72 lines
3.1 KiB
HTML
72 lines
3.1 KiB
HTML
<!doctype html>
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<html>
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<head>
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<title>Zk | 01</title>
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<link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="/style.css" />
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<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width" />
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<meta charset="utf-8" />
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</head>
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<body>
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<main>
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<header>
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<h1>Zk | 01</h1>
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</header>
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<article class="content">
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<hr />
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<p>date: 2019-08-30
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weight: 1</p>
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<hr />
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<p><audio autoplay controls src="/miniatures/1.mp3"></audio></p>
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<p>I did not fall into music of my own accord, my dad bought me a saxophone.</p>
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<blockquote>
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<p>As his dad bought him before you.</p>
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</blockquote>
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<p>He wanted us to be alike in so many ways.</p>
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<blockquote>
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<p>But you already knew that.</p>
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</blockquote>
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<p>He got me a saxophone and he and my mom pooled resourses to get me lessons.</p>
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<blockquote>
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<p>And showed you to all his friends.</p>
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</blockquote>
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<p>I played at his Christmas parties. I played at his neighbor’s Christmas parties.</p>
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<blockquote>
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<p>Once, he was going to show you off to his friends at a barbeque, and you got so anxious and upset that you bent the octave key out of shape. You could only produce squeaks. You said it was an accident.</p>
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</blockquote>
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<p>I did it to get out of playing for the party, and instead it got me in trouble for being careless.</p>
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<blockquote>
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<p>You were anything but. You were very careful. You acted with intent.</p>
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</blockquote>
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<p>I kept playing. Sometimes it was fun, sometimes it wasn’t.</p>
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<blockquote>
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<p>Once, you told your mom you weren’t sure why she or your dad bothered with you learning to play the saxophone when all life was meaningless, anyway.</p>
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</blockquote>
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<p>How old was I, then? Ten? Eleven?</p>
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<blockquote>
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<p>Dad made you apologize to her. I don’t think either knew what to do with a nihilistic preteen.</p>
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</blockquote>
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<p>But it worked, in a roundabout way. I wound up in music. I wound up playing the saxophone and even sometimes enjoying it. I moved from that to the oboe.</p>
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<p>And not just playing. I listened to tapes until they wore out. I made mixtapes of my dad’s music after he taught me how to program his six-disc CD changer. After that, it was mix CDs, which I’d listen to on the bright yellow Sport Discman I carried everywhere. I fell asleep with headphones on more than once.</p>
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<p>Music held — continues to hold — this sense of mystery about it. It worked on some level below spoken language, understandable without being text, affecting emotions without the cadence of words.</p>
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<blockquote>
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<p>So why’d you quit?</p>
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</blockquote>
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<p>I can’t just say “computers” and beg off, here, can I?</p>
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<blockquote>
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<p>Nope.</p>
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</blockquote>
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</article>
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<footer>
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<p>Page generated on 2020-06-24</p>
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