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Snow, Music, Smoke, folks...

Eskimo's culture owns a number of words and expressions to describe different qualities of snow to put to shame Shakespeare's lessical skill and virtuosism.

I realized - yesterafternoon - while lazily smoking my pipe and listening to some Tortoise's disks: how many "smokes" does exist?

The poisonous, breathed/inhaled cigarette smoke - an habit I quitted 20+ years ago - is raw and nervous, it's the combustion by-product filthy everyone expects from those awful smelling fags, as also die-hard cigarette smokers hate their miasms.

Cigars... oh my, I'm partial here, as a good Habanos, hecho a mano, a Robusto or a Prominente after a special lunch or dinnner, is classy enough to give an olfattive "smelltrack", an olfattive soundtrack to chatting and socializing... it's thick, sumptuous, slow - if puffed properly - and the (undeniable) unhealthyness is, sort-of, mitigated and not an issue, anymore, as flavour and tasty smell are so powerful for at least two senses, dialoguing, interacting and completing each other.

Pipe, as yesterday... is a little mistery, as few tobacco flakes ounces in the oven are usually lasting as long as a good Habanos'... clever!

Pipe smoking is a multi-level and sensorial experience: smoke is lazy, greasy-like fluctuating in the air, almost solid, with a visible and smelling persistence whose nature changes several times, from exhaling to when so elegantly dancing in the air for looong moments.

Its colour is also different, being a pale blue vs. the exhaust-like no-colour of the cigarettes.

As a plus, the well-worn, worked-out pipe wood is life-like in my hands, smooth, silky, reassuring and warm like a little sparrow having a rest in my (peaceful) hand.

Eyes, mouth, nose, hands... makes four: fifth - i.e. ears missing?

Nope...

Having a cigar or pipe without music would be for yours truly like having sex with an inflatable plastic doll;-) Technically feasible;-))), but not in my wishes top-list.

So, ALL five senses get involved and are playing together... to relax, to get a climax, giving to a lazy 35° Celsius Sunday afternoon in my studio, the status of "the" place I'm in and where I want to be.

A last but not least parallel with my Gotorama and "how" I listen to music in my music-room: after being a fag smoker and distract listener, when younger, I taught myself to reach an (higher) level of consciousness, paying attention to both music and sound, its inner structure and endless beauty of the infinite possible combinations... and better smoking habits as a mature individual.

Like an omnivorous, hungry "deep ears" (thanking Linda Lovelace...;-))), better, like a musical Eskimo (... the snow, remember?) I'm humbly, sincerely storing in my cells and DNA, the more I'm able to reach and feel and talk and (try to) describe and understand the most I can about the most mysterious, elusive of human expressions: music.

Like in love, any means will do... sharing, begging, travelling, chatting, DIY-ing, Web, thieving... whatever, 'til the last puff... aehm, breathe.