Roaming through the plasticine and alloy hills of a far off place, between the clanking gears and incessant clicking of measurement devices, The Grand Mechanik sits steering his trumpet tank. Brassy blurting sounds shoot forth from the main horn as smaller pipes harmonize with glassy notes. On his back sits a monkey who strums a harpsichord and toes a foot pedal which smashes at a hundred small snares. These two are perpetually in transit, sending out the vibrations that become the technology and machines of the universe, always moving on a path but never changing. Excess gears and screws fly out from a backwards facing horn bell and bounce off the windshield and the Mechanik’s face. He pays them no attention and proceeds along.