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We sublimated through this material almost a year ago, but people still ask about these things, so here's a quick review. Benjamin Franklin did, in fact, construct an armonica. The original is not a huge contraption, like the Grand Armonica in out narrative. It's about three feet high and four feet long. Finely polished crystal discs, each with a hole drilled in the middle, are carefully mounted on a horizontal, bronze bar resting on a sawhorse-like support. The discs, arranged in size order, can freely spin when 'played' by human (or maybe our killer monkey could do it too, I suppose) hands.
The instrment, an early tool in the study of harmonics, produces ethereal sounds akin to choirs of angels singing in Heaven. I said 'produces' instead of produced, because it still works. You can see it in the subterranean remnants of Franklin's Market Street home. The great inventor suspected that the 'vibrations' produced (what later generations would call frequencies) could tap into other 'planes of existence.' Indeed, urban legend claims that the accomplished nation builder never really 'died,' in the true sense, but was instead 'sublimated' into one of these parallel realities with the help of his intricate, glistening creation.
True, there is an old style 'slab' grave in an iron fenced, Society Hill church yard, but who knows what lies within. However, each dawn, when the light returns, early risers report seeing bright, copper pennies sprinkled on the site. How do they get there? The security camera shows nothing. Another old Philadelphia story, or something else?
And if you ever go wandering through our venerable municipality, know this, the large, busy and rather Norman French, castle-like City Hall Courtyard, rests upon the old hanging field. The granite and bronze compass rose inlaid into the pavers marks the 'drop.' X marks the actual spot where n'er do wells and pie thieves met their Maker. I wonder if the capuccino laden masses hurrying into work even know that? Thar be ghosties here.
The vampires and their other unusual friends will shimmer back into our realm tomorrow. Please take this opportunity to pierce the veil and wander through our 346 testimonies.. A pixilated magic awaits.
The instrment, an early tool in the study of harmonics, produces ethereal sounds akin to choirs of angels singing in Heaven. I said 'produces' instead of produced, because it still works. You can see it in the subterranean remnants of Franklin's Market Street home. The great inventor suspected that the 'vibrations' produced (what later generations would call frequencies) could tap into other 'planes of existence.' Indeed, urban legend claims that the accomplished nation builder never really 'died,' in the true sense, but was instead 'sublimated' into one of these parallel realities with the help of his intricate, glistening creation.
True, there is an old style 'slab' grave in an iron fenced, Society Hill church yard, but who knows what lies within. However, each dawn, when the light returns, early risers report seeing bright, copper pennies sprinkled on the site. How do they get there? The security camera shows nothing. Another old Philadelphia story, or something else?
And if you ever go wandering through our venerable municipality, know this, the large, busy and rather Norman French, castle-like City Hall Courtyard, rests upon the old hanging field. The granite and bronze compass rose inlaid into the pavers marks the 'drop.' X marks the actual spot where n'er do wells and pie thieves met their Maker. I wonder if the capuccino laden masses hurrying into work even know that? Thar be ghosties here.
The vampires and their other unusual friends will shimmer back into our realm tomorrow. Please take this opportunity to pierce the veil and wander through our 346 testimonies.. A pixilated magic awaits.
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