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…sometimes I hear an orchestration in a song…it swallows me, rolls me like a wave…sinks me deep…drowns me long enough to borrow my existence for a fraction of time…and I get to own a corner of a deep water trench…a space within the song is temporarily mine, amongst the instrumental fluidity…I reside…I temporarily die a deep-sea anomaly…I write a tale beyond any voice…no palate nor teeth no tongue…I am sound and my hearing loss…divinely mated…and in my ears, years of words I didn’t catch…are caught in a net…and the wave that rolls me, is the same that gives my hand reach…towards the surface…to extract these words and piece together sentences…incoherent masterpieces of my life… …and when all I’m left with are pulses and memories of sounds that sing my dreams while asleep…I’ll have that abyss and that net and the words that slipped into silence…and I’ll morph from ocean trawler to river spinner…I’ll spider myself…I’ll quicksilver my body, building a diving bell…I’ll web words beneath green…destructible designs of mortality…I’ll await the inevitable collapse, and rise of my free will…and I’ll do so in words that escaped me…my daily grind…my gain…to give voice to what I no longer can hear, but profoundly feel…

E.A. O'Connell