(no subject)
To me this rock [music] was just more faceless sex in a man's world, up against a concrete wall behind bathrooms. Give me a Satie tone poem like light on a Monet haystack, or Brazilian Astrud like a Matisse line. Let me lie down in a half-shuttered room in the south of France with Matisse and the soft flutter of heavy-feathered white doves, their mild calls.
this pretty much sums it all up....
ps. im sick. sick in body and sick of everyone...