Discovered a song yesterday. 'Twas more than exquisite. 'Twas more than a thought, or feeling. 'Twas more than a clump of luckily arranged notes. 'Twas even more...than a song.
It was an enigma.
"February the 10th, Sunday.
The tapping of the old typewriter, the scratch and folding of noise and music. Plug in headphones. Turn it up. Not a little. A lot.
Now listen. Close your eyes and breathe. Imagine you are standing outside a house, watching... the sky is imploding. Imagine, someone else is inside the house playing the piano, beautifully, almost intrusively. But not quite. If the piano is being played, who cares if the sky is imploding? Who cares if the dark clouds are bubbling and stirring, threatening to break and smother? If the piano is being played, then one person doesn't mind that the world is ending. Listen. Do you hear the industrial sounds of trucks and workmen in the background? They don't care either. The pianist is playing, the workmen are working and you? ...You-
Are staring up at the sky, whispering with awe, "Why don't I care that it is about to break?"
Do you know why?
Because the piano is being played. The workmen are working.
Everyone is calm. So you are too.
They are keeping calm and carrying on.
So while they keep calm for you, you stop. And shiver. And wonder.