Catwyrms
ISSUE #64
Meow.
1975 has officially been sold as the year of the shark and the Saturday Night. These two things were the ones to last. As much as it might make you cringe to say, it’s undeniable: I’m a Brody sun, a Quint moon, a goddamn Hooper rising. A Gilda sun, a Conan moon, a Chevy… agh, you know what, fuck it.
The fountains at the Bellagio Casino are made up of spouts that dance to certain songs at each quarter of the hour (for those who didn’t already know). Over my four summers here, I have spent many 101º nights watching them, compiling a list of all the songs they play.
I feel so hot. Hasn't it been so hot, sometimes? There is a heat outside that makes me feel—bad. The heat subsides, the heat returns. The heat returns, the heat returns. And when it returns? The heat—it, the heat. It the heat—goes so over the line.
From the minute we started making these little beep boxes, we’ve been writing symphonies for them, and also inspired by them. Vaporwave, chiptune, chillwave, chop house (made up)—whatever you call it, the genre’s been blossoming. Here’s what we got as a sampler.