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July 12, 2005
Volume 3, Issue 12
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Michele: The View From Here
The chamber was high and wide, with glass above and below, both giving view to lives they no longer touched. The walls were thick steel and their words, even when whispered, echoed.
The bearded man pointed through the stars. “My wife is drinking my Port. It’s funny, I can’t remember much about her, but I remember the taste of wine as if it were on my tongue.”
“I played the violin. When I was first here, I could still hear the strains of music in my head. No more.”
“So the wine will be gone soon.”
“Like your wife, yes.”
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Tanya: It has these curves
He came out of the snow, dressed in coverings that were soft and thin like the clouds atop Seventh Hill. Since he did not have much hair of his own, we wrapped him in furs and brought him to the fire.
He is one of us now; our shaman, and my friend. I believe he is happy with us, as he speaks our language and has begun a family in our clan, but he often speaks of something called violin. I still do not understand this thing, but the sadness on his face, when he speaks of it, is terrible.
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The Eschatologist: Marooned in G Minor
Foam and spray washed playfully around Simon's legs as he dangled his feet in the widening sea. The rock on which he sat wasn't terribly uncomfortable, but it left much to be desired.
"I'll have to speak to the concierge about this!" He laughed wryly at his own joke.
"How droll," said the sea. "So, go on, what were you saying?"
A seagull flew past and waved. Simon stirred the ruined tailpiece of his Stradivarius as it bobbed in the water like a beggar looking for a sonata. He sighed visibly, and the sea rose a bit to comfort him.
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Ted: Perfect Pitch
All the good ideas were used up already, so I went for a bad one. In retrospect, bad ideas have a way of self-correcting.
They said that there was no new music, all the possible combinations of notes that the human ear could hear had been played.
All the different scales and musical styles had been re-combined until every possible instrument had played every possible part of every possible melody.
We had been trying to find the background note of the universe for millenia. When I dropped my violin into the fire, it screamed, I screamed, and the universe ended.
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Stacy: Doin' Time
We walk around the yard aimlessly, nowhere to go, no place to be. The guards flick their stinger whips at stragglers, keep the herd moving.
Talking is allowed, but most of us have nothing to say. Had it whipped out of us over the years. Newbie up front is a chatterbox. That'll change soon enough.
"You know, I've played the violin all my life," I overheard him say. "I think the thing I miss most, even more than food, is my music."
I laugh to myself. Old man hasn't even been here for a week. He don't know hungry yet.
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From the Comments: The Mighty Emu
Gene splicing doesn’t have to be invitro. With a little pain and money you can splice a few chromosomes into your matrix and reap the rewards. Throw in mental programming and a conditioning routine and you can shape yourself anyway you please. No more obesity, shyness, or bad breath.
It’s the other side effects they don’t tell you about that are tough to live with. Look at me, I’m trim, fit, and I’m no longer a wallflower. But everything tastes like cardboard and I can’t remember my violin lessons.
Can’t make an omlette without breaking a few eggs, I suppose.
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