Denaturing proteins swirl in invisible but no less tactile thermodynamic plume as Wednesday’s leftovers warm to larvae attractant. Skirmisher backs into a corner, smash glass bong on table, and is armed with one of the bigger shards. This is a feral and inevitable fight wrought via equal parts blast beat and sludge. Although no real threat on its own, there are nonetheless signals which worry the counter-revolutionary. Here, just like the CIA’s funding of the Mujahideen, Centrelink has sowed and facilitated a foe. By proxy, stingers were shot from horseback and now there is an active two-bass noise-punk powerviolence band in QLD. Sir, a second bass guitar has hit the mixing desk. Bitta noise fuckery fills the space, Skirmisher don’t deconstruct so much as pick the scabs, happy to growl and snarl at all those who happen to wander into the humidity-induced temperature autonomous zone.