Monday, July 28, 2014

The tune of the past

The same five notes are really several thousands of waves.
They sound once in space, but then they sound in your mind, thousands of times.
Their patterns find a place and start repeating themselves.
But it's not the same five notes, not the same thousand waves.
Each new pass are new bends and folds in proteins, are new leaping electrons.
A wave in the mind's water.

The pond cannot help but be the water for the ripples.
The earth cannot help but send the ripples back.
The water cannot help but receive itself.

A jingle is a pebble, dropped in another pond, sending
Ripples in new waters, these waters repeating the legend
Of a wave that started with one drop.

The same five notes are only the same because
the waves remember the wave.
A jingle holds your mind because your mind is water.
Here we are most human:

We know a pond rippling's in motion,
at least by sight and sound.
So say it like a language like that:
ululul ullullulllishul ishulishul lishlishlilulish

A jingle in the mind
repeating all the time
keeping up the beat,
we say about that it's
stuck

The metaphors collide in the sounds they make.

We no more obsess about the past than ponds obsess about the pebble.
Let not the metaphors collide.

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