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She’s always smelled that way to me; the promise of a hot new girlfriend that might just be a nut job.
She had no clue how she’d turned it on, and mastering social etiquette didn’t compute. HE’S DEAD AND IT’S MESSY. SECURE IT. He replied instantly: I’M BUSY. YOU SECURE IT. OR DON’T. IT WON’T MATTER FOR LONG ANYWAY. I HAVE THE STONES AND CHRISTIAN. GET YOUR ASS TO CHESTER’S. She snorted as she stepped from the room and closed the door. He was right. It did feel like being shouted at.
He’d told me once that fear was more than a wasted emotion, it was the ultimate set of blinders; that if I couldn’t face the truth of my reality, I could never control it, and would be subject to the wishes of anyone whose will was stronger than mine.
“An angry man is an angry drunk. A happy man is a happy drunk.”
Kill the clocks, those time-thieving bastards,
“You’re already the Shit, Dancer,” I told him. “Yeah but I want to be even shittier shit,” he said, and waggled his brows at me.
“Gottfried Leibniz said that music is the secret exercise of the arithmetic of the soul, unaware of its act of counting.” He looked up at me and beamed. “Don’t you just love that? The relationship between math and music is sublime. I was picking up a lot of distortion from the box last night, so I set up equipment to cancel it out. I want to focus on the notes and chords, which I’ll convert to numbers and play with.”
“There are eight notes in any given major scale that can be assigned numbers,” he said. “If you start with middle C as one, D becomes two and E becomes three and so on. You can also assign numbers to chords in the same fashion. As an example, you can do a musical interpretation of pi. A guy named Michael Blake did a fantastic interpretation of pi to thirty-one decimal places at a tempo of one hundred fifty-seven beats per minute, which, interestingly, is 314/2.
Good people didn’t turn bad overnight. It happened from the accumulation of many small compromises, sacrifices, and losses. Small, consistent erosions turn into landslides in time.
“Failure is always new information, and those who are willing to suffer it repeatedly make it a stepping-stone to success.”
line of demarcation
Our entire existence was fluid and living and, as a race, a planet, a universe, it was all connected and we were all part of one another. And when we hurt one another, we hurt ourselves. And when we warred, we hurt the universe, and that was ourselves.
