The collection

I became obsessed with every instrument in the world and decided to collect them all. The first problem with this was my belief, based in fact, that each instrument was different from every other instrument, no matter how similar they looked to each other. The recorder was the first instrument I gained a complete collection of, consisting of 7876876378321111222 standard recorders and 3 of those really big recorders. All the others had apparently been destroyed. I blew into each one one after the other for a while and it was quite satisfying knowing that these sounds were mine now. Later I had the three really big recorders destroyed. A strange thrill. The end of a language. I weeplaughed until bedtime.

After this I moved onto the triangle. Accomplished with minimum of fuss. The scratchglove. There were only five and I already had four of them. When the fifth was delivered it was still filled with blood. The whalehorn took longer. I was not just content with the alreadyexistent but the existpotentials hidden in the throat of every whale in the world.

Only once I got to the glass of water did I have problems. Each glass is unique, that is my belief. And each different amount of water poured into each creates a new instrument, uncopyable by any other glass. An infinite amount of instruments in each glass. I was lucky that there were a limited amount of glasses, which I bought immediately and took to my cavern. Then I strode back and forth in thought. Eventually I tired and I sat in my mobility scooter and let the robotic controls drive me back and forth in thought. That was a long night, as they all are on Venus.

But by the morn I had proven the problem soluble. I hastily assembled a time machine and took each cup back and forth through the portal with me, each time through adding slightly more water, until eventually I had completed my task. Cups of water sparkled under the lights all the way to the end of vision. Not just mine but yours as well. The end of all vision. I gave each cup a single flick as I passed, marvelling at the clearness vibrations undulled even by the timeconfusions I had wrought upon their molecules.

The time machine later also proved useless in the sacking of my band, replacing each member with myself, and each instrument with whichever instrument I cared to choose from my collection, even sometimes the same one multiple times.

I might buy drums next.