From 7782c49a874693dba938d1b7c71f07cb029aa2d9 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Madison Scott-Clary Date: Wed, 29 May 2024 19:56:19 -0700 Subject: [PATCH] update from sparkleup --- writing/post-self/idumea/005.md | 4 ++++ 1 file changed, 4 insertions(+) diff --git a/writing/post-self/idumea/005.md b/writing/post-self/idumea/005.md index 2b60cbbb..5d1dccd3 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/idumea/005.md +++ b/writing/post-self/idumea/005.md @@ -140,3 +140,7 @@ She shrugged. "It was a step on a path. I have also sought out entertainment in "I ran into a similar sensation, however. I *did* find joy in this type of listening, as I prowled through–" At this, the woman's form rolled over in a wave and, with a quiet sigh, she was no longer a skunk, but instead a panther, black and with shining fur. She readjusted her clothing and continued. "As I prowled through the music that Beholden suggested, I found a depth to the act that I had never before experienced. I was able to wrap myself up in sound and lose myself within it. Even with the music that I did not particularly like, I was able to find appreciation and tease out organization. "Beholden's concept album, when I listened to it thus, left me in tears." She laughed quietly, and I felt comforted that I was present to hear such. "This is perhaps obvious, yes? A concept album surrounding the Century Attack, where we lost so many of our very own? + +"There were no lyrics to this album, though, so it was not the words that made me cry. I was not listening to words, but I *was* listening to voices. I was listening to the voices of her up-tree, Beholden To The Music Of The Spheres, and her partner's up tree, A Finger Curled. She had delved into her sample library and pulled together all of the clips that she had recorded of those two and built about an hour's worth of music out of them. A Finger Curled, who was lost in the Attack, and Beholden To The Music Of The Spheres, who quit out of despair one week later. It was her threnody. It was her wailing song." + +Readers, I am not ashamed to say that I cried again. How could I not, after all?