Ursula was holding out on me. She wouldn’t talk to me unless I practiced changing up my pitch and my amplitude—she was like a teacher in that sense. what was I going to learn today? not a whole lot ok, maybe a little “like what?” like how to play the accordion—like the person, in the book you are reading, that was playing the accordion drunk and getting drunker; “and then the people started dancing,” yes, she said, the blond cow started dancing, and, apparently, she stinks—she tries to cover it up with cologne. Did that get lost in translation? Did she mean perfume? “how does that relate to me?” Ursula is telling me that i shouldn’t be so interested in blonds, since, they only love what they can’t have—and they can’t have it precisely because of that—somebody out there, the object of a blond’s attention, knows that—and ignores her.
You have to wonder though if, in the end, the blond always wins, as if, for example, this person that knows that blonds only want what they can’t have is ignoring them under the hopes that ignoring them will make them fall in love with them. If that’s the case, then, sorry. We know how this ends. The only way a marriage works with a blond is if you choose a blond based on something more than the fact that they are blond—and conspiring to populate the earth with blue eyes. Even if they have brown eyes—that’s what they’re doing. They want to be done with brownness altogether—which is ironic, because most blonds that aim to dominate a blond dominant world lay around in a tanning bed, making their skin brown, which makes you wonder, is the ideal woman, of the future, both blond and brown—without having to lay in a tanning bed?
I was trying something out, right now, thanks to the pressure Ursula was applying—she wanted, i guess a deeper, and more private channel, so I as I sang out the vowels—two e vowels and two i vowels, (pronounced in the European way) and then, on the exhale, two o vowels (pronounced the European way) and two u vowels (pronounced the European way) i tried taking the i vowels and increasing the pitch and raising up the volume and on the u vowels I tried lowering the pitch and speaking, a little, in a whisper. I don’t know if I was going to try and do this all the time—I might not be able to focus on the realities around me if I dedicated myself too much to this—as I did in the past when I was sick—but it was certainly something I was interested in—not only because Ursula recommended it, but, also, because it seemed like the natural next step (both to enrich myself and make myself available to people that, like me, might’ve, at times, been a little lonesome for the company of the opposite sex—or the same sex, whatever.
At some point I guess a language would form—that would be an achievement—to use different patterns of pitch and amplitude within a defined frequency to create our own language. But that was serious stuff. For example, what was wrong with speaking in English? Or any known language? Wouldn’t the mind interpret the essence of the message and pay it forward—i believed that it would—that it would break down the words we used into the images and the sounds that we encode when we speak. The images would convey something that meant something to both of us, and, the sounds, likewise, would mean something to both of us—as pure sounds—and the mind would pay it forward in the language that we were using.
But this idea that we could create our own language out of pitch and amplitude was something new. I guess, in some sense, it fed into the information we already traded back and forth, but it meant something more, too; it was a way to focus on a more specific frequency and, by privatizing the information, we could tune other people out. We could tune even more people out. That seemed to suggest that the quality and the limits of our communications would expand. We’d be able to speak pillow-talk—that’s one way to think about it. But yeah—we might also formulate our own language by bundling a little information along with a pattern of changes in pitch and amplitude in conjunction with changes in the particular vowels and consonants that we used like playing a flute, for example.
You might ask yourself, then—isn’t that what music is? And yes, if our vocal chords and our breathing were advanced enough, we could reproduce the sounds of music to construct a language. The difference now was that we were using our mind’s ear—and we could generate musical notes. that’s fascinating and, “i thought you already knew about this.” i did know about this, she said, but it’s a little new to me, too—i’m sharing my private thoughts with you, and I want to go farther, i want to learn more, even if you wind up getting credit for something that I talked to you about. “But you must’ve read about it?” I did, and I got a lot of déjà vu! So here I was: waiting to see a painting of mine on a Times Square Billboard at 4:46 pm, and incorporating changes in pitch and amplitude into my counting mechanism—which, was like a singing mechanism, or, a kind of combination of singing and rapping.