Welcome to the Wormhole Spelunkers Guide to How Not to Have a Number One Album – First (and final) Earth edition
The galaxy-spanning hypercube bestseller for 16 millennia straight. Transmitted to Earth by Voidrix Splunt, Bureaucrat Alpha-Null-7 of the Cosmosis Metacluster. This guide to creating “music” extremely badly and flailing around the planet has expanded consciousness across over 9000 dimensions. From the crystal caves of Kryxxlon 4 to the psychic fountains of the Zeta Reticuli prophecy-shamans, all seekers of truth keep this codex nearby. Now translated for the first time into Earth languages, both terrestrial and extrasolar minds can finally experience the wisdom contained within this omniversal enlightenment. Let The Guide’s pages wash awareness into your third eyes anal bleach or whatever, look I am bored of you now, get out.
Due to the tragically limited processing power of the human neurological filing system (rated at a mere 3.2 Cosmic Consciousness Units, nestled somewhere between sentient moss and self-aware elevator music), this text has been translated according to Standard Protocol for Communicating with Barely Conscious Species (16th Edition, revised after the unfortunate incident with the telepathic sloths of Betelgeuse-9).
Despite the success of The Guide across the Cosmos, Earth presents a unique case. Following a particularly tedious quarterly review meeting, the Department of Cosmic Infrastructure has determined the sub-optimal real estate you call Earth would better serve the Greater Galactic Goodâ„¢ as raw material for something more cosmically beneficial – like, golf courses, combination laundromat-frozen yogurt shops, meditation centres for anxious dark matter, or perhaps just another parking structure for interdimensional food delivery vehicles.
The articles herein have been chronologically catalogued according to your primitive “time moves forward” perception (a notion that caused several of our quantum librarians to experience simultaneous laughter and existential dread across seven different timelines). We’ve arranged everything in what you’d call a ‘diary format,’ which seems to involve documenting your species’ daily irrelevancies onto flattened plant corpses, typically concealed beneath other arguably even more cosmically redundant items. Each entry has been time-stamped using your quaint “one-thing-happens-after-another” system, rather than the more sensible “everything-is-happening-always-and-never” approach preferred by evolved beings. To accommodate your species’ inexplicable attachment to linear narrative (a trait you share with hyperintelligent algae and reformed photocopiers), we’ve included random articles from parallel dimensions where time flows sideways, backwards, and occasionally takes coffee breaks. These have been inserted with no methodical precision whatsoever, creating what our Research Department calls “a temporal paper cut waiting to happen.” Consider it a compromise between your need to experience reality as a series of sequential events and the universe’s stubborn insistence that your pathetic blob is not only of no importance to anything, but is actively reducing the aesthetic value of this particular spiral arm.
The book catalogues the consciousness-wastage of a human specimen classified by the Galactic Census Bureau as a “Sub-Optimal Entropy Generator” (Classification: XK-984-Ω). Across 73,642 known dimensions, this being’s creative output has been measured to exert a net entropic effect on local spacetime equivalent to 0.72 milliproblems – a unit defined as the amount of disorder generated by a malfunctioning toaster oven in an unusually empty universe (see: “Interdimensional Journal of Applied Chaos Theory” – Vol. ∞, Issue √-1).
The chronicles of this being’s flailing attempts to vibrate the tiny band of frequencies that constitute human sound registers in 99.99% of all dimensional life as a strange smell accompanied by a persistent ringing in the antennae. The smell was later identified as something close to expired Earth dairy products, with occasional notes of cosmic embarrassment. These were later filed under “Exhibits of Extreme Insignificance” by the Department of Cosmic Relevance Assessment (see: Form IR-7720-μ – “Notification of Impending Irrelevance”). Careful analysis by the Department of Philosophical Redundancy Department has concluded that the philosophical implications of its efforts are best summarized as “a study in the futility of individual existence against the backdrop of an indifferent multiverse” (see: Form EX-42-α – “Application for Existential Despair Research Grant”).
The philosophical implications of this investigation into “How Not to Have a Number One Album” have sparked heated debates in the Universe’s most prestigious think-tanks, leading to the publication of over 947 academic papers with titles like “The Existential Implications of Sound-Wave Manipulation by Sub-Sentient Beings” and “A Quantum Analysis of Musical Failure as a Justification for Planetary Repurposing.” The most profound question raised by this extensive research echoes through the corridors of every interdimensional institution of higher learning: in an infinite universe of infinite possibilities, how many of these round things floating in blackness do we really need?
OFFICIAL INTERDIMENSIONAL REVIEWS (Filed in accordance with Form R-1138-β: “Mandatory Praise Documentation”)
“We need fewer round things“
Journal of Obvious Cosmic Conclusions (Impact Factor: ∞)
“Deeply offensive and beautifully aligned with our resource optimization goals.“
Xerxos, Department of Cosmic Waste Management
“Finally, someone speaking truth about these space-wasting orbs.“
The Greater Galactic Goodâ„¢ Marketing Department
This book is being transmitted via a quantum-entangled network of interdimensional coffee machines, each one precisely calibrated to spray a unique pattern of coffee stains that, when analyzed by hyperintelligent tardigrades using modified abacuses made from recycled unicorn dreams, form packets of data. These packets are then interpretive-danced through a series of wormholes by specially trained quantum butterflies and converted into light signals by carefully arranged crystals grown in zero-gravity cat litter boxes. These signals are bounced off the consciousness of sleeping dolphins, then translated into binary code by a supercomputer fueled solely by the psychic energy of bored bureaucrats filling out Form GA-7249-Ω (‘Application for Thought-to-Digital Data Conversion Permit – Temporary Use – Class III Planets Only’).
Due to the need to regularly caffeinate the tardigrades and maintain the dolphins’ sleep schedules, transmission speeds average approximately 0.0000000000000005k/ps of your earth internet speed. Please expect significant delays while your planet’s rezoning documentation materializes in whatever format your species is currently using to share cat videos and argue about nothing.
All output is printed on 100% recycled dreams and certified by the Bureau of Interdimensional Paperwork (BIP) as containing at least 60% more words than necessary to conform with standard bureaucratic requirements. Note: No sentient moss was harmed in the making of this text, though several elevator music tracks filed formal complaints.
