My Cat is an Alien
Through the Reflex of the Rain

Free Porcupine Society
2004
B



e regret to interrupt your daily information consumption, but terrible news has come over the wire. Cancel the Winter Olympics—Turin, Italy is no more. I repeat, the glorious Italian city of Turin, a beacon of beauty and culture, has been invaded and reduced to ruin by two cosmic beings calling themselves My Cat is an Alien.

According to a sound document recovered from the city, the assault began in a quiet industrial sector. The gentle hum of a normal working day was heard, punctuated by the healthy rumble of automobiles happily starting their working day. It was a pleasant, God-fearing city, not unlike those of our glorious Midwest, making the carnage to come all the more chilling.

Death was presaged by the alien’s horrible radio transmission. A mechanical drone descended on the unsuspecting citizens, pulsing like a hummingbird’s heart. It is unclear what this noise represented (Coded alien language? An alarm? A radar scrambler?), but we do know this: it lasts the duration of the thirty-nine minute recording, alternately annoying and hypnotizing all those who hear it. Scientists at NASA are working feverishly to decipher its meaning, but unfortunately each listening is revealing different aspects.

According to the recording, the people of Turin bravely resisted the overpowering sound for a while. This reporter chokes up when he hears the city in the background, struggling to act normally. But they were no match for what appeared to be mutant space birds. They soon surrounded the city, squawking eerily from every direction. For a short time, an unsettling quiet reigned over the city as the birds presumably awaited instruction. The city sounded almost normal, except for the ringing of emergency church bells and the occasional cry from the hideous creatures.

And then nothing. No one knows exactly how, but ten minutes into the recording, the city quietly disappears, replaced by the psychedelic meandering of an acoustic guitar. These monsters—they brought their degenerate hippie music with them to celebrate the destruction of the city!

The city was soon ravaged, an electrical storm, resembling the cymbal work of nefarious villains Supersilent, washing over the smoking ruins. Percussion clattered madly for five minutes, and one shudders to imagine the awful vista: a dark sky blistered by unending lightning.

Afterwards the unholy victors celebrated with a dark mass initiated by an unsteady foghorn drone. The birds, bells, and alien guitar gods danced on the back of the dead city, coming into and out of the mix as they please, the sounds building urgently in the recording’s last ten minutes, approaching a crescendo that never quite breaks. Finally, they seem to have withdraw to the galactic swamp from which they arose.

Aerial photos are now confirming the audio’s horrible details and it is with heavy heart that I call on you, Mr. and Mrs. America. Only you can prevent a similar catastrophe in the heartland. This is what we know about My Cat is an Alien:
1) They were nice boys, brothers, who were drawn too deep into the dark depths of improvised and psychedelic music.
2) They strike in one take. There will be no second chances, people!
3) They’ve collaborated with known sociopaths Thuja, Thurston Moore, and Jim O’Rourke in the past.
If you hear them in your area, call your local police immediately. Hesitate and it may be too late. The mere sound of their wreckage may fry your brain.



Reviewed by: Bryan Berge

Reviewed on: 2005-01-19

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