The world is a playground and we are mere children, dancing in its cacophonic rhythms of a wandering focus. The world sounds like Jazz. This is not music I am hearing but melodic metallic arrows, shot into my bare chest with delicate crashes. They pierce my skin in a pattern of beats and disintegrate to soft echoes in the atmosphere. I can see them running away.
The world acts like mathematics. Like electronic music, I can take it apart by the levels and analyze every semantic. But then add another level with the addition of words. I gave you the message, laid out the intentions of the musician. Now you feel what we feel. You know what we sound like.
And the rhythm feels nice.