Oscillating at will

"Mornings like this remind me I sing for others. A prostitute? No, not a prostitute. That is not what I am. Even when they touch my open body, even when they rip through me, I still sing my individual harmonic frequencies. They follow the score of a dead master, but I follow my own veins. And I oscillate at will, and go places they detest, for my voice is hoarse, luminous, and sometimes unreal. Who plays whom?" -- The lesser violin