To drive while under the influence. Running through your veins. A compromised pulse. Waved. Inputted. Signal fault. Inebriation.

Nothing heard but the... it breaks the flow. It creates its own. Ownership. They tell you that, looking deep into the spyglass and picking apart the bits that make it up. They tell you that it is there to be taken. One gulp. One long swig. Through two holes born with the start of the world as you know it. Two holes that open the experience. The first experience. Through the skin of another. The feint light of the world not yet perceived. The sound.

The drunk sound. Surrounded by it. Swimming in it. Under its influence, near fatal. The last thing that will matter.

Even when it was in jeopardy. Spelled correctly first time. Phonetic. Diction. Correctly uttered and with fluency. Fluent sound.

It invades.

And the worst that can happen is that you become aware of the quality. And you become aware of the patterns that up to that point were nothing but checkpoints along a pure tangent through time. But curve creates a loop... and the set is made. The heart broken. The sound left behind.

A near fatal loop. Escaped through sacrifice. Decide to bring that out.

I remember a sudden conversation. Decided on but arrived at by chance, with another human at a table in the usual.

A conversation about the patterns. And you have questioned it ever since.

And bring the bigger glasses. Drink it down. And let fly. And give it a swig. Crash it. Regret nothing.