Comparatives, Legos, the Treble Clef
While trapped in a lightless collapsing cave awaiting assistance from a rescue crew of twelve men, six dogs and a remarkable canary named Giorgio, the Italian farmer Alberto I. Dominici found somewhere in the abysses of his psyche an ability to compose epic, tragic symphonies. Had he found a legitimate audience for his works outside of the confines of his cave, he would have meteorically ascended into a celebrated realm very few others had ever known. His music, you see, had an elusive quality that brought total, unmitigated catharsis to its audience with no exception. Nobody would understand why this was. Everybody would be kind of afraid of it; they'd hate to break down in front of people, and they would inevitably had done that had the music been played. It would have sucked for them.
About a week after stumbling upon this strange endowment, Alberto passed out on the cave floor from the exhaustion of being stuck in a goddamned lightless cave and the emotional torment of having his own music stuck in his head. After a few hours' dreaming of kites and explosions in a lime-green sky, Alberto regained consciousness and wandered about in the black dust of his home, distraught by his inability to apply his thoughts to a medium and his total incapability of divining the product of the creative forces in his head. The music grew loud in Alberto's head, and he cried a lot and looked really stupid crying.
However, his eyes soon could discern the subtle differences in timbre and pitch of the various shades of black around him, and from his finger and the dust on the ground, Alberto fashioned himself a writing utensil. In that moment, he was the only person in the world who could understand the nuances in black dust and stone in the absense of light. He created a crude treble clef on the side of a cane wall and took an unnecessary step back, happy and relieved at his sense of initiative--his sense of ability. Everything suddenly fell into place for him. Alberto could feel himself smile.
Within three seconds, a loud series of snaps from above announced the arrival of 30,000 tons of metamorphic earth. He found himself paralyzed from the waist down and died three days later thinking about kites and explosions, not music, not music at all.
About a week after stumbling upon this strange endowment, Alberto passed out on the cave floor from the exhaustion of being stuck in a goddamned lightless cave and the emotional torment of having his own music stuck in his head. After a few hours' dreaming of kites and explosions in a lime-green sky, Alberto regained consciousness and wandered about in the black dust of his home, distraught by his inability to apply his thoughts to a medium and his total incapability of divining the product of the creative forces in his head. The music grew loud in Alberto's head, and he cried a lot and looked really stupid crying.
However, his eyes soon could discern the subtle differences in timbre and pitch of the various shades of black around him, and from his finger and the dust on the ground, Alberto fashioned himself a writing utensil. In that moment, he was the only person in the world who could understand the nuances in black dust and stone in the absense of light. He created a crude treble clef on the side of a cane wall and took an unnecessary step back, happy and relieved at his sense of initiative--his sense of ability. Everything suddenly fell into place for him. Alberto could feel himself smile.
Within three seconds, a loud series of snaps from above announced the arrival of 30,000 tons of metamorphic earth. He found himself paralyzed from the waist down and died three days later thinking about kites and explosions, not music, not music at all.
