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Sometimes, when I awake, I have a tune playing in my head instead of the last recollection of dream. Rather than being up in the fully conscious strata, it's usually a little lower. Like an earworm, but both less and more intrusive, riding along on some still temporal alpha wave.
The last few days the station has alternated between Alanis Morissette and Marillion. There's usually a theme to these things. Therapy? Then again, messages from the great REM aren't really for the conscious, are they? I've had worse things, sitcom theme songs can be particularly nasty.
Some monks believe letting in tunes that doesn't reinforce positive aspects is harmful. Sounds nice, but I bet their music collections suck. Still, when the station is distracting, an Om is a pretty good exorcism. Sometimes I think the monks are onto something.
This morning, in the wee hours as I tossed to find comfort, I was struck by the tune of the moment; three blind mice. Actually, it was probably the theme from the Three Stooges. Which made it extra annoying because some other memory had to supply words and kept getting them mashed up. However, as the words played to my half awake self, my mind's eye watched the mice.
"Three blind mice. Three blind mice. See how they run. See how they run." And there they are, all scurrying about. I was filled with a Schadenfreude amusement. "They all ran after the farmer's wife, Who cut off their tails with a carving knife, Did you ever see such a sight in your life, As three blind mice?" Wait, there they are without tails, bumping into themselves and each other like furry deranged billiard balls. What fun!
And for a child's imagination, such a little ditty should evoke such visuals. I think on old stories, sagas, stories of myth from every culture, and the detail is lacking. Or, rather, the scene is often left uncolored in. I think people used to like to imagine more of their story. It seems now that we want it all spelled out in HD.
I often think our imagination has atrophied in our world of media bombardment. I wonder if people thought the same of the novel, with it's lavish attention to detail and well drawn scenes. Where once a story teller had but an evening to paint a picture, with the audience filling in the detail, now all the detail work could be done and reworked in prose.
I think, as a child, I saw the scampering mice. Later, I usually just heard the words. How many people still see the mice, I wonder.
The last few days the station has alternated between Alanis Morissette and Marillion. There's usually a theme to these things. Therapy? Then again, messages from the great REM aren't really for the conscious, are they? I've had worse things, sitcom theme songs can be particularly nasty.
Some monks believe letting in tunes that doesn't reinforce positive aspects is harmful. Sounds nice, but I bet their music collections suck. Still, when the station is distracting, an Om is a pretty good exorcism. Sometimes I think the monks are onto something.
This morning, in the wee hours as I tossed to find comfort, I was struck by the tune of the moment; three blind mice. Actually, it was probably the theme from the Three Stooges. Which made it extra annoying because some other memory had to supply words and kept getting them mashed up. However, as the words played to my half awake self, my mind's eye watched the mice.
"Three blind mice. Three blind mice. See how they run. See how they run." And there they are, all scurrying about. I was filled with a Schadenfreude amusement. "They all ran after the farmer's wife, Who cut off their tails with a carving knife, Did you ever see such a sight in your life, As three blind mice?" Wait, there they are without tails, bumping into themselves and each other like furry deranged billiard balls. What fun!
And for a child's imagination, such a little ditty should evoke such visuals. I think on old stories, sagas, stories of myth from every culture, and the detail is lacking. Or, rather, the scene is often left uncolored in. I think people used to like to imagine more of their story. It seems now that we want it all spelled out in HD.
I often think our imagination has atrophied in our world of media bombardment. I wonder if people thought the same of the novel, with it's lavish attention to detail and well drawn scenes. Where once a story teller had but an evening to paint a picture, with the audience filling in the detail, now all the detail work could be done and reworked in prose.
I think, as a child, I saw the scampering mice. Later, I usually just heard the words. How many people still see the mice, I wonder.