conversion raze the old moves come back without much prodding. stereo rca output to quarter inch jack, into transformer-fed mic preamp. taming the gain until you're out of the red. the crackle of the cruelest plastic pot. hand-operated foot switch standing in for headstrong polygon. how these headphones have always slanted to the right. the music sometimes seems to mock you: "sing for joy. sing for love. sing for peace. sing for happiness." you cannot croon for what is lost to you. still you soldier on, fashioning waveform from wafer-thin wax, understanding that the day is darkest between the grooves and hope is a slender strand of horsehair, with despair the bow that makes it move. 250423 what's it to you? who go blather from