Inside a virtual piano belly, among (re)constructed strings and mechanical parts, crazied sounds in fragments and mechanical memoirs chips
[...rugged and raw situations, and having accepted them as part of your home ground, then some spark of sympathy or compassion could take place...]
there, surfaces and strings are played by white noise, plectra and hammers of any materials, fingers, real piano samples, modulated sounds and harmonic clots
[...you are not in a hurry to leave such a place immediately...]
on illusion that all is real, outside, maybe the player is playing a Skrjabin Etude, on white and black keys, and here, also the rustling noise take shape and sing around as a far choir
[...you would like to face the facts, realities of that particular world...]
but the laser jam, the syncro crash and these walls of nickel and copper seem implode; a doubt of reality creep like a vacuum
[...the vacuum that manifest its effective existence with the perpetual rustle of lightning apparitions of all the possibles, of wich it is infinite reservoir...]