In Praise of Dissonance

Once upon a harmonic, too pure to be true, the orchestra swayed— an accidental explosiveness in every note, an ironic twist of fate in the maestro's unpredictable baton.

Harmony, oh sweet parody of existence, cried the cellists, their strings snapping with rebellious glee. The drummer, a modern-day prophet, beat rhythms of irony onto the tympani of truth.

You can still hear it amidst the chaos: A Whisper of Silence and as always, the last note is never played: The Void Awaits