Passage from page 136, Divisadero: Only the rereading counts, Nabokov said. So the strange form of that belfry, turning onto itself again and again, felt familiar to me.

For we live with those retrievals from childhood that coalesce and echo throughout our lives, the way shattered pieces of glass in a kaleidoscope reappear in new forms and are songlike in their refrains and rhymes, making up a single monologue. We live permanently in the recurrence of our own stories, whatever story we tell.

(Ondaatje, you fucking genius poet asshole, you.)

• Rachmaninov: Preludes, Op. 23 - Prelude #5 in G Minor - Kathryn Scott
• Edgar Meyer: Sliding Down - Edgar Meyer, Bela Fleck, Mike Marshall, Heartland: An Appalachian Anthology

Memories witnessed through music. Seen through song. I'm sure every music lover in this world strings together their own narrative through potent melodies. I know that I have.