A Protopian Gambit · track 15
Adaptable Yes
analysed
A woman kneels at the clean edge of a purple mat and will not step on until she has tuned her own consent like a cello peg, testing each turn against a small humming civic counter. A signal arrives from across the circle, from someone she recognises without words, and the drama is whether their two Yeses have room for each other before the mat fills for the dawn gathering.
Arc: It starts with a single guarded person retuning a reflexive yes into a slow sovereign one, and ends turning that private consent outward into a shared dawn call that others are invited to answer.
Images to shoot
a forked lightning bolt in a storm, then a hand flinching into a too-quick yesfingers turning a cello peg, macro on the string coming into pitcha purple community mat being swept clean before anyone steps onto itphysical consent sliders and dials labelled in handwriting, glowing at a doorway thresholda solid iron key held up, then set down beside a tuning forkcoloured aura-fields around seated people in a circle, breathing in and outa lease document dissolving into an open public ledger where love is not ownedtwo faint signal-beacons reaching across a starfield during a solar stormbuilders rising at dawn as a call-and-response ripples across the mat
Phrases for posters and merch
Verbatim lines that stand alone, for lyric posters, metal prints and t-shirts.
This is my Yes
Not a key, but a song
A sovereign signal humming
My Yes has depth, it isn't cheap
It moves like love when the body says go
Your signal reached me. I know who you are.
Yes to you... when your Yes has room
A consent-designed rhyme
Line by line
“I used to say yes like a reflex, / Like lightning in a storm of want.”
Cold open: a jagged white lightning fork over the community hall, cut hard to a hand jerking up into an instant yes before the thought lands. Storm-blue light, twitchy handheld camera.
“But now I tune it like a cello string,”
Extreme macro on fingers turning a wooden cello peg, the string steadying into focus. Slow push-in, warm lamp light replacing the storm-blue. Sound of pitch settling.
“My Yes has depth, it isn't cheap, / It sleeps in layers under skin.”
A cross-section image: translucent skin revealing sedimented coloured layers, like geological strata or repair-gold veins beneath the surface. Hold, do not move.
“It waits until the field is clean,”
A wide shot of a purple mat being swept edge to edge with a soft broom; a figure waits barefoot at the border, refusing to step until the last dust is gone.
“A sovereign signal humming, / Where resonance and truth collide.”
A small civic counter or level-meter mounted at chest height glows and hums with one steady bar. Frame it like a heartbeat monitor for consent.
“This is my Yes — / Not a key, but a song.”
In one hand a heavy iron key, in the other nothing; she sets the key down on the mat and instead strikes a tuning fork. Cut the key out of frame entirely for the second half.
“It moves like love / When the body says go.”
Shoot the body, not the face: a shoulder loosening, a held breath finally released, feet finally crossing onto the mat. Green-light warmth only at the moment of go.
“In circles of culture combined, / Where love’s no longer leased,”
Overhead drone shot of many people seated in a ring on purple mats; intercut a lease contract dissolving into an open public ledger where no name owns another.
“And let our Auras speak in peace.”
Coloured aura-fields swell softly around each seated person and gently overlap at the edges without merging, like Venn diagrams of light. Silent, no dialogue.
“I’ve got sliders made of honesty, / And thresholds made of grace.”
A doorway fitted with tactile hand-labelled consent sliders and dials; a hand adjusts one slider up, and the threshold light shifts from amber to open. This is the album's comic-panel-to-keyframe moment.
“Yes to feeling write and wrong...”
Lean into the deliberate pun on 'write': a hand inscribing both words onto a public ledger page, ink still wet, neither crossed out. Overhead, warm paper light.
“Yes to silence between the songs...”
Drop all sound. Hold on a stilled circle mid-breath, the humming counter flatlined to a rest, for an uncomfortable extra beat before the music returns.
“Yes to opening, to pausing, to bloom...”
Timelapse of a single flower opening, but cut a hard freeze-frame on the pause: petals caught half-open, then let it resume. Colour warming from bud-green to bloom.
“Yes to you... when your Yes has room.”
Two consent-signal bars, framed side by side, and only when both leave space between them do they gently lean toward each other. Restraint, not a rush to touch.
“This is our Yes — / Across distant stars. / Your signal reached me. I know who you are.”
Pull back off the hall into a starfield mid solar storm; two faint beacons pulse across the dark and sync. The recognition is in the sync, not a face reveal.
“I see Infinity / I choose Infinity / Will you choose it with me? / Has a new day just begun?”
Match-cut the beacon-glow to a real sunrise over builders rising at dawn; a hand extends into frame and holds, unanswered, as the call ripples across the mat in a visible wave. End on the open hand.
Lyrics
I used to say yes like a reflex,
Like lightning in a storm of want.
But now I tune it like a cello string,
A frequency I carry, not flaunt.
My Yes has depth, it isn't cheap,
It sleeps in layers under skin.
It waits until the field is clean,
Then rises softly from within.
It’s not just yes to you,
It’s yes to me inside.
A sovereign signal humming,
Where resonance and truth collide.
This is my Yes —
Not a key, but a song.
Tunable, sacred,
Held where I belong.
This is my Yes —
Infinite, slow.
It moves like love
When the body says go.
In circles of culture combined,
Where love’s no longer leased,
We vibe in fractals, gentle minds,
And let our Auras speak in peace.
I don’t need permission to feel this full,
Or walls to keep me safe —
I’ve got sliders made of honesty,
And thresholds made of grace.
Yes to being seen...
Yes to feeling write and wrong...
Yes to silence between the songs...
Yes to opening, to pausing, to bloom...
Yes to you... when your Yes has room.
This is my Yes —
Woven through time.
Tunable, sovereign,
A consent-designed rhyme.
This is our Yes —
Across distant stars.
Your signal reached me.
I know who you are.
Yes to truth.
Yes to trust.
Yes to us.
Yes to love.
Yes to silence.
Yes to light.
Yes to choice.
Yes to right.
Yes to this.
Yes to me.
Yes to us.
Yes to we.
I see Infinity
I choose Infinity
Will you choose it with me?
Are we choosing together?
Is it one for all and all for one?
Has a new day just begun?