I become a transparent eye-ball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or particle of God.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

I'd Rather Be A Poet

Sometimes I accidentally start playing these repetitive patterns with one of my hands and I can't stop it, and part of me wonders why I would want to stop it at all because it is much, much too beautiful to ever cease. BUT, people who are in the same room seem to tire really quickly of repetitive patterns; after about 30 seconds I usually hear my dad's implicative, "PETE," with that tone that can only mean we-know-you-are-a-good-person-on-the-inside-but-you-have-played-us-into-insanity-and-your-mother-is-unsure-if-that-was-your-intention-or-if-you-already-being-insane-do-not-realize-the-irreversible-mental-damage-you-are-causing.  [My dad, he can really pack a lot into one word, it's one of his gifts.] And so, out of respect for others, I usually keep my repetitively-patterned songs to a minimum. 

 

But the other day I was doing my thing and accidentally came upon this MASTERPIECE. Something about its (nearly) never resolving and its (perceived) missing-measure feel was like an audial hug from which I was unwilling to release myself. I let it happen for about four minutes and then brought it to a close so as to stay friends with my family.

And what's wrong with a little repetition, anyway? Sometimes it seems to me that our lives are little different than a variation on a theme.

    

  

Pete

  

  

  

[Did you read this in your email? You probably can't see the embedded sounds. You should click here.]

a post to keep up the fence

This Post Is Not About Love