It was an old sad hue of the distant songs that colored his head. Slowly as the color deepened, he wrote and played blues.
He had a canvas in front of him when he played his violin.
[You may also read A Short Essay on Perception ]
A Short Essay on Perception
All his echoes were endless and moist. The morning dew accumulated on his echoes. And when the lights filled up the dew, his voice would shine throughout the realm. Bright. Much too bright. The Ultra-Violet rays of repetetive sounds.
People wore sunglasses to save their ears.
When Darkness Blinks 