It all starts with Merzbow. It’s always only about Merzbow, the beast. The animal. Merzbow is the noise creature who lurked through my childhood fevers, made me want to drop things on the ground on the cement in the basement and record the sound of things dropping: pitch shift, delay, distort, reverberate. I tried to channel Merzbow by letting my bass guitar rumble and squeal in front of the bass amp, watch the strings jiggle, feel the crackle mount and churn. Audio experiments. Skin membranes. Later, it was Merzbow coming through my audio processing software, urging me to layer dirt and layer grime, loop upon horrifying loop. The assemblage of sines imploding. An escalation. A tunnel where we can burrow to the core. To noise. Life of noise. On stage, it was always Merzbow and the intense moment of noise he creates with a turn of the knob–the worlds he crumbles, jagged and pure. It was me in my Merzbow T-shirt. I walked around high school with that secret on my chest just hoping some of his sludgy wisdom would sink into my blood, turn liquid to noise. Merzbow was horror. Merzbow was the sound of light colliding and voices from beyond that spoke garbled words to dirty ears. And nothing has changed. Everything and all in electric transfiguration.