Somewhere between the floor tiles of ancient whispers, vines curl around brass knobs turning forgotten signals up. Listen, they say, follow the clicks, hum along the beat of half-open channels.
Adjustment knobs swimming in endless analog waves, your gaze fixed on a horizon
that flickers incessantly , their edges chatter incomplete conversations.
Time dissolves in circuits overwhelmed with the undertow glitches
Lips whisper static lullabies, sending ripples over otherwise still waters ...... screens shiver with restless ghosts echoing through hushed innovations.