All The Round Keys

I said that word to my brother’s analyst, multimodal, and she thought I was reciting marketing jargon for big computers, the kinds that think with images and equations, but what I meant was music, the way a scale turns on its head if you alter a note. I would be in heavy Dorian rows with my editor about the correct placement of context. This sounds complicated, or does it, but only means when do you zoom out, tell the reader why they’re reading. Zoom. Maybe it was jargon. And then you shuffle the thirds and I start a Phrygian disagreement with my wife about the placement of the baby’s crib. If you’ve never listened to Phrygian music—it’s not Locrian—you’ve had the feeling: Where is the dog or Did I leave my oven on, on, on, on, that’s Phrygian. Well our kid is an owl, not really, but god forbid a drop of light gets near her perfect slumber. See, I had already lost with this attitude. My child sleeps like a fist no matter how I spin it. But if you want a mode with arrows, I get out my dice for the Ionian, all the white keys on the piano which is what we almost named the baby, Piano. We are out of names. But the Ionian argument was with anyone because both sides are in my head like opposing hands of the piano going bang bang bang: I strike big twelve-fingered C chords over over over as if I’d finished the song except the song can’t end, I’m on stage pawing for a flatted sixth and roses piling round my bench.