electrical storms… rattling of the shutters… morse code tone poems and the rusted guts of a tortured two-track… during the day the sun baked the paint of the quonset, in the night the crescent moon shone over an icy, frozen steppe… tape samples and dissonant oscillations collected… the shadows move imperceptibly across the landmass at dawn and dusk… crackling of the radio tower cables in the dust-storms…
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