In another room a man has a stack of jewel cases in his hand, clacking as they shift. He stands, as stone might, before hastily crafted wooden shelves. With a pattern of colors chosen randomly and shifting from visit to visit, the CDs lay at rest in their shiny and encrusted homes.
Stacks of clacking jewel encrusted tomes
Aural manuals, audible missives of tones
Collected into groups of chords and arrays of voicings
An auditorium of musical expression.
In another room, he carefully peruses the vast selection before him.
that this grand display of a collective thousands of hours spent in
recording studios, tour buses, and lonely 3 am writing sessions is still
only a miserably scant selection
compared to the entirety of rehearsal spaces, thrift store instruments
and boardroom meetings that make up all of the cds in the world.