The sound echoes a demolition. It fuses the trailing delay of both: 1. industrial avalanche - bricks of concrete hail, crumbling what used to be... 2. a melody hummed when remembering a song you loved...
This interference dances like the ocean. Pummeling toward your labyrinth canal, you, the shore; a pocket to catch a pool ball, thundering for those who point their sticks at you, evermore.
The flesh tightened drum is a conduit for the freak-when-see's to enter-fear-hence along the spiraled shell of your mind, as the electricity statics along each path's hare...
You take record of this, a commotion from the hallway... in a pause of where you are- ahead of where you came, right before where you are going.
Abstraction will cause authoritarian backlash. To create is an-arc(h{a})-ist. Seeing images in clouds is then, a radical act- in the face of all that. Try to hear whispers from the machine.
all of it will happen
it was just a dream.