4 minutes 5 seconds| This piece, originally called Barium Coat Sleeve, has particular significance because I was writing the last repeat of the opening theme at the time of my mother’s passing. I finished this mostly upbeat tune after returning from the funeral, but my output notably decreased going forward.
I regard this as one of my favorite compositions, and though at the time I did not think it relatable to my mother in any obvious way, I have since come to link my listening experience of it to that time. Indeed, as time goes along, I see the youthfulness in my early pieces ebbing away, and this eternally young feature owed to the immortality a mother imparts to a child while she endures. Here is a passage from my novel in-progress. These lines were penned roughly about the time this piece of music composed:
“Truly Lowell lost his immortality when his mother died, as well as whatever super powers he imagined he possessed up to then. He would no longer be a son, except to those family relations who, like stone veins in church window tracery, prefigured or outlived her. Nor in his estimation would he ever again be the blue-eyed darling whose achievement was a promise to be fulfilled. The puer aeternus was coming to grips with a geography that had been a settled order for a long while.”
This composition was made from a pre-existing composition, and the only time stamp is for its last date modified: 11/2/13. My mother passed away 9/08/13. This places the start date earlier in that month or in late August. If August is the window, then that would be around the last time I saw my mother alive in Memphis.
It was also during this visit that I had my first and only encounter with a ghost, of which I relay the details through a mysterious character who appears in the novel I am presently writing.
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