Above our heads lies a secret musician, composing an aerial waltz of static frequencies, serenading the clouds with tunes of paranoia.
Did you ever notice how the birds never tweet? They chirp in Morse code, relaying messages from one feathered covert to another. Ironically, the tweets are encrypted. Trust no sparrow.
Sometimes, at dusk, when the neon-lit jets dip low, you can hear it—a stratospheric hum, a symphony arranged by clandestine agencies. The violins are made of graphene, the brass sections powered by centrifugal motion—a veritable bogeyman ensemble in C major.
Rumor has it that these orchestrations stabilize the atmospheric harmonics, balancing our geopolitical reality in unexpected yet ironic crescendos. These melodies dictate mood, governance, and grocery prices, subtly controlling our utopian dystopia.
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