I'd like to shed your skin now
for TILT Brass
A trumpet; my herstory; a gang of insults; no, not so literal; a dialogue; a commentary; a disassemblage; who needs excess?; a tribute; a funeral; still less literal; a dissection; a prescriptive action; a symbol; a rehearsal; a lost love; a reacquired love; an epithet; a plea; someone’s somnambulism; a reflection; a rejection; mostly a funeral; not really a funeral; my bones; her tubes; my persistence; her transcendence. These words and ideas fling me to the precipice — a precipice that reminds me that I should be asking stupid existential questions despite the risk of stalling. At the precipice I confront absurdity, myself, yourself, and a not-so-hapless, but maybe hapless eternity. At the end of this expansive sight is a trumpet without its parts.