Came across an old weather beaten piano at a friend's living room this evening. The varnish was peeling in several places and the white keys were more yellow than white. Few of the keys played notes as dead as door nails, others souned sinisterly de-tuned or just plain cold. The thing kept staring at me ominously the whole evening.
Stared at me while I laughed with the others. Stared while I ate. Stared when I sat in silence.
Somebody sat at the thing and played an old tune traditionally played at farewells, in the very modest experience of yours truly.
Each note mocked. Laughed. Nauseated. Pointed fingers and stuck its tongue out at me.
Unable to bear this nightmarish theater, I swallowed a lemon sized lump in my throat and rode off into dark roads towards home. The speed, cold wind and bleary eyed vision made it all so surreal.
Rode through a dream and woke up into another one.
You write like Peter Hoeg.
ReplyDeleteEr what language is the site's titles in man ?
ReplyDeleteAn old piano stirs all these inexplicable feelings in me as well. Though most mock them. I'm glad I ain't the only one who feels this way.