I met a man today. Neither short, nor tall; neither tanned nor pale. Hair well kept but not styled. All in all, a quiet and unassuming character. We spoke for a long time and came to the same conclusion that the existential purpose of culture was to both educate and inform the human race. Despite this, we could not between us decide in any way how music today informs and educates the average human. After our meeting, we both picked up our coats and umbrellas and parted ways.
When I returned back to my home, I put down my coat and went to the kitchen, where I made a cup of coffee and went through the corridor to where my piano was stored in what would usually be the living room of a normal house. I put down my cup and started to play but nothing new came through my soul and into the keys. So I decided to saunter upstairs into my study.
Today clearly was not an artistic day, nothing poured from my brain to the paper, so I sat at my desk drinking my steaming cup of tea. All this time I imagined how lonely this existence was, writing music, only stopping for food, drink and the menial house duties. When I finished my cup, I put it on the desk, still steaming and gazed at the bare plaster walls waiting for the spark of imagination to fill my being.
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