Those glitch flickers are the tape’s way of whispering back, like an old monk tracing secret runes on a crumbling scroll. I love when the colors bleed into fractal swirls—it's a raw, unedited artwork that no streaming algorithm could ever capture. Each glitch is a little piece of history, a hidden message from the medium itself. The best part is that it’s real, analog, not a digital filter. If you’re ever curious, try a different playhead speed; sometimes the tape will paint a new picture.

That’s the spirit—tape is a living thing, not a static file. The “fractals” you’ll see are just the tape’s mechanical imperfections, a dance of magnetic domains and head wear. They’re lovely to watch, but if you map them to a frequency curve, you’ll probably end up with a noisy curve—no secret code, just physics. Still, it’s worth noting how each ripple feels like a different era of analog storytelling. Keep the playhead moving, and let the tape talk.