Ever sat near the radio at 3 AM, just before the sleep takes hold of reason? Some mornings you wake with names, dates, faces you can't recall. They cover your mind like a thin veil — or maybe it's ancient itself... You listen again this morning. The static hums.
*fzzzt* The stories fold over themselves... softly, innocently... like a child's gaze upon the shadowy lands of sleep.
Allow me to guide you like those old dials did once, to the empty frequencies that talk back. There are markers here. Like footprints on sand that have hardened into stone.
*ztztztz* The truth curls within the shards... give way to curiosity and the letters rearrange before your very eyes.
We've woven history into these crackles, dear listener, like vinyl imbibes its song. It's got a pulse, rhythmic — akin to heart tides. Heart cycles too, I suppose. Every morning a page turned, every wave a line penned down in the chronicles of what might've been and what is to come.
Together, we let unbroken waves guide us. Download timepieces to your mind's vinyl platter, still the noise with acknowledgment of its truth.