a musette is a soft blow of pastoral air imitating the sound of the bagpipe. it is an archaic instrument even within bagpipe enthusiasts. it is an oft-forgotten anomaly.

here I treat my selected writings and musings—musettes, if you will—exactly as such. I indulge in sharing my thoughts even though I know they can, like all things, become obsolete. even in the sheltered confines of code strings I don't really understand.

I see these musettes, impermanent as they are (just as the string of black splotches which occupied your screen a few minutes prior were displaced by mine), as attempts rather than as a result or an end in itself; as exhibiting ambition, a desire for the taste of something more; a momentary breeze which nudges your skin with the reminder that all poetry and depth lie in the surface of things.