*50 hand-numbered copies* The voice from the box said, "What if the ultimate border situation between garbage and art is actually laughter? (...) The literal yoga of excrement (排泄物的瑜伽), a coprolitic essay on how we, as listeners, encounter 'objects of fear,' process them, and transform them into sound. It's 石头 in our ears."

I said, "But 'for our purposes,' it seems to me that 'just a lonely voice' is needed."

Onufr Gaptev said, "For those who take a vow of silence, any word is shit compared to the name of God, and they remain silent, avoiding soiling their mouth with this shit. However, this contemplative silence, if it intensifies, inevitably breaks down. It reveals that the unspeakable name of God is precisely that: shit. And this is just the beginning. Shit was needed for the emergence of man. Thus, God humiliated Himself in His secret name. It is lower than incarnation, lower and more shameful than anything else. There is nothing beyond this to elevate. And so, man rises, stands up — thanks to God."

Someone said, "There's this evil engineer who invents 車 whose purpose is to suffer. Like that fucking synthesizer made from cats that scream in pain when a musician presses the keys, but this 車 is automatic and extremely durable. And civilizations change, they die out, but the 車 keeps suffering. Eventually, the sun goes out, planets cool down, but the 車 keeps flying in space and suffering. And who the hell knows how much longer it will fly and suffer. And who the hell knows if anyone will learn about its torment, and if they do, will they understand that what this 車 produces is agony?"

She said, "The relentless pursuit of infinite sonic experience in 'Can Stones..?' reminds me of Deleuze's words: 'We need to believe in the world we're becoming.'"

Epitemei said, "That's when I felt like I needed to do something. It was a pleasant idea, it made me very happy, but when I stood up, I realized that I did it all in vain because I didn't feel anything anymore. Then, when someone put their hand on my shoulder, I thought it was my mother, and I opened my eyes. It was a doctor, and he said, 'Here's a pill for you' — and gave me a pill. And then I realized that I was still having a convulsion — what I was trying with my hands — I know, not with my hands — what, what? — to touch."

Trash bin and its invariant production 0-0