Bass Up High

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.

 

--Steve Kilian

Regarding the Dawn of Language and thus the Dawn of History as a Continuous Narrative of Events, Places, People, and Things

Mr. Bingles