a drone - as in a pedal - as in a musical tone held - as in maintained, as in directed, intentional, continuity as in a breath expressed as resonance as in sympathetic vibration, as the material properties speak their timbre through their constraints - as in the physical, as in the body, as in the aging body that speaks its timbre through its constraints, its many constraints, its material properties born from physical interaction with the world, with time.
a tambura plays the drone, a fiddle whistles on top - the old tambura hums like the old fiddle sings, both sweetened by their long legacy of service - in the hands of their musical workers, in the bumps and falls of overland travel, in the hands of the airport security workers.
a new car loses half its value the moment it is driven off the lot, a new fiddle is much the same - until the value is broken back into itself, and more, by dents and scratches, constraints, by play, by tracing and retracing the ley lines, palm lines - of resonance into fibers of maple, hardwoods, spruce
and so my body hums the drone of its life, and i whistle on top - living, outbreath, breath shaking the fibers of bone and sinew, circulatory tissue, nerve - holding, a musical holding, with the timbre of dents and scratches - parts removed and replacements scrounged from good lutherie - the quality of the sound, the sweetness from material properties, the ever expanding list of constraints, as, through striving, through failing, through living, the body breaks into its final form of beauty.