B Flat Rested Peacefully

23 January 2010 § Leave a comment

On the shoulders of the giant musician in the sky, at the top of the Stairway, or the purported Beanstalk, B Flat rests. I’m not buying either route, but Joey said he’s been there, and I’m sticking with his story. It’s a blue place, he says, awfully decorated with unpopular images of famous composers (like the portrait of a confused Dvořák in the middle of a modern Times Square – he never knew what was coming.) and jazz musicians – there’s this one of Coltrane, with a steam engine flowing across the sheet music, gracefully en route to his delicate human head. Even though a few pieces were cool, the guy collects some hideous little trinkets from across the ages: a carved troll here, a melted GI Joe figurine over on the coffee table (which has more latté stains than burn marks, which was kind of a surprise), and dreamcatchers. Lots of dreamcatchers – from the nicely made Navajo ones to the plastic Sesame Street Elmo-is-the-capturer-of-babydreams noisemakers. The suite sounded nice enough, and I promised I would drop by if I ever had the time on my hands.

Time has made me a liar. I blame it because time is an unbreathing animation,  with its robotic hands (sometimes pictured as the suspiciously gloved mouse with red pants) or multi-colored beach sand from the shores of Oahu or Madagascar, flowing mysteriously down, with gravity instead of with the tides it had grown accustomed to over the last few millenia. What audacity it takes to capture sand from its habitat, divide it from its brethren and melt the more unfortunate of the bunch, before encasing the rest in the final product of its fallen family members! Can we as humans even relate to the hourglass?

That’s why I haven’t visited yet.

Instead, I have been biding my time/sand/elmodreams, witnessing the interior of conversations taking place in pubs and winter cold. They are tests of my tolerance to Remain, these encounters, and so far I’m holding a potentially worthless hand of aces and jacks because I don’t know what to do with them.

This technique is showing evidence of failure. New strategies may need to be implemented in order for the beat to go on. It is possible that orangetipped snowpeaks will make their contribution before the weakness becomes more entrenched. Their filters have outlasted avalanche and blizzard, nightmare drug deals and superficial summer rain, and still keep the notes sustained. They can be counted on, lettered on, and sentenced to conquest or execution. And they will endure. As will I.

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