It starts with the circle. The circle is a tone, an unsimple tone, but one which is constant and unchanging. It contains a harmonic richness, but no beating or movement. It brings to mind glass, or perhaps ice - but it is warm. The space around the tone is wide open. You could almost imagine it alone in a giant room, not a particularly echoic room, but one which gives a sense of space. It neither dominates the space nor is hidden in it - it remains as a warm, concise, hard-edged presence. From your high vantage point in the room with the tone as a welcome familiar presence hovering well apart from you, you drop suddenly and deliberately to the floor, one ear down, eyes straight ahead, sideways. The floor/ground starts vibrating with a subtle, quick intensity. Rumbling the side of your head, the horizon becomes a fuzzy blur of white hissing space on top and a gathering, intense tonal hum underneath, almost becoming violent. The walls have vanished - the world is bi- or tri-partite, ground and sky, flattened into a two dimensional cross-section. The line between them becomes shaky to the point that it appears to curve, the strong bassy tones of the floor giving way to higher harmonics. In this new space the circle is like a diffuse sun high above, melting toward you, pouring through the growing static of the air into the willing drone bed below. As the contents empty into the floor, it is soothed, and warmed, and returned to three dimensions. You feel your back against it, settling to a syrupy brown hum that is pleasant beneath you, a playful contrast to the prickly white noisy space above which now slinks down upon you in a sensual arousal, like a million pointed pixilated tongue beginning to lick sweet stick hot pin prick flicking of your grasp gasp titillated ruffled hot up up - but this is sound, right? the risqué adjectives create a warmth behind your eyeballs as you read this, which combines with the gushing of blood behind your skull and in your ears to join the continuous rushing flood of band-passed noise that plays low in your head.

Again, on the lower left, the circle reemerges. It floats above this stream of blood river noise like the boat of these words float on your consciousness - occasionally disappearing from view, but reappearing as long as your attention remains on it. Your attention is fickle, but you hold onto the sweet familiarity of the circle's tone - how long until your attention sways? 5 seconds? 10?