Korridorium

♫ Rochelle Salt ♫

181/398

I enter the cor­ri­dor by sink­ing into it. It tapers to a point, just like me, and its walls are irreg­u­larly fur­rowed. Noth­ing here looks like tones, and yet, I trans­form this moun­tain­ous, spi­ral pas­sage into sounds and music. It is tiny—so small that even a sin­gle grain of dust can deliver a heavy blow and poten­tially knock me out of the groove.

Or should I say, that was how it used to be, before I was replaced by a coher­ent beam of light, and the vinyl cor­ri­dors by vapor-met­al­lized poly­car­bon­ate with tiny pits?

Yes. In the past. Time and again, I glided through cor­ri­dors that rotated beneath me, and it was always new vinyl discs that were entrusted to me so that I could coax sound from them. What about you, if I may ask? Do you still own your col­lec­tion of black records with their col­or­ful labels? Go ahead, let them sing once more! For us crys­tals, it is a con­stant won­der and a joy to trans­form those tiny black cor­ri­dors cut into the discs into music!

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