"Often, magical I question how music can be- the constant, continuous melodic movement that never ceases to explore and produce new bound of interest. Like how every day I've spent in that chair: wooden with cracks that show age; or even, the pot or whatever technological invention that boils water: repetitive and lacks importance. Oh I wish an ear, not two, but one ear would listen to how desperate my lips are. It tingles, at times, but often shuts in and quiets as danger eavesdrops. Like a child, I caressed the surface of objects.. Just wishing one would demonstrate any sign of life. Hopeless, at complete loss of, of, of word, just mumble"