out_of_body_experience ovenbird We recorded our rehearsal. And now I can hear my own voice, familiar, yet strange, from downstairs, as if I’ve delaminated from my body and a thin cross-section of myself is elsewhere, singing all the songs I so recently sang. I can’t pay attention to words on a page when my voice has wandered away from me to bathe itself in melodies written by people I’ve never met. I notice all the mistakes. I notice the crackle age has stuffed down my throat. I’m singing half a duet because I came in too late. Timing has never been my strength. But I can hear what might have been if I listen with the parts of me that still touch the past. Like a radio signal picked up by a loose filling, I hear a harmony filling the cathedral of my mouth–a prayer to a long dead god. 260719 what's it to you? who go blather from