A pianist he was, reading the notes on his notebook. Not notes as is words like these written down, but words as in codification for every sound conceivable by the instrument called the piano.
When he read, or, in computer language, when his mind processed the symbols; he heard the Music, coming from inside his head, and the flow of processing, or the continuous flow of reading the notes, from “do” to “mi” to “fa” and so on, formed a melody, or a repeating sequence of notes, set in a strict order.
One melody blended in the next melody, like a sinus function becoming a cosines function, ending in a composed function.
The stream of reading, he labeled in one word: “Music”
He arrived at the concert; it was his moment to shine.
Months before the concerto, the pianist wrote down "his creation" of the music. The fact of the matter was off course that his music was a combination of the code that he had been given when he learned this new language as a child in music school.
The crowd was ready to hear this language, that could keep them away, from their “natural” language.
The crowd was noisy, unfocused, like their habitual state of consciousness. But when the light went out, and simultaneously the light that were directed at the living organ, in the front of the theater, went up from notch to notch, people understood that it was time.
Time to be quiet outside and inside, comparable to cleaning the street around your house, and then your house itself.
I cannot say that the pianist started to play the Music, the Music was already there, but he added his interpretation to it.
And so the concert started.
The pianist started playing, he read the notes, and his processor, directed electrical impulses to each and every small, medium sized and great nerve fiber, and each of these fibers gave life to a movement of a dozen of muscle fibers.
Some muscles contracted simultaneously, some asynchronously. Each contraction could be seen as a movement of one of the fingers, or the movement of the position of one of his hands, or both.
When the finger pressed down the fingers of the piano, the processor of the piano, received a signal, a signal conducted by the mechanical vibrations, set in motion by the “pianist”. The signal vibrated onto a surface that would create a certain fixed sound, that would fly in the theater-space and hit the audience’ eardrums.
The vibrations of the sound would be conducted in a fluid, floating in a cochlea. Those vibrations would then set in motion an anatomical process, that would create a sound in the head, hearable by each individual.
Pianist and piano became one living organ, the piano was the extension of the pianist, and the pianist became the extension of the piano.
Indeed, one could not see who was leading… was it the pianist, or the notes he was reading?
It looked as if the slave didn’t had any opinion, any own movement, he could not afford himself to differ from any note.
And this all happened unconsciously, the pianist would not ever come to the conclusion that he was a slave, a slave of the Music-code.
In fact, he didn't think anymore about the movements.
There was a time, when he had to consider each finger position on the machine, but not now, no...
Owh no, if he would dare to think about where to put his fingers, he would interrupt the process of processing, and then he would ruin the play.
And thus this all had to happen unconsciously.
What once had been learned consciously, by careful observation and copying the behavior, becomes an unconscious flow of action, happening outside the interference of the individual.
So the pianist had no control but to put in action that which it had processed.
The pianist stopped, as could be seen by the ending of his notebook,
the ending of the code.
The crowd applauded.
Some out of genuine enjoyment, some out of following the crowd, and those were the ones that didn’t listen to the Music, they hadn’t cleaned their houses to be able to hear.
The pianist went home, and he noticed how the Music was still playing inside his head.
It was as if a piece of his notes were copy-pasted in his brains.
He even mechanically started to move his fingers, just like when he was performing, but he stopped this mechanism, because he didn’t want to make a fool out of himself, after all, he was a maestro, one to be respected.
He was so good in reading notes and obeying them, that he could encrypt piano music he would hear in its separate parts, or in other words, when he would hear piano-music, coming out of a radio or a television, he was able to write down on paper, or even in his minds, the notes that were the building blocks of the song.
And thus he was also able to store that Music, in Music form, or in note-form and then, that Music had the capacity to play, just like a music tape, in his mind uncontrollably, without his own will, as if the code has its own life, outside the pianist.
When he read, or, in computer language, when his mind processed the symbols; he heard the stream of words, coming from inside his head, and the flow of processing, or the continuous flow of reading the notes, from “I” to “am” to “a” and so on, formed a conversation with oneself, or a repeating sequence of notes, set in a strict order.
One sentence blended in the next sentence, like a sinus function becoming a cosines function, ending in a composed function.
The stream of reading, he labeled in one word: “thinking”
He arrived at the aula; it was his moment to shine.
months before the speech, the human being wrote down "his creation" of what he was going to say. The fact of the matter was off course that his speech was a combination of the words and sentences that had been given to him when he learned this new language as a child.
The crowd was ready to hear this language, that could keep them away, from their language.
The crowd was noisy, unfocused, like their habitual state of consciousness. But when the light went out, and simultaneously the light that were directed at the human being, in the front of the theater, went up from notch to notch, people understood that it was time.
Time to be quiet outside and inside, comparable to cleaning the street around your house, and then your house itself.
I cannot say that the human being started to add meaning, the meaning was already there, but he added his interpretation to it.
And so the speech started.
The human being started talking, he read the notes, and his processor directed electrical impulses to each and every small, medium sized and great nerve fiber, and each of these fibers gave life to a movement of a dozen of muscle fibers.
Some muscles contracted simultaneously, some asynchronously.
Each contraction could be seen as a movement of one of the lips, or the movement of the position of his cheek.
It was very clear how each word coded for a certain meaning, as if the human being was the slave of what he thought, or the stream of words.
Indeed, one could not see who was leading… was it the human, or the notes he was reading?
It looked as if the slave didn’t had any opinion, any own movement, he could not afford himself to differ from any idea.
And this all happened unconsciously, the human being would not ever come to the conclusion that he was a slave, a slave of the words.
In fact, he didn’t think anymore about the words.
There was a time, when he had to consider each thought, but not now, no...
Owh no, if he would dare to think about what to say, he would interrupt the process of processing, and then he would ruin the speech.
And thus this all had to happen unconsciously.
What once had been learned consciously, by careful observation and copying the behavior, becomes an unconscious flow of action, happening outside the interference of the individual.
So the human being had no control but to put in action that which it had processed.
The words reached the eardrums of the audience, and in some individuals the words were copy pasted, to be played on another occasion, outside the aula, in the head.
The human being stopped, as could be seen by the ending of his notebook, the ending of the code.
The crowd applauded.
Some out of genuine enjoyment, some out of following the crowd, and those were the ones that didn’t listen to the speech, they hadn’t cleaned their houses to be able to hear.
The human being went home, and he noticed how the speech was still playing inside his head.
It was as if a piece of his notes were copy-pasted in his brains.
He even mechanically started to move his lips, just like when he was performing, but he stopped this mechanism, because he didn’t want to make a fool out of himself, after all, he was a sane person, that did not talk to himself, one to be respected.
He was so good in reading notes and obeying them, that he could encrypt certain body language he would see when encountering other human beings, either in real time or on a television screen, he was able to write down on paper, or even in his minds, the notes that were the building blocks of thinking.
And thus he was also able to store those sentences and then, that speech in the head had the capacity to play, just like a music tape, in his mind uncontrollably, without his own will, as if the code has its own life, outside the pianist/human being. The words code for "things to do", and so each time the human being heard the sentences, their meaning were put in action, outside the human being's knowledge.
now what was there first? the code or the music?
The words or the meaning of the words?
no matter how hard the pianinst tries, he will never be able to recreate the sound of life.
No matter how hard the human being tries, he will never be able to recreate the meaning of life in words.
note from the author:
words with their meaning are not so innocent as music notes. Do not go lightly over this story
