I took a drive today, a long one, to someplace to spend time with people I don’t know. These people are as friendly as people could be, but I felt uneasy around them. But I survived, and I’m now back in the discomfort of my own company.
I listened to Mozart’s Requiem a couple of times today. He wrote the piece for someone who died, but the requiem ended up being for himself. He died before he finished it, so his understudy finished it for him. Likely literally. I read that the piece was played at his own funeral.
The best way to hear it is loudly while lying on the floor with eyes closed.
I’ve been editing posts after I publish them. It’s easier for me to catch mistakes and decide what to cut once it’s out in the world. Sometimes words appear to be what they aren’t meant to, and I don’t catch the problem right away. I’m becoming bold with my swift touch of the Publish button. I’m becoming reckless. I say that as though I’m not normally so.
When I listen to this, I imagine being in a ruby red room surrounded by ruby red things because the sound sounds as ruby red as it looks.