Litany
Much like a puppy, I'm rolling around in the live Muse album. Its drums are so fierce, the lyrics and guitar so strong... well, it wipes out all other more subtle scents.
This is a perfect musical choice for early Fall.
I've always felt that this time of year requires pomp and drama. After all, ghosts and beloved spirits are just due their annual flair at this time.Spread on the grease paint and shimmy past the goosebumps- that trail past the newly lost souls shines so bright on the long sunsets. Spirits are hanging onto the long rays of night - sunset has time to reach out and speak to the ancestors. This is a truth Nawlins knows- that city looks up and over its rounded shoulder and sees the long processional of all the country's ghosts. That's the long inhale we work to move past, in our half-ass costumes and drunken revels. The bones grow more dear over time.
It's a strange place to be - here, between summer's life and fall's sweet descent. But that's where the world - or at least this cant of the planet - hangs, now. It's the end, the last spin of the wheel before white and cold. The End gaps now, like pair of men's jeans on an ass more accustomed to girl sizes. The discomfort throws us all in disarray.
Yet...
There's a bright flash of red, yellow, orange... time's bright flame.
How can we do anything but hold and cherish possibility, now?
This is a perfect musical choice for early Fall.
I've always felt that this time of year requires pomp and drama. After all, ghosts and beloved spirits are just due their annual flair at this time.Spread on the grease paint and shimmy past the goosebumps- that trail past the newly lost souls shines so bright on the long sunsets. Spirits are hanging onto the long rays of night - sunset has time to reach out and speak to the ancestors. This is a truth Nawlins knows- that city looks up and over its rounded shoulder and sees the long processional of all the country's ghosts. That's the long inhale we work to move past, in our half-ass costumes and drunken revels. The bones grow more dear over time.
It's a strange place to be - here, between summer's life and fall's sweet descent. But that's where the world - or at least this cant of the planet - hangs, now. It's the end, the last spin of the wheel before white and cold. The End gaps now, like pair of men's jeans on an ass more accustomed to girl sizes. The discomfort throws us all in disarray.
Yet...
There's a bright flash of red, yellow, orange... time's bright flame.
How can we do anything but hold and cherish possibility, now?