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 Original Music 2009

Warm Laundry

 Warm Laundry

3 minutes 36 seconds| The mystery and novelty of the Laundromat, where a child has an idle hour, in the company of his mother, to think of little else.

The vocal-simulating synthesizers can be problematic where they produce protruding edges in the midrange that poke the eardrum. Hummingbird Colossus is another example.

Time stamp when created: 11/29/09.

Novel Icon Novel-in-Progress, excerpt 37| The hospital visit continues:

Lowell thought to return to the waiting room, but his sights remained arrested on the ersatz deity, whose figure tumefied past the man on the ladder, and where the larger shadow subsumed him. The vagrant perhaps knew he was being stared at and, before walking through the door at the end, turned back to glare, showing a mien—a terrible profile of piercing gold. His wings drew back behind him, and blackened like quill-tipped pens dropped in an inkpot.

Flickering illumination sloughed off the towering Christmas-of-a-scare, falling dead away with his last clap of his shoes. The witness, for his part, felt obsequious, like a nicked and dying bird plummeted from firmament. His paralysis owed to the abomination’s stare, which had deboned him where he stood. Organs in his chest pancaked onto those in his pelvis, and squeezed out a solitary, bookended, breath.

The workman on the ladder jostled his chandelier, but nothing of its clinking resounded. The other half of the world had broken off and floated away into a realm of imperceptible objects. Any third dimension to the shadowy corridor was ceded in some matter; and should the viewer persist in his examination, he too might become prisoner to the same geometry.

A voice brought him back to sanity. “Are you lost?” barked the nurse.

Between her starched lapels and sharpened tines on her nursing cap, the brusque woman resembled a palisade.

The interloper finessed his pretext. “I wish to check on a friend, David Emory.”

He expected to hear about visiting hours being ended, but he was beckoned to follow her. “Names beginning with ‘E’ are in the west wing,” she explained.

Given her begrimed fingernails, it was fair to guess the woman washed her hands but infrequently. Other aspects of her appearance might have been judged in a similar disapproving light, but her stiff pace had him falling behind.

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