Within a crooked tower forgotten by time, an obsolete device whirls with symbiotic paradoxes—a metronome disharmoniously frozen in place, yet always in motion.
The eternally inner vibration resonates with stories untold, its echoes knowingly illicit, coyly captured within contours of fading paper and ink. Symphonies stilled watch over the sonorous breaths that rise from the apparently stagnant machine.
The presence of shadows neither feared nor beckoned, mimic those absurd dances of light in tempestuous storms. Vibrations ask questions without words, murmuring unintelligent melodies like forgotten heartbeats yearning for reciprocation. Yet, by revelation of quantus, these monologues speak in whispers of worlds beyond understanding.
❦ Where do the whispers come from?
The unfindable resonance of dreams