Description:

A little something about doing and being and stuff... How no matter who you are, there's always someone out there knowing better. They probably know more about what you could or should do than about what they could or should do with their own lives. If only they weren't so preoccupied with everyone else's everythings... 

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The Violinist

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Knights don't always wear heavy armour - sometimes they champion study leather - dexterity over bulk. Sometimes they dress in white, or camouflage as needed - as dark as the nite versions to suit their needs.
Some ride horses, some are on dogs or wheels - what separates the knights is discretion and valour. 
Some sport a flute, others swing a musket - whether they fling shite or spit truths - the all fight the fights of those who can't fight for themselves. 
Some are dealt a measly hand, no trumps, no sleeves - the house not even there - no one wins. Except everyone else. 

 

There was a guy - he played the cello - like no one else. He one-uped a pianist a like was but a Sunday stroll, a compensationary one mind you. And that was it to him. All it was. 
And he was known for it - his sword, proverbially - and for nothing else. He was no knight - he was, well, just a guy, who played the cello, from time to time. 

We don't know his name from his stable. He might wear metal or cloth - matter it not doth. 
He plays the cello - and that's the moral of his story...
It's a good story... bad vibes... black boxes... dead air... 

It's as good as it gets... as they come...  the stories of dark nights and lightning armour... 

The Violinist, it's not known whether he ever played his weapon - or if he's amongst those who craft there own - but he doesn't need to - nor do we have to know. 
He battles the battles of knights and may his moves be mysterious and in the shades - a knight - just like a ninja - uses that, as his path - and not to foil. 
Triads may be dark - but in their absence - light may be too bright. It's about adjustment and tolerance - and a common understanding. 
Trust and faith are not opinions - not one sided - the are to be founded and profound. Solid solidarity are the footing and foundation. 
It's the same thing like that whole spiel about sick and bored to death that's nothing much more than a figure of speech. For most anywho. 

It's all a bit of an inconvenience, it seems - not a hassle - just, you know, not maybe sort of like the thing one would rather do. 
Easy does it - dontcha fink? Whooda thunk it?!?
That's what they keep saying - is what they keep seeing. Ach, you know, that's not how it's usually done, you see? 
Have you even looked? Have you? As in with your eyes? And processed it? As in with your head - beyond the scaled limitation of your handheld sub? 
Have you? Oh, good - you have, haven't you? Oh good, you haven't - it's not like you're expected more than plying a viola? 

Oh, yeah nevermind - pardon my saying so... it didn't meant to cause no offence, you fuck... I wasn't paid to do so either...  
Take it easy - it's not personal... it's busy-ness... no business... you made it personal - I never cared - about your feels and stuff... 
I pay someone to listen? I pay a pro... not their helping hand...   if I do - not you... you'd be underpaid - and over-qualified... 
That's what you read or got told or tell yourself - or try to think - because, well, no-one plays the instrument quite like you... 
You're special... You're unique... Your mum probably says so, too... And your dad... They're your friends... 
Parenting's for suckers... How would they know? It's not like they ever went through any of what you're up against - it's not like - 
It's SSDG - times change - generational gaps don't... We don't get weaker - we get harder to be weak... 
We're allowed to say what we want - we're allowed to not listen. We're allowed to chose the right way to things - the way the say,  who never knew, decide is.

It's how the cello is played - it's how the violin was designed - it's how it's fucking done. Allright? I mean, Jesus.
It's not that hard - is it?
They tell you their story - you make it yours? Is it that easy. Is it? 
You make it sound like - with lab, dicks and all. And you never had the time to take the time - and you know that makes you?
Not a whore! Not a prostitute! Not a pro! 
Just another player, playing in the pondweeds... it's entertaining... you were fun... and I am glad I never saw the end of that... 
I never quite found the time. Nor could I muster the effort that you could not... no quid for no pro... 

The may have been bats and other beastly creatures - and there was warmth and kindness. 
Inks and drabs - and times where bringing a towel wasn't always the best advice. Directors and no directions, medication without medicine. 
Chaos within the madness; and there are knights. Roaming the nights and asleep. Unawake and determined, clean and clear but not sane not sober.
Battleplans lost and burned - weapon and armour - taken and detached. 
And all you do is sell your opinion on the matter? And for your lack of armour is merely a fashion statement? 
Give me a fucking break, will you? I can't say 'for old times' sake' - they won't be around. The cello is replaced, recycled, cycled, looped back, double backed, re-mortgaged, haemorrhaged - bleeding out..  in vain... in veins... 
Phones popped, skags topped, off, offed...  No remorse, no regrets, no pain, no gain, no future - yet barely a present, and barely a presence. 

Poltergeists without polter - Zeit separated from Geist - combined to shape our Zeitgeist. The age of ghosts, disinfected and disaffected.
Distorted and reframed - disused and mistaken - appearance and perception.
I is - they hath. We tend to pretend - we are what we are assumed to be, supposedly - it is alleged. Apparently so. 
A heart on a sleeve or on a finger - unless it's cynical or pricey - it's worth jack. It is a violin, just played for living of it. A cheque that's cleared, just to be clear. With worry and without care - a passionate despising of a lack of passion. Impatiently enduring - with a patience to match. 

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The cellist played the cello for all his could. And, to my knowledge, the violinist never played the violin - he only strives to master it.

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That's, I reckon, why I stopped playing a musical instrument - playing it was all I was ever going to do with it... Some folks told me it's what I should do... 

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