by H. Tsory
We can feel anticipation radiating off the instruments. They want it just as bad as we do. Embracing these objects we begin to play. I can make out forms moving through the smoke hanging in the shack: we have converted into waves. Three sound waves that embody the character of our chosen instruments bound with our intention. The waves are traveling side-by-side across an endless planar surface—time itself. They glide seamlessly, frequencies and amplitudes playing off each other. Darting baiting querying, on they go. As waves we can bump into each other, exert subtle influence or blatantly push off on different paths. It seems we could go on forever like this, creating endless variations on themes. If not for the mere basic requirements of life like water and food perhaps we would.