to repeat is to recollect

Dub sound carves cathedrals from absence. If bass is architecture, delay is archaeology—each echoed ghost more alive than the living body. The repetition, degraded and truth-soaked, confesses information from the past.

Dub sound hears through you, finding the hollow spaces in your corpse, filling them with pressure until breath becomes a rhythm. Space vibrates at frequencies below thought, rewiring the spine's alignment, making the skeleton an antenna.

Delay is repetition, decomposed. Each iteration sheds coherence, approaches the static beneath all signal. The sound desk accelerates entropy. Turn the echo up until it forgets what was echoing. Become the autonomous ghost. Become the thing itself.

Reverb is philosophy. All sound exists simultaneously everywhere always. We can only choose which moments to examine. Dub sound removes all choice and the past bleeds into present. The present bleeds into future tense, collapsing into the eternal suspended now.

Dub sound weaponises gaps and makes the absence tactile. A body knows before the mind processes. The space where the snare should hit but don't—that's where meaning lives, suspended in vibration, bypassing cognition, communicating directly with the inner ear, the inner eye, the inner self, the inner I.

Dub sound is negative space given permission to speak.