There’s a hum before the first tone. Someone listens to that hum — not for comfort, but for alignment. Work begins where precision meets drift, where control allows for accident.
Each pulse is built, not found. Every silence is part of the structure. Nothing ornamental; everything tuned to necessity.
You can hear the patience inside the noise. A warmth that resists sweetness, a rhythm that grows inward. Circuits think, cables breathe, machines hesitate — like people do.
This is sound as engineering of attention. Slow voltage through steel and skin. A method that trusts repetition to find truth.
The surface hums long after the playback ends. It stays in the air, faint and insistent. Not memory, not echo — just current, resting.