I am listening to Brian Eno. It reminds me of Narc's bedroom... the cool rumpled white sheets and the smell of the place. It's nice how places have smells that transcend description.
I remember once after one of those intellectual history seminars, while heading over for our "dutch treat" style dinner, ProfPP said something about Brian Eno and made some self-deprecating comment about how we (meaning me, Hammer, et al) wouldn't know who Brian Eno is because we are young.
This is what my memory sounds like.
The music right now feels like little drops of water plunking down into my blood stream... Silvering. Shadowy, now. It's impressions are so clear. My blood is running thin. The rain is shining. Shining and poisonous.
-h-
2 comments:
That last description was truly lovely and evocative.
It is lovely, although I have no idea who Brian Eno is.
It sounds like things are continuing to be very full for you.
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