The many sounds of silence
Posted on April 16th, 2008 by monsoux
While being sick and silent I could hear amazing things. It’s not revelations, but afterall I do inhabit an apartment in a resonating block of flats. Such as the rain, the water draining through the pipes, the doors, my neighbours’ TV, children, stomping, and piano. Yes, I am fortunate. I share my living quarters with a future virtuoso. How many of you can say the same?
Wel..I can:)) Can you imagine a Piano and a violin in Berceni City? It was someone’s birthday, late at night..
My neibourgh is a former music teacher..
Berceni! What memories! What times! It’s been seven years. I remember they used to sell fish directly on the pavement, practically on the bus stop. There is little comparable to the smell of heavy smoke from mici on the grill in a suffocating summer’s night. And the like, you know.
My neighbour just invites his girlfriend to throw herself out of the window at 4 a.m., every once in a while. And she stubbornly refuses to do so. Does that count for a musical family?
somebody has a sense of humour. Thanks. It does count. What floor?
In my block, I am the virtuoso. I play all kinds of music. And every once in a while a neighbor that lives two floors below me comes to my door to tell me to turn the music down.
common, my dear. Let’s be reasonable, a pair of quality headphones is not that expensive. Being a good sport, I mean virtuoso, is priceless. For everything else there is Mastercard.
Thank you for your insightful advice. However I have two headsets and I am not looking to break them yet. Nor my ears.
So… say what now since Mastercard ain’t helping?
I say we either buy a larger house or we sound proof this one. Kisses and hugs.
I also hear some things: cars, honks, drill presses, dogs, lots of dogs, manele :D, screams, loud laughters, curses, fights scooters… and of course, the voices in my head.
voices in your head, ha ha ha. At least you are, no longer, sick.
i used to live across from a virtuoso, too.
he lived on ground floor, i lived on 5th floor. separate buildings, of course — to make the story tragic. i went outside and stayed on the bench in front of his window when he started to play. i never knew his name, his face, his story….
oh,
you mature crazy kids 
! That’s so nice.