It is both contradictory and fitting that crafting a playlist from across an archive longer than a lifetime can feel like an exercise in single-tracking, a technocratic term telling us not just how to work productively, but how to think. Picking a song to repeat feels monumental and also a mundane fact of our technological moment. But listening to one song again and again is more than single-tracking. A play can traverse multiple dimensions of time passing through the space around me.
But I also get to appreciate the humanity of something grown from so many hours of work and rehearsal and study, none of it enough to give an audience the perfect splice of the best version of the thing itself. Repeat is not possible.
Even if I were to watch a video of it, I fear that the video will supplant my first memory of being there—the light beams bouncing at angles picked up by my eyeballs alone, the smell of others filtered through a stuffy nose—something so singularly mine that no one else can play it back.
Even when I show up alone, watching performance rarely feels like a solitary act. When I forget my headphones, I imagine a track playing in my head, singing softly to myself to make it more real.
I can also imagine the silence that might await me if I chose to take a break from the constant stimulation of content saturation. This article from seattlepi. Definition, Usage, and Literary Examples. Refrain Definition. Poetic Forms that Rely on Refrains. The Effect of a Refrain. Literary Elements Related to Refrain. Refrains and Choruses in Song Lyrics. Examples of Refrain in Literature. Further Resources on Refrains. Related Terms. Refrain Definition The definition of refrain ree-FRAYN varies from source to source and in specific contexts, such as written poetry or song lyrics.
Poetic Forms that Rely on Refrains In poetry, there are a handful of forms that utilize this literary device. A villanelle is a poem comprised of five tercets three-line stanzas and a final quatrain four-line stanza. They also become the last two lines in the concluding quatrain. The seven-stanza, line sestina is an example of using single words as a refrain. Cantare Feat.
Ninja SA sa sa [ Refrain ] Elle est parti comme un ninja sheh ja sheh ja sheh Elle est parti comme un ninja sheh ja sheh ja sheh Elle est parti comm Le Coach Feat. Vincenzo ner hey hey hey hey[ Refrain 1: Soprano] Faut taffer le cardio pour mieux endurer Faut taffer les abdos pou 6 7. Nocturnal Creatures chord but the same refrain We've only got ourselves to blame Again and again and again Again and again a 7 1.
What's your game? Come now boy just spit your flow Feel the pain with the g Cocaine just can't seem to refrain from Cocaine cocaine cocaine cocaine molly Percocet my rep move up like a dol 9 3. Fool's Game rselves It's an old refrain Lover that we hear again Urging a cautious measure Sounding a warning It's a 10 Burning Up With Love it grows Refrain Fourteen days without water I'm crawling'cross the burning sand Wouldn't be as bad as being without you I'm feeling your lov Lust for Life ft.
Glory s all I know An old refrain 'Till a set of eyes had pinned him Became his version of a kingdom Now I know 17 Cry Like Me like me?
Maybe it was his greying hair. There are many stories in the camp about men like this. Ordinary men who because we are at their mercy here in Thailand, far from our home in Burma, take advantage of us like this.
A rage blacker than any mud I have seen came over me, and I grabbed the sheet. At first I meant to strangle him with it but hesitated when I saw him stir, saw the hate in his eyes return. Instead I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth and stuffed the sheet into the small raffia bag I had brought. You must take me back to the camp now, I said. You must take me home. On the ride back, I sat shakily on the back of his motorcycle; the wind was like ice on my skin. I had nothing to cover myself with.
The man was wearing a yellow rain slicker that ensured he would stay warm and dry. I had no choice but to wrap myself in the sheet, I thought. I pulled one end of the bloodstained cloth out of my bag. It fluttered in the wind like a red sail, and I felt revulsion for myself and the man fill me. It would have felt more like a funeral shroud.
I stared at it for a moment. There were two loose threads tickling my wrist. When I got home, I plucked them. One red string I tied around a flower and hid in the bamboo rafters; the other I tied around my wrist. This is the old way, Mama. As we rode on that unstable motorcycle, I shoved the cloth back into the raffia bag and instead wrapped my arms around the body of the man who had just raped me.
For balance: for safety. The first drop of cold wetness hit me, and I thought, let it rain, that is better than wrapping death around me.
It is still raining, Mama. The way it does here. One drop first and then sheets all at once. I used to play as a child in the rain back home. Do you remember? There is something primitive about this rain. It feels right. I know we are Christians now, but if I had money, I would set a date for the great sacrifice and have the priest kill a boar and a white chicken as I confess my sins to the Lords of Land and Water.
But I can tie my wrist. I still remember what you taught me, even here, even here without you. This red string is for you. So I call you boy, because that is what you are. And you, the youngest one, followed a few steps behind. You stopped when you saw me, and there alone, framed against the fan of sunlight, you looked like an angel. I knew you could see me; I knew because your gun was pointed at me and you were crying. I never knew soldiers could cry. But you were crying. That is why I am writing this unspoken letter in my heart to you, and believe that because you were crying you will hear me.
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