My violin and my favorite photography book are ruined.
Expository narrative:
Some people are at my home. It is a gathering, of sorts — a party. We start poking around in my office/music room, and decide to pull down my violin in order to mess around with it. We open the case.
“The horror, the horror.” —Colonel Walter E. Kurtz
Not only does it reek of wetness, mildew, and mold, but the strings have all popped. In addition to the popped strings, mold, and mildew, the fingerboard totally broke off from the body once we tried to pull it out. Half of the top plate (the front part of the body, with the f-holes — underneath the fingerboard) broke off. The beast was so moldy that if we tried touching it any more, it would’ve been totally desecrated.
The bow was a joke. The hair had grown some sort of fungi. The sight and stench repulsed me.
This was all observed within approximately two minutes, as the stench was so incredibly horrendous that one could not stand to leave the case open any longer.
In addition to the devastated violin, a few of my books are moldy and gross. The book suffering the worst damage is The Curious Mr. Sottsass — the photography book which I positively adore. I used to carry that everywhere with me. Dash it all.
This damage is all caused from a minor pinprick-hole in the drinking water tube running alongside the water pipes. The hole in the tube is directly above the bookcase — the violin was stored right on top of the bookcase. Thus, the violin was dripped on first and suffered the most damage. Only a few books grew moldy. There is some mold growing on the bookshelf. I must take care of that as soon as possible.
It’s crazy, how quickly things get ruined. It really puts things in perspective. How fascinating that in just a matter of months, this violin went from a perfect condition to total ruin. Really, then, how quickly everything one “cherishes” might be taken from him. Then, once these cherished items are missing, it’s interesting how easily one can cope with the loss. Things one never thought he could live without he suddenly finds himself… living without.
Really, then, what prevents one from totally forsaking the material and delving into a totally selfless, giving, generous way of life? Other than the standards of contemporary society — the desire to accumulate ‘things’, the comforts of technology, the slovenly nature of urban life — there’s nothing to prevent such an aversion to materialism.
It will all be gone in a flash. And what will I have left when it goes, if I don’t start leaving it behind now?
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