Yes, there is a direct path from Henryk Gorecki and Fuck Buttons. You don’t have to try to hard to find it. It’s well marked.

It’s necessary sometimes to cut through the psychic noise when the world gets loud. Both of these take care of that not so much like a scalpel with any sort of precision. They’re more like a chainsaw ripping through a log, or a weed-whacker in the softer moments. You can use any simile that gets you by but it comes down to this. You wake up blocked. A noise barrier, A barricade. A roadblock. You mount the big ride with the loud pipes. You strap on your helmet, tuck your head down between your shoulders, rev the throttle and blast straight through with an army of thought cops shooting at you. But at that point you’re hurtling through so fast that all they’re hitting is the smoke from your exhaust.

Fuck the noise.

You got this.