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Being apart and lonely is like rain.
It climbs toward evening from the ocean plains;
from flat places, rolling and remote, it climbs
to heaven, which is its old abode.
And only when leaving heaven drops upon the city.

It rains down on us in those twittering
hours when the streets turn their faces to the dawn,
and when two bodies who have found nothing,
disappointed and depressed, roll over;
and when two people who despise each other
have to sleep together in one bed-

that is when loneliness receives the rivers...

- rainer maria rilke

i've figured you out
you call out of the blue or when it is necessary for you. i do not wait by the phone as i did some time ago. when we talk it's a dance of musique de miscommunication. there are no sonatas, serenades nor concertos. you are the stand-up bass and i the saxophone. slowly you start a rhythm, finding the sweet spot and i follow suit. a combination like ours has a potential of unlimited rolls. mixolydian sharp 4, dorian flat 2, lydian sharp 5, we go on and on but never finding a perfect fourth or fifth in our phrases. this is our broken style. this is how we play with fingers and sweat and breath and soul.

- a minor intrusion

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