I can feel a deep pulse reverberating the liver of our city: masculine and driving.  The stratosphere is splitting — the pulses drift and converge, drift and converge, a steady and flowing vibration. womp womp womp womp, Can something be dense and vapid simultaneously? The skies holding up the clouds, expand the space in between into an unseen field, sewn with a thousand sound seeds. Will they somehow converge into a single stream of consciousness?  Great-Grandfather, I return to you now in quantum time — see me here with you. I ask you, did  you know your self punishment would carry on down your line? I show you how to un-hate myself, close a black hole, and heal us both.