Black key. White key. No, that's wrong. It's all tactile; it's not the information of each struck key we love, but how the mind and leavened heart travel by information. Think how blind and near- blind pianists range along their keyboards by clambering over notes a sighted man would notice to leave out, by stringing it all on one longing, the way bee-fingered Art Tatum did, the way we like joy to arrive: in such unrelenting flood the only way we can describe it is by music or another beautiful abstraction, like the ray of sunlight in a child's drawing running straight to a pig's ear, tethering us all to our star. Anonymous submission.
Added: 1 Mar 2004 | Last Read: 25 Mar 2017 9:27 PM | Viewed: 3805 times
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