It was winter.
I was living at my mom’s house in those days, out in the cornfields of Ohio. My bedroom was positioned so that rain would often beat directly against my window.
It was raining.
The rain was making such a pleasant sound, I decided I’d set my little voice recorder that I record music with next to the window.
But immediately after this, it felt like I should play some music. I had been very interested in lowercase music at the time, and I thought the rain and the sounds of me walking around and flipping switches would be interesting to hear. But as the moments passed, I was inspired to actually turn on an amp and play some guitar.
After a bit of playing around with pedals and my guitar, I kept the recording running while I did some cleaning up and sitting around.
This result was a little strange, but included vast swaths of very quiet, subtle sounds.
This is when things got weird.
In my editing software, I kept amplifying the quiet parts until what had been near silence was now quite loud. And all sorts of strange sounds emerged. Like the ghosts of robotic goblins or something. I was transfixed by this strangeness.
For song titles and the album name, I opened up a text-editor and just started randomly hitting keys. I looked for things which resembled words in the mess, and the final result was Oiloid Syrup Double Gem.
Part eight of Nine Months of Non-Fiction.