All of the short stories, essays and prose poems in my upcoming collection are centered on an individual, an “I.”  The following work-in-progress is penned by a decidedly near-sighted, yet honest and well-intended, singularity….

Does My Dog Have a Favorite Song? 

I say music is reality; as real as my tabletop.  Okay, stinging hand.  Feeling the burn, I hear a song and hit the table once again.  Real.

Songs are complete eternal mini universes.  I get lost in them each time….

A performer gets older—or dies—and I still have his song, perfectly preserved, just like he and I used to be.  I listen and my feelings are carried higher, soaring over long-ago days reawakened.  Oh, I remember.  Each time.  I remember.

Again.

And again.

Always the same.

Only more.

I always feel what I remember when my song plays.  Even more so, every time.  Each time I remember and I remember more every time.

If I had silence I’d have none of this.  What would a world of silence be?  Could it be real?  Would it have words or sounds… or nostalgia?  Could it grow into the empty spaces in me?  I don’t know.

No thing.

Silence.

Nothing.

Silence.

With only silence, I’d hear only my silence looping over and over, right?

I could have it all.  Everything.  Silence would be me and I would be everything.  Right.

From songs to me.  From too quiet, to too loud to stand.  Why can’t I keep my songs?  Is there a me?  Maybe there’s a music made of me.  Can I be silence?  I should be.

Even better—push ‘play’ on that cassette player over there, that CD player and iPhone.  Keep them playing.  Thank God.  Keep them all playing.

Does my dog like music?  I should ask him.  He sure likes to eat.