Syllabic leaks in the circus drain, turning rightly to tight and left lost and losing listeners to the volumes spoken in the simple echos marry morphing morphemes chain-link phoneme, a ringing wagging chasing its tail, rounding the rosy sinuous fluency spoken before word warped into blades of black magic.
Listen to the state of the sound. Sepia city signature dismal label Los Angeles, profoundly deaf and numb and plastic pillows billow in the atmosphere, over the eyes and ears and hearts of listeners chasing a diluted vision for fulfillment.
Sounds are under water, sounds are an undercurrent of sub-conscious grenades. Manipulation of epic defense, mankind the great storyteller, mankind the wrangler of rhetoric, mankind who creates noise grinding gears grinding gears postulating answers sans questioning the question the quest is lost tossed to the wind, where are we now?
Found in a familiar place, afraid of being lost, clinging to comfort in fear of adventure, coating the lush oasis of land with grey hard cold cement to tentative to march, together, to tentative to step into unknown territory without a finger pointed to the institution who owns the deeds.
Where is truth now? What worth remains in the word? Granular metallic and granite, emerald and limestone gems founded in the meaning of sound, a sing-song system of semantic symbolism: would you recognize if you heard?
One universal language sounds like sound sounds like sound sounds like sound: would you recognize if you heard? One universal language resounds within us, what are the vibrations of consciousness if not sound, would you realize your reflection if it passed through you invisible and true?
Break form, allow and follow rhythm within and what could be is the way is intuitive, the internal compass rose knows and glows like love in warm light like a soliloquy within and between one and one and zero sums one in forever, a recycling sound.
What’s in a word?
What’s in a Sound?
The conscience realization of reverberation.