music. wind. I think I'm beginning to fall in love with the sounds of the night. and they sound better in the presence of yellow light.
tonight. mass. momentum. levity. action without purpose. crescendo. yet another crescendo. a series of crescendos. and this song will never end.
Galapogos: here and there
I try not to mingle
a sweet song
this sweetness with memory
I am a complete aesthete. I see everything in terms of beauty.
twig to twig.
leaf to leaf.
flower to flower.
soul to soul.
we all are
when music enters soul
my young head feels a dizziness
resulting from its own absence.
is it a charm?
no, I don't think so
it's just this state of normalcy
an ordinary moment
that has become all too rare.
what does one say when one wants to say all that can be said.
fingers, gasp for breath
the meaning obtuse
the single sorrow of this diverse humanity
this piece of music.
it wasn't created
it came to be.
when ten digits perform their dance macabre
on the stage of black and white keys.
like the drip, drip of water
and then a dog whining.
then high pitched pain
the fingers press out their cries.
perform a symphony
so many minds
all grasp the single essence of silence
unified. solid. collective. together. we. us. gathered. whole.
why is naive so appealing to me.
naive as a state
that supersedes innocence.
am I that child smiling
at you when you're playing the piano?
these are the things I see
when I hear the solo.
I am always unaware
solo symphony of formalities. Readily
The Colours of Music
'Comptine d'un autre ete'
purple. yellow. green. red. turquoise.
I cannot move.
I wouldn't put anything past this music.
it's a fountain of whispers.
I could not move.
I'm listening to the amelie song
and the breeze.
my heart is going crazy.