How we can conceive such magnificent innovations as those instruments used to carve movements of time and space into the ether, and the collective progression of the artists hands that would handle them.
How we’re so close to divine vibrations, that to remain calm before the gradient majesty, of that which we can only feel, would speak to our inability to live.
How we can transcribe those vibrations in luminescent rainbows across soundscapes, through prisms that speak even to the deaf among us, whose understanding of the truth is apparent to even the blindest of man.
How we can channel the dead into the living, and inspire anew, to proliferate subsequent explosions of light, one after another until infinity dims the speckled glow of our night sky – and not before then, though long after our ability to perceive it.
Even in our ascension to, ourselves, fill the darkness, as, ourselves, beacons of light, we’ll sing that song in the void, for none but all to hear, to feel in the deafening silence that would blanket the far reaches of Time, well beyond its own conceptual definition.
One song after another, end on end, crossfading dark to light, light to a dimming finale. And only when we develop an understanding, great enough in scope, to recognize that every 2 minute song is a continuation of every 6 minute song, and every ballad is a piece of a grand operatic symphony, rock or otherwise, next to, not before or after, but simultaneously sequential, with Hip Hop, Punk, Blues, Folk, Classical, Electronic, Tribal, The Cries of Babies Born, The Tears of Mothers Mourn, Euphoric Harmonies of Mutual Orgasms, The Woe of Lost Dogs, The Chime of a Credit Card Declined, The Rage of Protest, The Falsified Truths of Tepid Men, Tied up in Suits and Folly, The Realization Of Defeat, and The Awakening to Our Own True Power,
only then will we begin to realize that We Are Along a Long Song