A siren wailing? A beacon? A warning? The sound of scissors severed by saws induces a seizure, and you make a break for the doorway. A sub-contra scale stiffens the spine foiling your attempt to run. Discordant chord progressions suspend you, while the sound of staccato ossifies each ligament in your limbs.
A mid-tempo tom attack tears tendons and crushes cartilage. Guitar strings begin to exercise vertical control, and you are the marionette. Hammer-ons and pull-offs establish the new steps of your mechanical gait: an arthritic cadence. Arrhythmically balanced, you flounder down pentagonal stairs, tripping each half step down. A feeling of hyperbolic disorientation engulfs you, like being lost in M.C. Escher’s atrium. The panic is pervasive and polytonal.
When the percussion subsides and the smoke clears, you are outside. A vermillion sun breaches the horizon…or is it being consumed? The howling cacophony from before returns, though less dissonant. An ambulance arrives, and the arpeggiated assault resumes, after paramedics deposit you inside. Upon arrival, a doctor presides. Diagnosis: Vertigo Arpeggio.
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