Day 2nd
I turn on my music playlist
Searching for playlist called "Depression at Its Peak"
I know the title sounds too corny, but what the hell, my playlist, my rules
I try to sing alongside with the singers, enjoying those scar filled songs
Those kind of songs you will call "It's really me"
When the singers sing the low note, I try to tone my voice down
I suddenly feel blue
When the singers sing the high note, I try to tone my voice up
I suddenly feel hyped up
It's magical yet creepy,
How songs can manipulate your moods, your feelings,
when you visualize the meaning behind those music notes, in your abstract mind
It's fascinating yet unnerving,
Music is something else
It's like taking a bath in your emotions
When you're underwater
You hear nothing but
Pure music
Pure you
slow cello music
pushing the velvet armchair
as the rain comes down
she said nothing
leaned on the stone bridge the wind
howled in my ear, pause
between the dropping
of the record & the music
dust the wind the streets
already in shadow
we walked someone
playing the piano in a tiled room
oh
said her mother a
mister dante called you
beatrice
Allegro assaiI have often thought of this music
in certain ways:
That its means
are what it means,
and no one
should ask more.
The tools incised it
intaglio
on a whole century---
fused
Style Galante into
the blood of a man---
to raise it
height and breadth,
and of which
one says singly:
String
Puffed by
Imaginary wind
Ribbed with notes
Takes on flesh like water
Says, "See you later"
Through the window of the door
Popular sentiments pull through
And survive the past
Tall buildings
Make themselves comfortable
In the lump afternoon sky
And church music
Softly walks into the mucus
these thoughts
compound the brain
those lost beginnings
taunting from obscurity:
wail wail of the cold blue note
coating the rough-edge balance
sun laughing on your face
and the pidgeon who sits all day all day
the pidgeon who sits all day
going barefoot forward through
manic eyes on the totem pole
slicing images the hand
and the feet that walk all day all day
the feet that walk all day
hungry head in a maze of light
floating away from the hump
its like music.
its i like music.
the answer bouncing like a long stemmed
dandelion in april
the most brilliant color in the rainbow,
a bunch of
fantastic
lite beams, smiles, clear ribbons of rain
coloring the sky
the bridge of the sun, the long
womans belly, the horizon.
bubbling up like a stream of sap
thru the trunk
touching the branches, bright
colored bubble surfaces
of sap, spring of sap bubbles
record going around,
room full of music-
I have forgotten the needle!
i did tell you things /
& we played
our kazoos
When books are trapped
in the snow
they could be camelias
or bald headed men
collected predicaments
magnificent translations
a shape
something to remember
and relearn
When music is siphoned
through a weather vane
water will freeze
on the strings of the violin
The ice age will sound
silently
A time will come
love lies in those beheld,
and with it, you also find love.
it exists in the insignificant;
in the gentle grinding of the mallet
on metal keys, in the incessant
rumbling of wood on the carpet,
in the glistening sweat beaded
on drumsticks and the bleary-eyed
stares at those scores with
just-too-many-notes-and-rests to count.
it lies hidden in the musty scent
of the paths walked by generations,
the residue warmth and comfort
remains dormant in its essence -
in the conjoining of scrapes and blisters,
in the aching wrists and forearms,