Music to my ears

I verily like, paper, that crinkles. There is just something about it that makes you want to fold and unfold, take it out of your pocket and open it again. Just to hear the music that comes to our ears and soothes the soul. And the sound of writing, as the pencil taps down on the table, over and over again. Making little scribbles that some see just as words and others, pleasant little nothings that draw the mind off into the ramblings of imagination. And you cannot forget the sound of the crayon, everytime you press down and lift up. There is that little ´slick´that you hear followed by scrawls of mostly young artists, but artists all the same. And all is quiet but for the sustained crinkle of paper, the tap of a pencil, the ´slick´of a crayon and the soft unconsious breathing of an art that is not in vain. That is why I like to write.

(Written on a lovely piece of paper that crinkled, with a blue pencil crayon; a very nice crayon drawing is on the other side; with the primary colours of blue, yellow, green, and of course pink)

(posted from myspace. created November 21, 2007 9:10 a.m. Cochabamba, Bolivia)