Remember that Brian Aldiss novel where it rained LSD? I'm not referring to a form of "acid rain". A Gary Panter guitar line is like one-half of a single rain drop from that novel. Be glad your exposed body is not a sponge, because you would be drying off for 10,000 years, uniquely immobile. The legs of word-person Byron Coley are thick, almost Rollins-esque. No tattoos that are known to the proletariat, either. The words seem to start in those luxurious trunks, receiving ill-advised nutrition in an search for expulsion that pre-dates void-wary lungs. Once announced, the words attempt to relate astro midgets to a pre-millennium tension (and other desert-corrupted metadata). The Pilgrim references seem especially prismatic. Infinity? It's a crapshoot. You'll remember them better than you heard them, especially after a bloody nose. Drummer Ted Lee completes the circle with a beard, goggles and no yoga-influence. Inscrutable flat-pound, hermetically sealed.