Goodbye, Lenin!

(Imagine I'm telling you this post with my voice, and in the back round you are listening to this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0TWrJZ1tUGY&feature=related )
I hold so much family pride for 711 Johnston Street. I sat on the top right corner of the building overlooking the highway "interchange" with two thoughts in my mind. 1: Why do sparrows dive bomb down so swiftly, then always catch an up draft and return to the sky? and 2: If I could play the music that was made by the height, clouds and sunset, I would be in the heart of God himself.

Why play others music? Ever? . . . If you have music, if you trust your fingers . . . Why play the music that has already been written?

I always feel somewhat frustrated by my physical limitations to find every minor and major, half-stepped, slurred grace note... always hoping someday I'll be magically enlightened to find rhythmic patterns that cause people to dream.

Anyway. I played in the empty 2nd floor, the acoustics slay your soul. You could hear a pin drop.
Not to mention the organ upstairs. On the third floor, there is an organ. It's magical, but slightly dated with its drum patterns.

With anything else not said, however.... Dream. Dream. Dream.

Au Revior, mon ami

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iE3HbiCET2g&NR=1