Jonathan didn’t sing his hymns in church. He sang them in sweaty sneakers on cracked cement.
An even, measured cadence to begin. A simple meter accenting every other footstep: left, left right, left. His heart conductor presiding over a steady beat synced to well-timed breaths. Pulse, in, pulse, release, and again.
The composition’s structure was an exploration of contrast and connection, unity and variety. Smooth at first, an easy downhill, a verse of downtown, then rising action: passages joining to create dramatic developmental motifs. The movements were always taking him towards the hill, the shape that defined the entire arrangement.
Starting to climb, his chord progressions slipped into a dissonant interval. Tension prepared, left unresolved, an asynchronous pitch giving way to desperation as he rose, rose, aching for resolution through consonant chords.
Step, breath, heartbeat amplified, a lengthy crescendo in largo… lento… adagio… andante. moderato. allegretto. allegro, presto, prestissimo! And forte forte forte, a climax so powerful it washed over him, he worshipped the silent symphony which possessed him, moved him up, up, up.
At long last, a soft melodic movement, pink in color, a reflective motif. It sang him sweetly home, then quietly went to sleep itself, his hymn composed and salty baptism concluded.
What are we all doing here anyway?
basket ball hooooooooooooooooooooop
Thoughts on refugees
It doesn't stop raining outside California
Liberty and freedom is what America stands for. We have a statue that towers above liberty island. The token of friendship France has bestowed upon us.
Indoor Tennis - The Kastles
Leelou, porch napping before the inevitable rainstorm.
Hearts on strings
Back in September, when I first moved to Washington - H street festival