You start on the beach, at the water's edge, sea salt and sand mixing dangerously between your toes. The warm tinkering of piano threatens to pull you back to the cabana, but instead of turning towards adult-contemporary safety, you take a step forward, into the water, and then another, and another, calf-deep, knee-deep, hip-bone deep, xiphoid process-deep, until a wave overtakes you and you are completely, intrinsically, obtusely enveloped by the sea.

Under the surface you find not a salty desert, but a sea of surprises. Fishes swim thither and hither. Tunes and tangos waft from the coral reef. Singing contests. Hipster mermaids. Sea shanties. Kelpe. A torn, red swimsuit ominously floats. The shark that you meet a minute later doesn’t seem so bad, but don’t stick around until he’s hungry again. LL Cool J is also hanging out.

But there’s no time. You must go deeper. Dive you do, and things get darker. You pass through a patch of droning whale song, but keep going, deeper and deeper, down to the deepest point on earth: the lovely Mariana trench. Here all is revealed in a mass of twisting, reveling deep sea creatures. Living. Dying. Mating. Your first instinct says “JOIN THEM AND THRIVE” but at that very moment you realize you're about to run out of breath. TO THE SURFACE.

You swim upwards, fast as you can. When you burst into the fresh air and take that first life-saving breath, you’re unsure of much that had just passed, but one thing is clear:

Gurgle Rap.