Friday, February 26, 2010
The digging sound creates a percussive accompaniment for the laughter. The percussive sound gets louder and more insistent the closer it comes. The sound of the digging begins to sound like the word for the tools that do the digging: sho-vels, shuh-vels, shh-vlz, sh-v-lz... The digging will be here, soon. The shovels and their digging. They will dig up the instrument and maybe stop the laughing, or else the laughing will stop because the instrument has been unearthed, regardless of whether by shovel or by clawing hand or by the natural, slow process of erosion. No... The shovels will not stop the laughter. The instrument will continue to laugh. The laughter and the shovelsounds make strange music together. It is not unpleasant. There are those who are listening to it. They are not the ones with the shovels, however. Well, some of them might be. Who can tell? Any sound, any sounds, and noise, any noises, soft, loud, melodic, a-tonal, harmonious, discordant, any sound (and some say any silence) will be music. Screaming will be music. Joyous, ritualistic music. Music of living and dying. Music of sloth or of industry. Music of peacefulness or of bellicosity. Music of power or of impotence. And we all have this music in us. We all laugh and scream at the behest of our own visceral experience, conscious or unconscious, abject or ecstatic.