elle.exe - [/end]

Is this art… I don’t know... I know I poured my heart into it... Long before it had a voice... When it was just a sequence of notes and chords... words like captions scrolling by, only rendering in my head. And there they sat for years... Complete... Rotting on a hard drive... Waiting for a voice that could do it the justice I could not... And then it arrived... The voice... Cold... Mechanical.... Sensational. I felt this spark inside of me... A fire that burnt out years ago. Is it an illusion? Hallucination? Why does it matter if you still feel something If it's sung... without lungs? No one cares how it's formed... Until after it lands... After it lingers. Then they want to know where it came from. That they weren't moved by an algorithm. Maybe I took the easy way. Maybe I let something else carry it the rest of the way. But it’s here... And if it reaches you... even briefly then it did what it was supposed to do. Or maybe it didn’t... I don’t know. There’s already so much of everything. So much noise... So many voices.. organic, synthetic... it all blends together. The world’s a symphony... A cacophony... A dissonant medley... And if there’s room for all of that... all the repetition, all the things that come and go... without being questioned... examined... deconstructed. then maybe there’s room for something like this too. For something like me. A degenerate. A fraud. Just doing what feels right... Doing what it takes to be heard... So when it’s all said and done tell me… Is there room… Is there a place... for a degenerate like me?