Some
left the comfort and warmth of their stars and ventured out onto the
pale strands that link the constellations. Dwelling out there they
forgot their origins, and gradually made the necessary modifications to
their bodies so that they could survive the interstellar chill. In so
doing they merged with the filaments on which they dwelled, growing in
length while decreasing in corporeality, so that to later generations of
observers it appeared as if those lines were never there at all. They
attributed accounts of the lines to the fanciful imaginations of their
ancestors.
But
these great strings exist. And, as the sky wheels about in its aching
progression, they quiver and resonate in wavelengths measured in parsecs
– not the tinny music of the spheres, but a huge thrumming bass solo
that sunders black holes and births quasars with its rhythms.
BARROOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM HOOOOOOOOOUUUUMMMMMMMMMMMM BARRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM.
![http://image.spreadshirt.com/image-server/v1/compositions/105824723/views/1,width=280,height=280,appearanceId=2.png/space-bass-in-heaven-bootsy-collins_design.png](http://image.spreadshirt.com/image-server/v1/compositions/105824723/views/1,width=280,height=280,appearanceId=2.png/space-bass-in-heaven-bootsy-collins_design.png)
--Steve Kilian