
	My piece, labelled “(___)zepam”, is a derivation from the concept of Music Concrete. I am a true believer that music does not have a set of rules that must be followed. If a person feels something and can express those feelings and or thoughts in an auditory form, such as a poem could be written in a grammatical form, than a person does not have any restrictions to the capabilities they can potentially reach. The piece is an evening spent in the mind and home of a person, this can be anyone that may perhaps be able to relate. Starting with the pin drop of a record, the character is undergoing a typical night with his cats and his friend Louis Armstrong. This character has been diagnosed with a severe panic attack disorder and prescribed a benzo diazepam……(___)zepam….get it. Anyway, the light of a cigarette is ignited, followed by an abrupt interruption from a telephone nearby. Common courtesy, in the politely conditioned mind of this person dictates to pick up the phone to see who is calling and what they need. The phone is answered, but a strange answering machine is playing a recording as if the character is the one who made the phone call. Irritated from his relax state of a previously smoked cigarette and purr of his feline family, the phone is hung up quick sporadically. As the perturbed person tries to return to their comfortable leather couch, the phone rings once more…….(suspense building)!!! The turbulent person returns to the phone once more to see who the heck is calling, when things shift into a down falling and almost psychedelic blackout. Time is no longer something that can be followed, the person is perforating their sanity due to the deeply forced feed world they now live in. Technology is really what gives this person anxiety because it always demands attention. The middle of the piece is not something I will describe to in depth to you, because I believe that like in poetry…everything that is made from a partial awareness (consciousness) is up for interpretation. Now we have arrived at a seemingly gloomy finale, which I consider more of an escape from the inevitable demise of the human race and the planet that harbors it. Throughout the composition, the beloved cat lover is trying to be assisted into snapping back into reality by their cats, which proves unsuccessful. Agony and distress are radiated out from the sufferer’s exhaust pipe, until they finally let it all go. The medication the “patient” was prescribed lead to their downfall into a new. If I look up and down from where I am, I have an above and a below. Perspective is one of the many keys that cognition enables us to have. So if a person is in the ISS, their below is my above, while if someone is buried underground, let’s say alive, then their above is my purgatory so to say. I don’t know if this is making toooo much sense, but its 5am and I might be a tad bit delusional from sleep deprivation…ahahah college right?/!?!?!1


Cedjic