Wednesday, January 19, 2011

haibun || Sheila E. Murphy


One question brought to the rehearsal is what should be rehearsed. Had there been time, the signature excuse, the projected concert would have chiseled atmosphere. What blasted from the bell ends of brass instruments might have been enhanced by styrofoam. Percussion held tempura moments, and nasality occurred from winds, with strings plucking infancy of nether voiceprints. There lives a lore that speaks in twenty languages about a world with time. Given allocations to inform the populace. One labors under false pretenses, veering toward finality, concluding prematurely. A performance often comes to pass, and what is absent from the staves is filled by legend. Conversation fills in for real life, offering a factual advance, as to clothe the vacuum of experience.

Allure as concentration on an object, a poverty removed from what disintegrates the state of mind

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