the grandeur. big and noisy/like a nosy neighbor just looming. Stubborn, unneeded, unheeded. The loss of simple things.
Isa
i wish i was musically capable enough to be in an orchestra, but then my interest is in music in general. in my next life i hope to become a musician. i would like to sing, and play one instrument or two.
kaorita
listen to the wind, the beat, the brassy overtones of the trumpet. Where is it going? Do we have the full or just part of it? Is it for us, or is it a dream?
Helen Barrett
The orchestra is more exciting than the class I’m sitting in at this moment. Hearing the soft bells and symphonies would be quite more entertaining than this. I hate this class. Please get me out of here. I wish I was in the orchestra so I could go on the field trip and miss this class.
My mother joined the orchestra when I was eight. I remember sitting in the audience, humming the tunes to myself (they would become very familiar to me after weeks of rehearsals), swinging my legs to the music. I watched my mother’s hands move the bow back and forth across the strings of her cello. Her mouth moved along to the beat, keeping time and reminding herself of the notes.
Music, sounds, imagination, what could it be where does it come from why is it so hard to imagine a world without? it must really suck to not be able to hear music. Though I suppose good music is heard with more then your ears, with your entire body. So in that sense even a deaf person could enjoy the music of the world.
Tashi
The orchestra began to play, and in the back row, the little girl with the tin whistle began to play as well, her harmony floating above the pit, like a siren’s song. The audience, confused, began to look around for the source of the noise that didn’t belong. The unearthly, eerie wailing like a wolf pack in full howl under a harvest moon.
And the little girl slipped away, as the orchestra stuttered to a halt, leaving behind herself only the lingering echoes of her music – sing softly, sing softly, sing sad.
I love how the orchestra kids always treated it like a sport. It was certainly nothing to be ashamed of, but to walk around and say “we won state back in HS” always seemed weird. Also, the whole ‘getting offended when i suggest you’re in band’ thing was a little old. It’s all playing music, for chrissakes
I once thought of playing flute in the orchestra. Until I made second chair in the band. I wasn’t good enough to be first in the band, and the best player band was usually at the bottom of the players in the orchestra. Fuck the orchestra. I guess I’m still bitter and disappointed in myself.
the music played and we danced. we felt as if we were floating as we fluttered like butterflies across the dance floor, surrounded by the bobbling firefly glows of the cigarettes being smoked by those around us, an ethereal fog rising above our heads like mist on the moor.
I would love to play in the orchestra. It would be wonderful to be surrounded by a heavenly symphony of music. Strings, percussion, brass instruments playing all around you.
Mamacita
Music full force
Like it never had before
The crazyness left me
breathless,
But I grew
Used to the sound.
There’s this noise in my head, a cacophony of sounds and whispers and screams and screeches, and I can’t breathe but I hear my heart beating too fast, too slow, and nothing makes sense anymore.
“Look, you need to decide which is gonna make you the bigger dork, band or orchestra. Band: You gotta march around on the football field. Orchestra: You gotta carry around a violin case. These are confusing times, bro.”
The music swayed and crashed around the room and all I could do was sit there,. still and mute, even when it came to a stop and the applause began. A single salty tear ran down my face, wetting my dry lips. The orchestra had played beautifully but it wasn’t the same and it never could be again.
People think it’s easy to make music.
Rock stars made music popular, easy to achieve.
Thing is, it is incredibly hard to play in good order, with different instruments. You need to listen to the counter bass, listen to the drums, etc.
No surprise orchestras need a chief.
Aurelie
We went to the world’s fair and ate with our people near the bench and flew to the gold mind with a night stick, don’t ever think about doing that with me or it might be the end of something big…don’t you agree…that is what went on the website with me and you and everyone involved but who knew that I would do and could do everything else.
Zach
the orchestra is a man who conducts things from his pulpit. the jagged edges of instruments collide with limbs and sensuate: bow to elbow.
the orchestra is restless in anticipation, fingers poised, trembling.
The colours were an orchestration of harmonies verging on the divine; morning-sun yellows through to vibrant oranges and blood-red scarlet, rusted browns spotted with deep black flecks that melted into the undergrowth which was still interspersed with struggling grasses, not yet drained of their verdant green tint remaining from the wet summer. The eyes were at once both supremely satisfied, and utterly overwhelmed, like the prospect of a great feast one would have to eat all on one’s own.
Autumn was surely the best of times -something Tom affirmed to himself by kicking high the pile of leaves – which had stood almost up to his waist – that the recent northern winds had stacked up against the wall of the house from the nearby wood that blossomed with so much autumn colour.
The leaves went everywhere, and, picked up by the damp, cool breeze still blowing from the north, they whirled briefly around Tom as he watched. A broad smile lit up his face. He could smell Autumn around him. You simply couldn’t say that about any other season.
The orchestra crashed and rolled like waves against the cliff. The flutes and viols softly calling the tide back to the sea before the bass and brass pushed it smashing into the rocks with the spray like the echoes of the percussion.
Manchester Orchestra. This weird band as far as I can remember even though Meg loves them to pieces. Or just one song by them. Have you ever noticed that people have this way about them of making these vast generalisations? when they’ve heard one song, they’re the biggest fan. Everyone is a superlative, est, est, est. Biggest, fastest, strongest, meanest.
Talia
The orchestra sound good, I mean it was music at your very best, and you could not asked for more. I was so glad that I decided to let my son joined the school choir and be a part of the in the Christmas programme.
victor walkes
The swell of the orchestra caught her off guard. NO! it was too soon! they weren’t ready for anything like this, this hadn’t been anticipated, and this mistake wasn’t one she’d get a chance to learn from. It was all or nothing. Sink or swim. Do or die.
As an orchestra would, they worked together to create something beautiful. Moving here and there, they shaped this masterpiece, a baker with a ball of dough.
Let it marinate, drizzle it with care, let it sit, let it warm, let it cool. These were there secrets. Cohesion, cooperation, care.
Clubs are difficult to manage. There are so many separate entities trying to vie for the highest spot. And the rest of the folks try to file in and create a monolithic stature.
There is such a dgree of care that has to go into orchestrating a group function. Clubs need to be orchestrated well. So do orchestras.
Sometimes, it astounds me, how we are able to live coherently, arbitrarily, in this multifaceted and diverse world. We have to act in a way that eschews friction with others.
But most of the times, we do what we want without regard for the consequences.
It’s something like a group of band playing a melodious music. You can find them during a big performance or a marching occasions. The music played are really awesome coz you know they’re like everyone’s working together to create a magnificent creation of music :)
Nonymous soul
The orchestra stopped and the silence took over. I found myself in the wrong part of the auditorium. While I stood there like an asshole, Craig was getting away with my whole entire life. Everything I’ve ever cared for was in his back left pocket.
As the orchestra played the closing theme of Doctor Who, and the monsters and aliens returned to their places backstage, I was sitting at home on my laptop, wishing I was in Melbourne for what I was sure would have been one of the best nights of my life.
Caitlin
I sat there in the vacant auditorium waiting for the invisible orchestra to play their symphony of sorrow. I was guided here by the sympathy that remains in my still-beating heart. Oh, to hear the song one last time before the rhythm in my chest fades at last.
I feel the swelling in my ears as I stare at him across the room. There’s the faint mocking lilt of my mother’s laugh. There’s the moving grace of the ocean on a calm day. And then there’s his “goodbye” that is the discordant trumpet. The music keeps playing, and others will hear it differently. I can’t ignore the music, but I can ignore him.
I remember how it felt to pull the bow across the strings to play the beautiful harmony of the Violin 2 section. Violin 1 always stole the lead, and the lower instruments added soft deep sounds to the background, but being a Violin 2 took some of the pressure off while still creating some of the most beautiful sound. Each part separate was bland and boring, but when you brought it all together, the beauty would send shivers down your spine.
her name was orchestra. she had the darkest eyes he had ever seen. she took his hand in hers, and lead him downstairs to the basement. as they descended, he realized he could smell something pungent. the origin of the odor eluded him as he struggled to recognize it. suddenly he felt light-headed. just then, his memory identified the smell. he had smelled it a thousand times before wafting from underneath the door of his mother’s bedroom. it was sex. it the dank odor of shame,and self-loathing.
The dawn mourns the passing day as if it was also grieving it’s short lifetime. The trees whistle and the leave fistle growing evermore numb in the silent rain’s drizzle. How lucky am I that nature’s orchestra plays daily and just outside my window pane.
They play behind the main stage – the orchestra. Their music mocks Maude as she walks towards Porter, but also towards Isaac, and for a moment she wonders if she can change her wording and marry the latter instead. Marry the best man instead of the groom. Marry into his family instead of into Porter’s. But she knows she cannot, and she wishes that the orchestra would stop screaming her fate at her for the whole room to hear.
music love creative community art beauty noise love bliss heart kula
Bhavani
Laid out at an awkward angle across the red velvet chair in her red satin dressing gown, she stared at some indeterminate spot between here and there and everywhere and nowhere, her lips hanging slack and her heavy eyelashes drooping just slightly to blot out the light from the chandelier. The sounds of the orchestra from her record-player swelled and ebbed, rose and fell, flighty like a small spooked bird fluttering across the room before her unfocused gaze. Just one hit, she’d told herself, to help her appreciate the music. Just one, to make it come alive. Just once, to help her feel it, to get it under her skin and into her veins. Just one, to make her come alive. That one singular moment before the rush of pleasure and satisfaction and then the slow, slow fade, the hours of lying prone in this uncomfortable position while she appreciated the music. She wanted to feel something, to let the music live inside her like her musically-inclined friends spoke of, in hushed, rushed voices, whispers of a love and a passion beyond anything she had ever experienced before. She wanted to feel something, other than the numbness and the dull empty ache, so she would let the music live inside her. So just once, just one, just. So she could appreciate the music. She didn’t have a problem; people with problems didn’t do this. All she was doing was listening to the music beyond the deafening hiss and scratch and pop of the record player. All she was doing was appreciating the orchestra.
Orchestra is very different than most things I have ever seen. There music is soft and soothing but can be bumpy and suspenseful.
I am in an orchestra. I love to play the violin in the orchestra. Orchestra is the best! I love to play in orchestras!
the grandeur. big and noisy/like a nosy neighbor just looming. Stubborn, unneeded, unheeded. The loss of simple things.
i wish i was musically capable enough to be in an orchestra, but then my interest is in music in general. in my next life i hope to become a musician. i would like to sing, and play one instrument or two.
listen to the wind, the beat, the brassy overtones of the trumpet. Where is it going? Do we have the full or just part of it? Is it for us, or is it a dream?
The orchestra is more exciting than the class I’m sitting in at this moment. Hearing the soft bells and symphonies would be quite more entertaining than this. I hate this class. Please get me out of here. I wish I was in the orchestra so I could go on the field trip and miss this class.
My mother joined the orchestra when I was eight. I remember sitting in the audience, humming the tunes to myself (they would become very familiar to me after weeks of rehearsals), swinging my legs to the music. I watched my mother’s hands move the bow back and forth across the strings of her cello. Her mouth moved along to the beat, keeping time and reminding herself of the notes.
Music, sounds, imagination, what could it be where does it come from why is it so hard to imagine a world without? it must really suck to not be able to hear music. Though I suppose good music is heard with more then your ears, with your entire body. So in that sense even a deaf person could enjoy the music of the world.
The orchestra began to play, and in the back row, the little girl with the tin whistle began to play as well, her harmony floating above the pit, like a siren’s song. The audience, confused, began to look around for the source of the noise that didn’t belong. The unearthly, eerie wailing like a wolf pack in full howl under a harvest moon.
And the little girl slipped away, as the orchestra stuttered to a halt, leaving behind herself only the lingering echoes of her music – sing softly, sing softly, sing sad.
I love how the orchestra kids always treated it like a sport. It was certainly nothing to be ashamed of, but to walk around and say “we won state back in HS” always seemed weird. Also, the whole ‘getting offended when i suggest you’re in band’ thing was a little old. It’s all playing music, for chrissakes
I once thought of playing flute in the orchestra. Until I made second chair in the band. I wasn’t good enough to be first in the band, and the best player band was usually at the bottom of the players in the orchestra. Fuck the orchestra. I guess I’m still bitter and disappointed in myself.
the music played and we danced. we felt as if we were floating as we fluttered like butterflies across the dance floor, surrounded by the bobbling firefly glows of the cigarettes being smoked by those around us, an ethereal fog rising above our heads like mist on the moor.
I would love to play in the orchestra. It would be wonderful to be surrounded by a heavenly symphony of music. Strings, percussion, brass instruments playing all around you.
Music full force
Like it never had before
The crazyness left me
breathless,
But I grew
Used to the sound.
There’s this noise in my head, a cacophony of sounds and whispers and screams and screeches, and I can’t breathe but I hear my heart beating too fast, too slow, and nothing makes sense anymore.
I play in an orchestra. It is what I love more than anything–the sound of the huge orchestra around me. Makes life worth living.
“Look, you need to decide which is gonna make you the bigger dork, band or orchestra. Band: You gotta march around on the football field. Orchestra: You gotta carry around a violin case. These are confusing times, bro.”
The music swayed and crashed around the room and all I could do was sit there,. still and mute, even when it came to a stop and the applause began. A single salty tear ran down my face, wetting my dry lips. The orchestra had played beautifully but it wasn’t the same and it never could be again.
People think it’s easy to make music.
Rock stars made music popular, easy to achieve.
Thing is, it is incredibly hard to play in good order, with different instruments. You need to listen to the counter bass, listen to the drums, etc.
No surprise orchestras need a chief.
We went to the world’s fair and ate with our people near the bench and flew to the gold mind with a night stick, don’t ever think about doing that with me or it might be the end of something big…don’t you agree…that is what went on the website with me and you and everyone involved but who knew that I would do and could do everything else.
the orchestra is a man who conducts things from his pulpit. the jagged edges of instruments collide with limbs and sensuate: bow to elbow.
the orchestra is restless in anticipation, fingers poised, trembling.
She danced to the orchestra of love.
The colours were an orchestration of harmonies verging on the divine; morning-sun yellows through to vibrant oranges and blood-red scarlet, rusted browns spotted with deep black flecks that melted into the undergrowth which was still interspersed with struggling grasses, not yet drained of their verdant green tint remaining from the wet summer. The eyes were at once both supremely satisfied, and utterly overwhelmed, like the prospect of a great feast one would have to eat all on one’s own.
Autumn was surely the best of times -something Tom affirmed to himself by kicking high the pile of leaves – which had stood almost up to his waist – that the recent northern winds had stacked up against the wall of the house from the nearby wood that blossomed with so much autumn colour.
The leaves went everywhere, and, picked up by the damp, cool breeze still blowing from the north, they whirled briefly around Tom as he watched. A broad smile lit up his face. He could smell Autumn around him. You simply couldn’t say that about any other season.
The orchestra crashed and rolled like waves against the cliff. The flutes and viols softly calling the tide back to the sea before the bass and brass pushed it smashing into the rocks with the spray like the echoes of the percussion.
Manchester Orchestra. This weird band as far as I can remember even though Meg loves them to pieces. Or just one song by them. Have you ever noticed that people have this way about them of making these vast generalisations? when they’ve heard one song, they’re the biggest fan. Everyone is a superlative, est, est, est. Biggest, fastest, strongest, meanest.
The orchestra sound good, I mean it was music at your very best, and you could not asked for more. I was so glad that I decided to let my son joined the school choir and be a part of the in the Christmas programme.
The swell of the orchestra caught her off guard. NO! it was too soon! they weren’t ready for anything like this, this hadn’t been anticipated, and this mistake wasn’t one she’d get a chance to learn from. It was all or nothing. Sink or swim. Do or die.
As an orchestra would, they worked together to create something beautiful. Moving here and there, they shaped this masterpiece, a baker with a ball of dough.
Let it marinate, drizzle it with care, let it sit, let it warm, let it cool. These were there secrets. Cohesion, cooperation, care.
Clubs are difficult to manage. There are so many separate entities trying to vie for the highest spot. And the rest of the folks try to file in and create a monolithic stature.
There is such a dgree of care that has to go into orchestrating a group function. Clubs need to be orchestrated well. So do orchestras.
Sometimes, it astounds me, how we are able to live coherently, arbitrarily, in this multifaceted and diverse world. We have to act in a way that eschews friction with others.
But most of the times, we do what we want without regard for the consequences.
It’s something like a group of band playing a melodious music. You can find them during a big performance or a marching occasions. The music played are really awesome coz you know they’re like everyone’s working together to create a magnificent creation of music :)
The orchestra stopped and the silence took over. I found myself in the wrong part of the auditorium. While I stood there like an asshole, Craig was getting away with my whole entire life. Everything I’ve ever cared for was in his back left pocket.
As the orchestra played the closing theme of Doctor Who, and the monsters and aliens returned to their places backstage, I was sitting at home on my laptop, wishing I was in Melbourne for what I was sure would have been one of the best nights of my life.
I sat there in the vacant auditorium waiting for the invisible orchestra to play their symphony of sorrow. I was guided here by the sympathy that remains in my still-beating heart. Oh, to hear the song one last time before the rhythm in my chest fades at last.
I feel the swelling in my ears as I stare at him across the room. There’s the faint mocking lilt of my mother’s laugh. There’s the moving grace of the ocean on a calm day. And then there’s his “goodbye” that is the discordant trumpet. The music keeps playing, and others will hear it differently. I can’t ignore the music, but I can ignore him.
I remember how it felt to pull the bow across the strings to play the beautiful harmony of the Violin 2 section. Violin 1 always stole the lead, and the lower instruments added soft deep sounds to the background, but being a Violin 2 took some of the pressure off while still creating some of the most beautiful sound. Each part separate was bland and boring, but when you brought it all together, the beauty would send shivers down your spine.
her name was orchestra. she had the darkest eyes he had ever seen. she took his hand in hers, and lead him downstairs to the basement. as they descended, he realized he could smell something pungent. the origin of the odor eluded him as he struggled to recognize it. suddenly he felt light-headed. just then, his memory identified the smell. he had smelled it a thousand times before wafting from underneath the door of his mother’s bedroom. it was sex. it the dank odor of shame,and self-loathing.
The dawn mourns the passing day as if it was also grieving it’s short lifetime. The trees whistle and the leave fistle growing evermore numb in the silent rain’s drizzle. How lucky am I that nature’s orchestra plays daily and just outside my window pane.
They play behind the main stage – the orchestra. Their music mocks Maude as she walks towards Porter, but also towards Isaac, and for a moment she wonders if she can change her wording and marry the latter instead. Marry the best man instead of the groom. Marry into his family instead of into Porter’s. But she knows she cannot, and she wishes that the orchestra would stop screaming her fate at her for the whole room to hear.
music love creative community art beauty noise love bliss heart kula
Laid out at an awkward angle across the red velvet chair in her red satin dressing gown, she stared at some indeterminate spot between here and there and everywhere and nowhere, her lips hanging slack and her heavy eyelashes drooping just slightly to blot out the light from the chandelier. The sounds of the orchestra from her record-player swelled and ebbed, rose and fell, flighty like a small spooked bird fluttering across the room before her unfocused gaze. Just one hit, she’d told herself, to help her appreciate the music. Just one, to make it come alive. Just once, to help her feel it, to get it under her skin and into her veins. Just one, to make her come alive. That one singular moment before the rush of pleasure and satisfaction and then the slow, slow fade, the hours of lying prone in this uncomfortable position while she appreciated the music. She wanted to feel something, to let the music live inside her like her musically-inclined friends spoke of, in hushed, rushed voices, whispers of a love and a passion beyond anything she had ever experienced before. She wanted to feel something, other than the numbness and the dull empty ache, so she would let the music live inside her. So just once, just one, just. So she could appreciate the music. She didn’t have a problem; people with problems didn’t do this. All she was doing was listening to the music beyond the deafening hiss and scratch and pop of the record player. All she was doing was appreciating the orchestra.