Shock me, Amadeus!

piano wires

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“I am not thoughtless but am prepared for anything and as a result can wait patiently for whatever the future holds in store, and I’ll be able to endure it.”
― Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

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What do you consider to be a disaster

a personal and ordinary disaster of the kind we encounter daily when we do that dangerous thing known as waking up and daring to get out of bed to venture forth into the chaos of life, human style.

What derails your flow and leaves you feeling as though all your wires have been exposed to the elements and the elements are out to get you, causing a fuse to blow, a string to snap, a hinge to rust, a breakdown in your system, a vital strut cracks and it all comes tumbling down…

while others judge, look smug, because nothing like that ever happens to them, or laugh due to being completely inconsiderate, insensitive and unempathic… or basically you’re welcome comic relief from their own pies exploding in their faces.

No one told you that you had spinach caught between your teeth while you smilingly charmed everyone at a party… and you didn’t even eat anything spinach or mildly green and leafy that night. So how… never mind the how, the why or that which came before the dreaded moment you realised that perfection was marred by a flaw… and that flaw belonged to you. GASP! Shock, horror!

Luckily for me, a spinach decorated smile is the least of my concerns or flaws… actually, in my case the piece of spinach would distract from the fact that my teeth look like the keys of this piano (in the pic below) due to wear and tear and the fact that I use them for hanging from the ceiling when I feel like a chandelier.

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piano keys

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“Our riches, being in our brains, die with us… Unless of course someone chops off our head, in which case, we won’t need them anyway.”
― Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

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The piano in these photos might consider itself to be a bit of a disaster, and flawed because of its disarray. Its pieces are scattered throughout the property as though some musical cataclysm occurred…

the previous owner of this house told a story of finding this piano in one of the rooms when they first moved in and, for some garbled reason, they decided to put it outside but did not realise that rain and such would ruin it. Apparently it just fell apart… like most of us might in similar circumstances… however that doesn’t explain why the pieces of this once whole entity are scattered around hither and thither, far and wide, the way that they are… as parts of a dismembered body of which a disorganised killer is trying to dispose.

The story seemed viable at first, now it just seems like a murder is being covered up by someone who keeps forgetting their own tall tales. I’m beginning to suspect that this piano belonged to a great love which was lost and the grief of such a disaster as a lost love incurred a crime of passion against that which was left… the piano, once a symbol of sweet music became an instrument of torture and finally a vessel of cathartic destruction.

That kind of thing happens…

humans are a strange instrument, our path to music is often discordant, bashing away at keys searching for a tune, seeking harmony, creating by destruction, haunted by unrequited melodies… and spinach in our smiles.

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piano hammers

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“I beg you most humbly to go on loving me just a little and to make do with these poor congratulations until I get some new drawers made for my small and narrow brainbox in which I can keep the brains that I still intend to acquire.”
― Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

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I’ve been haunted recently by an aria from a Mozart Opera… no idea why… maybe I’ve just hit my head a few too many times. I gave myself a black eye changing the parts of the vacuum cleaner, then I smacked my temple with a mop, and finally… nope, can’t remember what it was but it caused a bruise I could feel but couldn’t see because when I look at mirrors these days I tend to just see that they need cleaning and… they look more interesting when they’re dirty… and maybe so do I (can’t tell as I can’t see whether the dirt is mine or the mirror’s).

I’ve always found mirrors fascinating… the more damaged they are, the better the story they tell…

the most intriguing mirror is the one that isn’t there but which is there anyway.

It’s in the surfaces which reflect without needing to be reflective…

and the stories which emerge from what we see…

this piano, broken, battered, ruined as it is… still plays music…

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“The music is not in the notes,
but in the silence between.”
― Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

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perhaps that music is more beautiful because it can’t be heard…

just as our flaws, which we may perceive as a disaster, which others may mock, deride, judge and sentence us for… can be the mirror which reflects our deepest and most provocative beauty…

something that sometimes seem lost but once seen, even just briefly in the glint of a spinach smile, can never truly be forgotten.

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