The Revelation Tapes by Stefan Mohamed unfolds as a salvaged transmission: a film-show remastered from corroded cassettes, screened in the ruins of a drowned future, its overture barked by a game-show host of the apocalypse. Across seven acts a loose band of kids persevere through ecological collapse, blag their way into a nightclub at the end of the world, and meet God at the end of a metaphorical bullet. Mohamed braids manic comedy with grief, moving from prose tirade to scattered concrete text to group-chat syntax as he works through parasocial fixation, the remix of memory and self, and the wreckage of the overexamined mind. Mohamed's poetry loops back on itself like the river that opens and closes it, finding tenderness inside the noise.