The sine of an answered prayer.

Today, I: Coughed, slept, did laundry, ate, drank, slept some more, listened to mashups, and never left the house. That's all the news that's fit to print.

Strange violin, why do you say a prayer to the rain.

the gods have built him on their pillows
with us who live
among us, those who rejoiced
that catches and destroys him,
had doffed her gaudy trim,
with fang-y teeth
and give alms, and they used to make me compliment.

there are dreams in your blood.

--MegaHAL

Strange to think of a violin having blood, but then perhaps it takes a strange kind of violin to pray. Musical instruments often seem to sing, often have personalities and voices of their own which can't be attributed solely to the skills or talents of those who've played or made them. What kind of blood would a violin have? The kind of blood you would find in wood, of course, the sap flowing through, water and minerals flowing from the roots through the xylem to the leaves, leaves raised up to catch the sun and the water and the other gifts of heaven. So why wouldn't a violin pray to the rain?

Who is this the gods have built on their pillows? The rain? What kind of pillows do gods have? Rocks? No, those are much too uncomfortable for the gods to endure. What is large enough yet soft enough for the gods who live among us? Ah, fluffy clouds, where the gods rest a while and create rain at their convenience.

Who is she who has gaudy trim? Not the rain, since we've established that's a male. It must be the strange violin with the trim--and the teeth? Music can often pierce the soul with sharpness of fangs. So can prayer.

What dreams are in your blood? If a violin's prayers were answered, would you understand enough to be grateful?