In the rhythm with the pitter and the patter of beat, stop, listen, ring deep in the concavity’s fleet.light.foot.step.off.the.path.

When you listen to the rhythm of the concavity’s heart, let the resonating perturbations give you a start.to.vibrant.night.once.dark.

Scintillating tripletating vespers and marks, booming rhythms of the handed strummers primordial art.from.which.dust.rose —

One hand comes crashing down from the heavens unimaginably high above the turbid skin. Opaque film resounds as hand rebounds and the life of the wave erupts into the auditory sphere. Arise, we weak, from the heart of the cave, as the cataclysmic sonic crescendo raises us to paradise.

We, before, were not worthy, but absolution comes unexpectedly. The next hand, now, drives the skin to frenzy, frothing oscillations ripping the tranquility of the inner sanctum. What were we before, trapped in the cavern, unlit and cold? Without souls.

Rapid in succession and with a narrow structured beat, the skin forces through us its artisanal heat. Hand one and hand two and hand one.one and two, patterns in the syncopated letters emerge. Power in the form, power in the sound, power in the unbounded physicality of contact.

Do you hear? Do you feel? Do I? Do I?

This one Curves, and this one stays Linear. Deconstruct what is heard, at least so we attempt, from that subaltern cave. Can you hear it? No, only feel, there is insufficient distance to “hear”. Here, not hear, we heroes hereby learned. For we live in the heart of the drum, and we will never be heard.

Fingers flying emotional rewilding the eyes absorb the light around and see the sun, victory over the sun, as workers’ toil daily ends thrown into the dazzling ether to reclaim life and awe

Gleaming insight flickers threateningly. Lyrics limericks laggardly alight. Tap on the keys, sweet keys, fair keys, I dreamt that once I found the sequence true of numbers blue and thenceforth twitched said keys in appropriate syzygys and escaped! Escaped!

Within the havoc lies a labyrinth the innards of which we abhor, yet trapped can only see more, enshackled with cackles of delirious glee by the wrought-iron dreadnoughtic machinery of that so bitter enemy, daily life

Flicker ever grimly dead somnambulant keys, animated anew despite thy dread of mortal mysteries. Enslaved though you are to my yet-mournful ends, remain hopeful and buoyant to trick us with glimpses of auditory liberation

THE AUDITORY FORM of the keyboard has been suspected by many erudite phenomenologers to correspond under sufficient transformations (Fourier, Artin, the like) to the underlying waveforms which governs the inner workings of the human psyche, meaning, that is to say, that a sufficiently adept manipulator of the postreligious sonic mechanism could access a state of ego death allowing for total psychological reprogramming, this being, it is conjectured, the only way known yet to our species (aside from self-immolation and total revolution) to overcome alienation…

And when he had opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven for the space of half an hour…

and then the fury of god came careening down through the ozone layer channeled through the creaky jittery joints comprising my skeleton electrified with the fear of death and knowledge of birth betwixt with found my carpal pads in a state of righteous exuberance

believing with each impact and strike and blow and salvaged dissonance in new possibilities of post-exilic freedom, emancipation, true democracy

each key spattered with inquisitive eyes staring up at who would be so bold to conduct the symphony of such distinguished members each of rich voice and good omen

Lost seeker of forgotten futures, seeking among the rippled keys the key that will lead me out of the madness.