Die Trying

2 12 2008

I’ve never seen myself as a pianist – even though I’ve fooled enough people into thinking I can actually play (I use chords and scales mostly, but I can’t sightread), I still don’t consider myself a pianist…not even a keyboardist.

It’s not that I don’t like the piano – I do – it’s just that I’m not enthralled by it. I like the sound it makes, and it’s hard for me to think of any other instrument who’s reverberations can cause the deep, dark things within my inner abyss to toss in their sleep, but I would rather that someone else play it – for if I would play, I mean really play, only introspective music comes out.

However, I am enthralled by a very short piece I heard a few months ago: Breathing Space by X-Ray Dog (what a name *groan*). It’s just over a minute long, but playing it on the school piano is, to me, very much like “holding eternity in the palm of your hand”. It’s probably the only piano piece I can play by heart – and it’s the only one I can actually play with any heart to begin with.

But it is always with a heavy heart…(now that’s an image to ponder: a human heart too heavy to lift off the floor, sluggishly, almost laboriously, pumping thick, dark blood, like pancake syrup fresh from the fridge).

During one of our dinner outings, we went to a colleague’s house where they had an old piano in the living room. It was really old, and really out of tune…but I tried playing Breathing Space anyway.

On an in-tune piano, Breathing Space is sad. On an out-of-tune piano, it’s annoying. On a really out of tune piano, it’s heartbreaking. I never thought dissonance could be so expressive before.

And so it was: some keys were unresponsive, some were nowhere near their proper pitches (I remember the G and the A above middle C were the same pitch) – the result was like watching a a very young child trying his very best to do something he just cannot do – like rollerskate – yet refusing to quit. He is bruised, sore, his knees, palms, and elbows are a bloody mess…and yet he is still getting back up to try again, despite the inevitability that he will fail and hurt himself again – he bites his lip, trying (but not quite successfully) to hold back the tears of pain, frustration, and humiliation. His wounds sting, the tears rolling down his face burn…he is sobbing openly now, but still refuses to stop. He will skate home even if it kills him. Hopefully, mother will be there to bind up his knees and elbows and soothe his sobbing with gentle kisses and soft words…

…but what if she’s not? What if all that greets him is an empty driveway – an empty house?

I feel that way sometimes. Sometimes I don’t know why. Sometimes I do.

tuzki_eating1

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4 responses

2 12 2008
yanangski

hehe! i suggest you take the strengths finder test. πŸ˜€

nyahaha! you’re using tzuki bunny. πŸ˜›

2 12 2008
GTI

Yeah. I saw him/her/it on your blog. Stole it. Hehehe πŸ˜€

3 12 2008
yanangski

hahahaha! if that’s the case put my site in your blogroll. (please) hehe πŸ˜›

3 12 2008
archer

i loves your imagery sir :))

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