trying (and failing) to Zen with it

Merritt Scot has a fascination with the boom box in his room. Randomly throughout the day he'll fire up his harp music and just stand there and absorb it while gnawing on the antenna and pushing down on the lid of the stereo, forcing a remix.

Until today, I appreciated his attempts at meditating.
That yelp there at the end? It's apparently the sound I make when young Not-Buddha sinks all four of his sharp new baby dinosaur teeth through my shirt. And into my nipple. The sound that accompanies the drawing of blood. The sound that is the opposite of are-you-just-having-a-moment-of-Zen?.

Seems like we've both got some work to do before we can attain "the marvelous mind of nirvana."

Namaste.