Today brings my favorite season of Fall into the tenth year of the 21st century. We're nearly all 21. Today is the inaugural day of shashprose on blogspot, or blogger, what will it have be. Today is the last full day of summer holiday for me, Sharon, the sole-pusher of the naissance of this project of sorts, and hopefully long-time co-contributor and member of Shashprose. I’ve collected precisely three over-sized coffee mugs on my desk since two days ago up to this very moment, at which I am taking sips of depreciated, room-temperature French roast coffee out of one. It still feels like morning due to the cool and largely grey, gray atmosphere outside. They are resting upon my Satie book. I’ve yet to accomplish Gymnopédie No. 1. I’m stuck atop the third page, as I have been for nearly the entire summer, due to my current limitations in piano playing, namely the part that requires instantaneously taking the notes on the page to the keys of the piano. It seems rudimentary knowledge, and that’s the thing I lack. I tinkered through a few Bastien books as a young child, but quit my lessons immediately after my child-self wandered my attention to something beyond mastering perfect piano posture and poise to a twelve-meter-long song about a toucan. That’s right, I have no real musical credentials, other than a natural ear for staying relatively in tune whilst canting. Perhaps that’s why we’re not going and getting places, like all of those musical maestros that have hit it big in today’s popular music industry. My partner can twinkle her way through some Chopin, some Debussy, you name the composer.
The tour bus sometimes leads to a non-sequitur. And other times, it takes us to a stark hollow of many lights.
We once came across a sentient being there. She was endearing because of her naïveté and hideous because of the world. She was named Bogre.
