slippery hands
the opening of lou reed's the magic moment has the strangest, sweetest atmosphere. we move in slow motion, in thick sunlight, like the scene from numerous movies where he sits contemplating his coffee and she walks in and he looks up and the world sort of spins in some kind of bright, invisible twilight.
magic moments. i feel gripped in it's obscurity whenever yr around.
everything else is silly. i don't want to give a damn. the worst systems are the ones we trap our own minds in. there is nothing wrong with running. the river won't stop flowing anyway, might as well go with the current.
day by day the songs will change, the rhythms becoming increasingly complex, the music more and more divorced from emotion and idea, from self. one day my life and the inner hum of my soul will sound like 4'33. one day i'll understand the silence.
magic moments. i feel gripped in it's obscurity whenever yr around.
everything else is silly. i don't want to give a damn. the worst systems are the ones we trap our own minds in. there is nothing wrong with running. the river won't stop flowing anyway, might as well go with the current.
day by day the songs will change, the rhythms becoming increasingly complex, the music more and more divorced from emotion and idea, from self. one day my life and the inner hum of my soul will sound like 4'33. one day i'll understand the silence.