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The dirt and the muck is, at last, cleared. The shovels make air of the dirt -- or so the impression becomes to the Instrument that he has become. The shovels make air of the dirt by removing anything from around the Instrument that is not dirt. A convoluted way of viewing the world. The way to play a beautiful piece of music on an Instrument, a famous musician once said, is to play all the right notes at all the right times and in all the right ways. The laughter is now air-born and sounds different than when it was produced while the Instrument was buried in the earth. The air has a certain quality to it that was not immediately discernible while the world, as it were, was Dirt. The air is loud. The air is music. The material that makes the air is not only a mixture of hydrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide, and other gasses. Air is music made of those gasses. Once, one would have thought -- the Instrument would have thought, before it became (before he became) the Instrument -- the air carries the music. Now, as the Instrument, he sees things inverted: The music is the vessel for the air. The music comes first. The shovels clear the Dirt and Music is the Air that fills everything that is not Dirt. Air - Dirt = Music. Or Music - Air = Dirt. He has been hungry. The hunger has directed him. The hunger would have directed him, that is, were it not for the constant parade of events that has been happening to him -- events that have brought him here. But isn't here okay? He is the Instrument; He is laughing; He is bathed in music; He isn't hungry. There is a constant exchange of pressure, and this produces the sound... There doesn't need to be balance. When there is balance, there is no sound, there is no music, there is no use for the Instrument. For any instrument. There is only the death of sound and of all which depends upon Sound. He is raised out of the Dirt, and as he is raised, he is laughing the laughter of musical instruments.