The house was quiet as despair. Leaving the lightswitches untouched, Childe Dodgson poured himself a scotch in the dark and peered up through his front window towards an unsatisfactory moon which was perched atop the building opposite. His mind grasped at any distraction to be had. Squinting, he unfocused his eyes until it morphed into a more romantically rotund halo of silver. He tried to keep his mind on the beauty of this contrived scene before the pale goddess could regain her subtle flaws.
This is where I post tunes I've transcribed and bits & pieces I find interesting. A few old articles have been transferred from my old blog, The Daily Orator.