music

The mood settles first, then the melody; melody does not precede mood. The mood's the apprehensive state of elusive landing, a sense of embeddedness in time but not in place, an illusion as melodious as the smoke bounding from my lungs and smashing into dispersing wisps against the console of this computer. The melody's of interest where the nature of the mood bewilders: how to string this thing? what note where? Melody determines all of drama with the occasional tethering, ponderous reference a la Shakespearean mode or Beckett's pointless circling to cite the pointlessness determining the mood. I haven't hit the right tempo yet but with B I'm finding my stride; and in striding, the most terrifying and exquisite sense of acceleration, volition, movement, even if it proves paraboling after the litter of our mind-children.