From the distant party of MCLF:

One hand reaches out and the world opens up. We’re not bound by the wires, we’re bound up in the silent air, our words tender in the the precious dirt and the greens emerging. These are our bodies. We’re dancing.

A mutant weirdo crew holding together this mass of circuits and wires, deep trouble, pulsing and smoking hot where things cross, where the solder wears thin. Thousands of tendrils drift over us, around us, pulling us apart and back together again: different, better.