Music molecules and Seurat.

Sound is a vibration of air molecules. From the source of the sound comes a tidal wave of motion, as molecules crash into one another in a widening circle. One molecule jostles the next which jostles the next and then the next until it bounces up against someone's eardrum.

The molecules are invisible points pushing through time and space. Air molecules. Air molecules. Nothing. Isn't air nothing?

And then they pound on the door to the brain - the eardrum. The gong that lets the brain know a visitor has arrived.

But the eardrum, in fact the whole ear, including the juicy earlobe, is made of molecules as well.

I always imagined myself more as a Matisse. Matisse when he painted the strange sienna dancers and musicians. They were neatly outlined, separated from their backgrounds.

But, in fact, I am a Seurat. A tightly packed universe of molecules, a pointilist portrait. There is no real outline. The only thing that keeps me from bursting out into a trillion free-floating molecules, mixing wildly with the music molecules and the whisper molecules and the paintbrush molecules and the textbook molecules, the only thing that keeps me together is the basic xenophobic nature of my molecules, shivering together, bearing in on one another, keeping me in a neat little bundle of me molecules. But music molecules slip through the door nonetheless.