Or: Shema, SXSW
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The doors open slowly. I step into a hangar. From the rafters high above, lights blaze down, illuminating a twelve-foot cube the color of gunmetal. My pulse rate kicks up. I can’t believe what I’m looking at. Leighton must sense my awe, because he says, “Beautiful, isn’t it?” It is exquisitely beautiful. At first, I think the hum inside the hangar is coming from the lights, but it can’t be. It’s so deep I can feel it at the base of my spine, like the ultralow-frequency vibration of a massive engine. I drift toward the box, mesmerized.
— Crouch, Blake. Dark Matter: A Novel |
Related reading —
"Do you know there is a deliberate sinister conspiracy at work?"
"No, but hum a few bars and I'll fake it."
A few bars —
* Not the Dark Tower of Stephen King, but that of the
University of Texas at Austin, back in time 50 years and a day.