[ I CAN HEAR MYSELF FROM THE INTERCOM THOUGH I DO NOT SPEAK ] Upward spirals, rockets, what I imagine would happen if you rode upon a beam of light from a torch shone up into the night sky one time during a childhood trip from which I remember nothing besides this torch, the fascination with light itself– I’m sorry, I’m not making much sense. It’s just this song. I think there’s something wrong with it. Or no, not wrong, no, I’m confused, it’s–

[ ALL OF US CAN HEAR IT ] See, it’s doing something. You’re listening to it, you’re listening to it, right? That alone won’t make you get it. Won’t make you get what’s happening, I might be poisoned(? No I’m not), and I’m awestruck in a way too far gone, awestruck in a direction unable to be processed. There’s the MELODY, right? You can hear it? But it’s got variations too. It can vary in many many different ways. There can be so many different versions if you compress the audio (the whole or just parts) or if you just make specific frequencies of the sound louder or quieter. There’s so many possibilities, there’s so many because that’s just in the nature of sound and that would ALL BE FINE AND GOOD but there’s ALL of it, it’s ALL OF IT currently playing in my head.

[ NO. NO. ] It’s the soundtrack to me contracting into a point in the middle like a reverse Big Bang as the whole universe collapses in on itself, I can’t stop all of it RACING INTO MY HEAD– or out of my head? It’s being produced SOMEWHERE in my head, somewhere, and it’s flooding everything else, and it might leave my head too– no, it HAS left my head already, even NORMAL music does that. It does that when it leaks into the nerve cells outside your brain, makes your fingers and your legs tap to the beat, makes you dance, but now it’s too much and the nerves are dancing and the blood is dancing and my bone marrow wants to dance too. There’s body parts trying to make movements that they CANNOT and that’s because– the VARIATIONS! The variations which– if you can modify things in absolutely tiny ways (even if they’re imperceptible– UNLESS your mind tries to perceive the imperceptible anyway!), that means infinite, infinite, infinite! Infinite perceptions, the brain CAN’T produce infinity because it can’t just get infinite energy (THOUGH IT TRIES), but my nerves still try to REACT to each and every, each and every possible instant of the song! From universes, all the universes, so many of it. No structure, all the structure.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

[ YOU CAN HEAR IT BUT YOU’LL NEVER UNDERSTAND HOW LITTLE OF IT YOU HEAR THOUGH YOU HEAR A PORTION OF IT, IT IS A 3-DIMENSIONAL OBJECT BEING PERCEIVED BY 2D FLATLANDERS, THE 4D TESSERACT PERCEIVED BY OUR 3D EYES ] What do I DO but curl up in a ball– no, not a ball, something twisted, I don’t know WHERE my nerves want me to– what do I do, I’m getting ill yet I think I feel better than ever and if you could quantify illness, if you could quantify illness and negative numbers meant sickness while positive numbers meant wellness, MY health would be written as an imaginary number but I’m sorry, I can’t explain, I cannot. It’s the fault of this SONG. Its infinities. An eldritch horror. The number of possible variations! What do I DO?! Would it help to ASK the song to cut it out? How would I ask it? There’s the original version of it that I’ve written down, what do I do, would it help to ask– but imagine the image of someone yelling at a piece of sheet music. And it's the middle of the night, too, and what alternatives? Yelling at the mp3 file wouldn't be any better, either. Nor would yelling at my brain for the production, the production, the production.

[ GOES ON. GOES ON. GOES ON. Goes on. ] It will pass? It will pass with time? It will pass? Maybe? Maybe? I don’t know, maybe? Maybe?!