I met Reason once, when I was young. The night was a fine night, and I think I had a bit too much adult beverage, because I was feeling fanciful. We discussed things well into the early hours of the morning when I offered Reason a kiss. She told me to get lost, and we really haven’t discussed anything much since. Occasionally we cross paths in the grocery store, but that’s about it. As for rationality, if you divide 880 by 440 you get perfect harmony, but since art is not art if it’s perfect in every part, the 4th comes out to 1.3348 rather than a neat 1.333…, the 5th comes out to 1.4983 rather than a neat 1.5, and this is not even considering the minor 6th .
Shakespeare sang the blues, or, at least his sonnets do:
(A) That (D) time of (A) year thou (D) mayst in me be- (A) hold
(E) When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
(D)Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
(A) Bare ruined choirs, where (E) late the sweet birds (A) sang.
All the wretched roaches of the choir stood to sing, rank on rank, down the sidewalk they came! Like rosy cheeked choirboys, their diminutive voices ring harmoniously into the cooling night time air:
“That time of year”, they sang,
“thou mayest in me behold……”
And the leaves were falling, racing before the wind, sometimes flying, but in the end falling down to the sidewalk below.
A Night at Woodrat’s Cactus Inn:
Bratney McDougal came dressed for the ball
His whiskers neatly combed
With top hat, white gloves and all.
Gayly he asked with whom he should dance,
Ah, such a night, with a promise of romance
Brittney Bryce was quite demure,- quiet and shy,
She stood in the corner with cookies and drinks nearby.
Love seemed certain as the setting sun
Waiting for the waltzes, the dancing’s begun.
The shrew snuck out the backdoor,
The skink was nervous to the core,
Dancing each step according to Hoyle,
Leading the lady as though she were royal,
Bratney McDougal swept Brittney Bryce
Clean off her feet three times and thrice
Robin, robin, roses and run,
Round about and do it again,
Through the grass and under the sun,
Robin, robin, ribbon and rain,
You call the dance, we’ll play it through,
Too fast, too slow, you can’t complain,
Robin, robin, rushes and rue,
Call me your love, our love is true!
The night would have ended perfectly if a panicked quail hadn’t upset the drinks in her quite unsettled emotional state as she fled the Cactus Inn in unsettled haste, but all told, it was still a most excellent ball.