[ WP ] You 're a composer with synesthesia . Describe your works without using sound .

There was one word driving behind him: More. More, always, building, trembling, seconds and minor seconds chocolately and delicious, diminished fifths collapsing under their own weight, fourths and fifths glowing luminescent and imperious, clovery, dewy new thirds and seconds, groaning, clutching, pulsating and mounting as he piled them together in inky ant lines crawling across the staff. He was building a streetcar, rushing through Philadelphia at breakneck speed, the summer air exploding and imploding around it, strings rushing like wind and the love of a pretty girl, the trumpets they are voices they are always voices! but also the suns' stern laughter and the hat and moustache of the man who chases the streetcar, ha ha ha tripping on his cape, the piano clatters and falls dashes on the pavement and recollects itself - 
 
 THUD THUD THUD. A knock on the door. The lone uncovered bulb shakes on the ceiling wire. The shadows in the corners shift over the dusty floorboards. `` MAIL.'' It's quiet. 
 
 - STACCATO: RED! The piano is scrambling, twisting as a flight of quick and pizzicato bicycles flushes down the boulevard. Oboes thrill upon the sidewalk and the trumpets cry `` LOOK OUT! O WOE, O WOE!'' They scatter as the ice cream enters, gooey jazz and chocolate modalities tilting across swung eighths, humming drunken mute melodies through strings that sound like an underwater phonograph - 
 
 The people in the apartment downstairs are fucking again. Do they ever do anything but fuck? 
 
 - joining in all together on the theme, one chorus, the piano enraged and drunk on power to the point of impotence, the horns standing up now, their yellows melting to orange and scented with saffron and cumin, the strings a glowing neon harmony shaped like a pair of dice and a cigar, the drums, once an excited man-child green and purple with delighted and ecstatic anticipation, now stalking in triumph over the sweet barbecue of the main melody, which they have killed and are bringing back to the missus and to show off to the little kiddies. Rebuild the streetcar, put the hat back on the man, pave the cobblestones and cook the whole mess into a sweet pecan pie. There was n't much in apartment 3B, but there was this, and that's something.
