Mme Ray part 1

White folds of fabric, disheveled, formless except for the contorted shape of a boy. His heavy breathing pauses for a second and changes into a barely audible whisper of nothing coherent. He turns over, feeling for a body that isn't there. The faint sounds of his slumber disappear and the room is totally silent except for the sounds of the street coming in from the open window.
Scott lays there for a moment, awake now and his eyes open, but seeing nothing but blurry shapes through the sticky mucus on his eyes. Taking his time to clear his eyes, he pieces together where he is. Where he has to be, who he has to meet, what he has to do, are all questions that come after, where he is. He's temporarily homeless in a strange bed alone.
Tired, he pieces together the night before. Another waste of money he should be saving, gone, spent celebrating his upcoming self-imposed exile. Recuperating, he wheezes from one cigarette too many, but none the less, fumbles with his lighter to to light up another. No breakfast to satiate his hunger, no drink chase away the hang over, another cigarette will have to do.
He remembers he has to wake up, he can't carry on like this for too long, responsibilities. He's being visited by an angel today. A beautiful black haired and fair skinned girl with the all grace of a pixie floating through Pan's orchards. A soft muse, a piece of something nice, a reason to wake up.
Much more alert than he was, he races to jump out of his clothes and into the shower to rinse off the night before. The unfamiliar soft soaps change the routine scent he's so accustomed to, but the subtle fragrances of dove's exfoliating body wash are quickly replaced by the familiar smell of the clothes he was wearing the night before.
Dashing out the door, a spring in his step, the day is beautiful and his hang over is forgotten with his heart full of anticipation. In the elevator down to the lobby, he uses the reflective back wall and a bit of spit in his palm to smooth out the tangle of half curling black hairs that hide his ears. Even after his self-conscious fidgeting, by the time he'd reached the first floor his appearance had already returned to its original state.
Outside of the foreign apartment, there's an unwatched parade filling the street. Songs of equal payment and jingles of the benefits of unions echo through the mouthes of disparate voices. Scott slips his way through the parade to the other side, each person he makes eye contact with seem inconceivably distant. The shared moment with a stranger is nothing more than a simple acknowledgment made to ensure that he wouldn't be marched into. His mind is a block away waiting for him.
Walking through the park, Scott payed an uncharacteristic amount of notice to the play between the leaves and the wind. At the other end of the park, his face flushed for a moment when he found her waving at him from a flower store across the street. She had made friends with the store owners, and hadn't been waiting at all, but instead had been drinking jasmine tea that they had made for her while she looked at each plant.
When Scott arrived, the owners seemed delighted to meet him. As a friend of hers, they must have thought he was part mythical by association. The store owners looked so consumed with her presence. They smiled widely, not knowing how else to keep their faces, feeling so close to an angel. They had put together in their minds a world in which she lived, and had become so enamored with it that her grace was carried on to Scott, and he would be remembered in their eyes.
A thin sparkle seemed to always shine from the corners of her eyes. A warmth radiated from her mouth each time she smiled, which was frequent and always sincere. Her hair was always perfect, even when she complained about it. She had a deep voice, not mannish, but something more akin to a loud whisper built with the breath from behind her small but perky breasts, and never from her nose or throat. The only thing that keeps him from repeatedly saying "I love you" is his fear that the words are reserved for con artists.
Eric Satie:
Four Gnossiennes 1-Lent 3:34
Four Gnossiennes 2 - Avec etonnement 1:53
Four Gnossiennes 3 - Lent 3:00
Four Gnossiennes 4 - Lent (sans presser) 3:12
Musiques Intimes et Secrètes - Desespoir agreable 0:53
06 Musiques Intimes et Secrètes 2 - Caresse 2:05
07 Musiques Intimes et Secrètes 3 - Songe creux 1:43
Musiques Intimes et Secrètes 4 - Fâcheux example 1:09
Musiques Intimes et Secrètes 5 - Nostalgie 1:02
Je te Veux 4:46
Gymnopédie No. 1 3:06
Petite Musique de clown triste 2:18
La diva de l'empire 2:36
Premier prélude du nazaréen 5:20
Les pantins Dansent 2:06