A cardinal is more than the redness of its feathers and the brain pictures more than the color of things. The brain is a camera and also a tape recorder. Even after the cardinal has been buried, the memory of her sweet peeping remains. The tone of the oboe is orange. Like liquid cassette tape, the brain thirsts for the sourness of its piped nectarine notes. The tart ting of orange rind: the brain does its best flesh-impression. I'm imagining the flavor of kumquat marmalade, how did it stick in my memory? The universe is a sculptor sculpting handlessly the brain, pressing its palms electrically into the glowing ball of nerves, chiseling and grooming the organ, molding it as it grows. The brain is a living work of art. The tone of the cello is violet. And the brain does an impression of this violetness.
