music

It seemed hardly feasible that anyone could tune an oil barrel, and even less credible that the barrel could make music like nothing else in the world. She thought those sounds were magic.

That__ a stupid name! Whirly-gig is much better, I think. Who in their rightmind would point at this thing and say, ____ going to fly in my Model-A1_.People would much rather say, __et in my whirly-gig_. And that__ what youshould name it.

She leaves my side and heads deeper intothe apartment singing, ___f the spirit tries to hide, its temple far away_ acopper for those they ask, a diamond for those who stay.

I rouse Emily to our guests, as she finishes off our fifteenth snowman by setting the head atop its torso. She stands limp at my direction, pointing out the coming shadows and I cannot help but hear a muffled sigh as she decapitates her latest creation with a single push of her hand.

There is a stillness between us, a period of restlessness that ties my stomachin a hangman__ noose. It is this same lack in noise that lives, there! in thedarkness of the grave, how it frightens me beyond all things.

I can__ help but ask, __o you know where you are?__he turns to me with a foreboding glare. __o you?

Did Bach ever eatpancakes at midnight?

I steal one glance over my shoulder as soon as we are far from the foreboding luminance of the neon glow, and it is there that my stomach leaps into my throat. Squatting just shy of the light and partially concealed by the shade of an alley is a sinister silhouette beneath a crimson cowl, beaming a demonic smile which spans from cheek to swollen cheek.

History doesn__ start with a tall buildingand a card with your name written on it, but jokes do. I think someone is takingus for suckers and is playing a mean game.

Do we not each dream of dreams? Do we not dance on the notes of lostmemories? Then are we not each dreamers of tomorrow and yesterday, since dreamsplay when time is askew? Are we not all adrift in the constant sea of trial and when all is done, do we not all yearn for ships to carry us home?

Music did that to me, just like God was supposed to, because music seemed both magic and holy.

A great piece of music make people to close their eyes but a great magic effect make their eyes wide open.

_We feel different things. We like different things. It__ like they say with books, no two people ever read the same book. It__ the same with music, yo.

Music has more rules than math or magic and it's twice as dangerous as both or either.

And at 3am you sit near the window and wonder if there is magic... because all you need are some fairies to take your pain away and help you sleep... you take a book to read... you take a pen and a paper to write...you cling on some music that might just make you fall asleep... yet nothing helps... another sleepless night and all you want is the dawn to break soon....

Where science is a dignified waltz in three-quarter time, magic is an improvised saxophone solo: all gut checks and synchronicities.

You kind of attribute this magic to music and as you meet the people you realize that they don__ contain the magic. They just channel it a little bit sometimes, but they never possess it. They never own it.

They call it music, but it's just this side of magic.