We remember it well now, our younger days, when we got the cassette deck for the car. The windows always rolled up, closing us off to the outside world. We moved steadily as things rolled by, always with the cassettes playing at the loudest possible volume. The sounds that emanated were like messages of clarity as we traversed that world around us. These were voices of truth that seemed to provide a sense of direction. At the very least they sounded that way in our minds. It was like entering a circle of like-minded fellows, kneeling and clasping hands, understanding these messages brought forth to our attention. The windows of the car were like the walls of a chamber in which we found ourselves. The sounds from the cassettes completed the thin barrier between ourselves, and the world as we saw it, creaking and swaying around us. As long as we were in these spaces together, things began to make sense. There was a direction to follow as we had found those who would accompany us on these endless journeys. The fear would dissipate, replaced by purpose and assurance. We had found those who would understand us, as we could also understand them.

When the car would stop and the engine would cease, the player would also die away. The tape of the cassette motionless. At that point we would often sit for minutes at a time. Without the sounds there with us, the silence was deafening. We would be alone in our own enclosed world with absolutely nothing. The separation between us, and the world outside the windows, could never be more evident than in those moments. Stationary and in silence, we saw black. The world as it was. Nothing.

- Fur, Hair, Bone and Flesh + Mounds of Teeth, 2009