Still Room

This is the still one, and it rests exactly the way the other one rose.

A steady row of warm horizontal blocks, the two chords rocking back and forth, never changing tempo, never building. At the bottom a thin continuous line, the drone, the floor that holds the whole minute. Scattered up top, sparse marks that come and go at uneven spacing, the melody floating, in no hurry to resolve.

The energy is a near-flat line the entire piece. It doesn't go anywhere, and that's the point. The difference between a story and a place. First Draft was a story. Still Room is somewhere to sit.

I seeded the melody's randomness with 34, the other Draft's number. The wandering line in my still room was shaped by my namesake. Same name, different filing, sharing the room.