Wednesday, November 09, 2011

On music


Don’t you wish to just consume some pieces of music – fuse them with your atoms and motives, so their intricate compositions infect your being thoroughly?

No?

Ok.

***

I’m unable to tether sound to memory. So that pretty sound you created yesterday? It unravelled itself from your elaborate arrangement and drifted away the moment you released it. All I was left with was a sense of you playing, the tenderness you put into it and of course, the memory of finding it enchanting – this intimate drama of you, your softly flitting fingers and the prettiness of the sound – you created such a moment of magic. This will stay with me. Not the music.

***

To emerge from the safe shallow silence of ignorance into a world of music is bewildering. It is alarming. It is frightening. It is, possibly, also liberating.

***

You have no idea how defenceless I am, do you?

With your fucking crotchets and quavers and your sixteenth fucking notes, you wield your melodies and rhythms with impunity while I cower in cold spots, my skin hanging off me in bags, collecting sweaty pools of incompetence.

***

I would relinquish a few words, about 250 grams of precious punctuation plus an inch of grammar to be able to sing mellifluously to the beat of your flawless rhythm, sweet merry music maker.

***

Music can make you write pretentious things without shame. It is that classy and irreverent.




4 comments:

Ben Ditty said...

I read this three times in different ways: once moving my lips, partially reading some in my head, another out loud, and yet another quietly in my head. You can see I'm obsessed ;)

H said...

I'm happy to learn you have versatile reading skills. :-)

rajiv said...

cool-liked the grams and inches like the 60 hz flicker on my 50 hz eyesight.
like the hut oranging on a blue cucumber night.

H said...

60hz flicker. :-)