3 minutes 12 seconds| An altogether too cheery account of morose company.
Time stamp when created: 5/27/09. The mix has not been extensively edited because, where full waveform synths are used, the music practically mixes itself.
Some of these strange melodies just happen, like with the intro here, or the bouncy melody in Rare Paycheck, or the reset melody that occurs halfway into Bikini Ribcage. Amid the liner notes of one of my CDs of Schubert Piano Sonatas, a noted concert pianist declared, “Schubert happens,” in parody of an off-color bumper sticker. By this he meant that the composer was not opposed to introducing new and striking material to a developing composition. Gone where the classical days of Beethoven’s Sonata Allegro Form, as Schubert, the Pan-Romanticist, fluttered from flower to flower in pursuit of lyricism and harmonic novelty. I identified with this approach, since I clearly do not have Beethoven’s discipline.
Novel-in-Progress, excerpt 56| Following a bizarre phone conversation with a random woman, Lowell prepared uneasily for bed. He dreams about the rapid-care clinic he was too afraid to visit in town:
The patient agonized over being seen through French doors, as these alone separated his examination room from the waiting room. The larger room was filled to overflowing, where a ladder, seen beyond three rows of chairs, crowded the gathered sick. It stood under an excavated section of ceiling where insulation hung like smothering smoke. Why this maintenance was left unattended was unclear, especially as loose debris threatened those with open wounds and breathing problems below it.
The shallowness of each tread on the ladder made it both unstable and unusable to all but impishly small feet, and so it functioned like a piece of preemptive stage furniture dragged into place in anticipation of a second act.
Lowell may have returned to the examination table obstensively complaining about his wrist, but his pain migrated to his upper arm and shoulder to become excruciating.
The Korean doctor had put away his stethoscope, and exited the examination room on a pretense, though through a side door into a corridor not visible from the patient’s perspective. By their diverted gazes, visitors in the waiting room watched the gentleman. He had not walked far, and was arguably engaged in pantomime going by the rapt expressions of the quiet spectators. Their roving eyes appeared to follow his movements, but these movements were not so ranging that they required the participants swaying in any direction over their seats, or tilting their heads.
All at once, and in unison, the audience jumped with fright. Whatever they saw the Korean man do was not enough to make them flee, though their faces slowly softened with silent laughter. When they again looked at Lowell, they began to laugh with greater enthusiasm.
This pointed to collusion, and led the horrified patient to jump from the examination table and close the curtains over the French door windows. He found more holes in his shirt than corresponding buttons, yet managed to marry the sides of the garment well enough.
The pain had travelled up his arm and back down again, and presently oscillated between his elbow and middle two fingers. He waited miserable minutes, though in pulling on the doors, the scene had changed from the waiting room to the darkened interior of his aunt’s house; the ladder had become the pull-down attic stairs.
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