Normal
I'm back ... Next time, it's recreational 
(which really isn't normal for me at all )
Let's be fair, you go into very few things with your eyes wide open. So it was between the Architect and the Busker.
The Architect knew every angle, of course, and was able to juggle accounts from all around the world. Occasionally there'd be a glitch, but as long as none of the others was aware of the deals being struck across the time zones, the most fabulous Opera House in the World would be constructed. It was a matter of balancing cost against value in each case.
The Busker had a patch, a precinct that permitted observation and as little or as much involvement as was deemed necessary, according to the situation. Music was all that mattered to the Busker; music and appreciation. Every day, the Busker would play songs, sometimes witty songs, sometimes sad or melancholy songs, always melodious and delivered with, if not a perfect voice, then at least with heart and spirit.
The Architect heard the voice and thought it quaint. Some deals were put on hold for a few days while the Architect made a deliberate change in routine to pass through the Busker's patch, just to listen and to feel enriched.
One day, the Architect offered the Busker a deal.
"Play for me. Just for me. I'll pay you well, feed you well, and if there's anything else you need, I'll provide for you. And when my Opera House is opened, you can be the very first Artist to play there. What do you say?"
The Busker was tempted. There was a definite appeal in being thought wonderful and unique. And to be the first in a new and prestigious Opera House ...
"Will they still be my songs? Will the audiences come? Will anyone want to hear my paltry Art?"
"Of course they will," the Architect answered, "of course and again of course. You are special, unique and wonderful. Anyone can see that. The audiences will come, for you are truly special."
After some months of playing daily and being applauded wildly by the Architect alone in the quiet halls of Architectural Head Quarters, the Busker was feeling more and more comfortable, even though the Architect would disappear occasionally in mid-song to conduct another deal. Though the mood was broken, the Busker remained strong and played still more from the heart on the Architect's return.
"With whom are you speaking with - whom?" the Busker asked one day when, in the midst of one of the most emotive songs any repertoire could provide, the Architect had responded to the urgent beckoning of the Red Phone.
"I'm closing the most wonderful deal," the Architect replied.
"I shall compose a special song for you and for your wonderful deal," said the Busker, and so did.
However, the Architect was never available to hear it after that. One day, as the Busker entered the Architect's office, eager to play this latest, most glorious song, the distant, crackling sound of music wafted through the door from the phone on the Architect's desk.
"Are you listening to someone else's music?" the Busker asked, knowing it an unreasonable question. Surely anyone is entitled to listen to any music they wish.
"No," the Architect replied, "I am all and always for you," and the phone slammed swiftly to its cradle.
"May I play my song, now?" the Busker asked.
"Maybe tomorrow," answered the Architect. "Tonight, I am very tired."
And so it was for the next fourteen days and fourteen nights and the Architect never heard the Busker's song, for on the fifteenth day the Architect declared:
"I have found this Perfect, New Music, and though I will always love your songs, this Music is so Perfect that even you will love it," and the Architect asked the Busker to listen.
But the Busker could not listen, for, though this Perfect Music might have provided new insights and new inspirations, the pride that had given life to the songs was now damaged and hurt and, if the truth were told, a heart had been sundered.
The Architect created the most fabulous Opera House in the World. Cost had been weighed against value and the Perfect New Music was the first sound to be heard from its stage. The world was now perfect for the Architect and the purveyors of the New Perfect Music - until the Architect discovered a Newer, More Perfect Music from a far-distant land.
The Busker still had a patch, a precinct that permitted observation and as little or as much involvement as was deemed necessary, according to the situation. Music was still all that mattered to the Busker; music and appreciation.
Eventually, the New Perfect Music reached the Busker's ears, but the Busker wasn't touched by it as, by this time, music had moved on.
And the moral of the story is, Nothing stays perfect forever.
(which really isn't normal for me at all
)Let's be fair, you go into very few things with your eyes wide open. So it was between the Architect and the Busker.
The Architect knew every angle, of course, and was able to juggle accounts from all around the world. Occasionally there'd be a glitch, but as long as none of the others was aware of the deals being struck across the time zones, the most fabulous Opera House in the World would be constructed. It was a matter of balancing cost against value in each case.
The Busker had a patch, a precinct that permitted observation and as little or as much involvement as was deemed necessary, according to the situation. Music was all that mattered to the Busker; music and appreciation. Every day, the Busker would play songs, sometimes witty songs, sometimes sad or melancholy songs, always melodious and delivered with, if not a perfect voice, then at least with heart and spirit.
The Architect heard the voice and thought it quaint. Some deals were put on hold for a few days while the Architect made a deliberate change in routine to pass through the Busker's patch, just to listen and to feel enriched.
One day, the Architect offered the Busker a deal.
"Play for me. Just for me. I'll pay you well, feed you well, and if there's anything else you need, I'll provide for you. And when my Opera House is opened, you can be the very first Artist to play there. What do you say?"
The Busker was tempted. There was a definite appeal in being thought wonderful and unique. And to be the first in a new and prestigious Opera House ...
"Will they still be my songs? Will the audiences come? Will anyone want to hear my paltry Art?"
"Of course they will," the Architect answered, "of course and again of course. You are special, unique and wonderful. Anyone can see that. The audiences will come, for you are truly special."
After some months of playing daily and being applauded wildly by the Architect alone in the quiet halls of Architectural Head Quarters, the Busker was feeling more and more comfortable, even though the Architect would disappear occasionally in mid-song to conduct another deal. Though the mood was broken, the Busker remained strong and played still more from the heart on the Architect's return.
"With whom are you speaking with - whom?" the Busker asked one day when, in the midst of one of the most emotive songs any repertoire could provide, the Architect had responded to the urgent beckoning of the Red Phone.
"I'm closing the most wonderful deal," the Architect replied.
"I shall compose a special song for you and for your wonderful deal," said the Busker, and so did.
However, the Architect was never available to hear it after that. One day, as the Busker entered the Architect's office, eager to play this latest, most glorious song, the distant, crackling sound of music wafted through the door from the phone on the Architect's desk.
"Are you listening to someone else's music?" the Busker asked, knowing it an unreasonable question. Surely anyone is entitled to listen to any music they wish.
"No," the Architect replied, "I am all and always for you," and the phone slammed swiftly to its cradle.
"May I play my song, now?" the Busker asked.
"Maybe tomorrow," answered the Architect. "Tonight, I am very tired."
And so it was for the next fourteen days and fourteen nights and the Architect never heard the Busker's song, for on the fifteenth day the Architect declared:
"I have found this Perfect, New Music, and though I will always love your songs, this Music is so Perfect that even you will love it," and the Architect asked the Busker to listen.
But the Busker could not listen, for, though this Perfect Music might have provided new insights and new inspirations, the pride that had given life to the songs was now damaged and hurt and, if the truth were told, a heart had been sundered.
The Architect created the most fabulous Opera House in the World. Cost had been weighed against value and the Perfect New Music was the first sound to be heard from its stage. The world was now perfect for the Architect and the purveyors of the New Perfect Music - until the Architect discovered a Newer, More Perfect Music from a far-distant land.
The Busker still had a patch, a precinct that permitted observation and as little or as much involvement as was deemed necessary, according to the situation. Music was still all that mattered to the Busker; music and appreciation.
Eventually, the New Perfect Music reached the Busker's ears, but the Busker wasn't touched by it as, by this time, music had moved on.
And the moral of the story is, Nothing stays perfect forever.
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