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The new website is coming along slowly, so I went ahead and uploaded the old one again and will continue the posting until the new one is ready.
Of Music
You said of Joni Mitchell's Blue that it was music you
had always been looking for. Like the way our first look
at the ocean isn't surprising because we always knew
what it would look like and it just waits for our attention.
You quote a composer that helped you through the divorce
as the waves try to drown us in sound,
"Music is like white light which contains all colors," you say.
At the mention of light we look at the moon
which pushes waves at us one after another, tugging at us,
asking for us—what is it you're asking?
And then we see it: not one man in the moon, but two:
A woman howling at the edge of her white halo, a man stuffed in a box,
and where their ears meet is the bleak negative space of violence like
a hole revealing what lies beyond the side we don't see, like
a keyhole through which light pours, or like a lens which brings
everything beyond us into focus, gathering the light of stars,
pinching it at the middle, and pouring it out onto the ocean in a cone.
For a small time we see it: stacks of moisture, the tug of matter,
the weight of all water. And there through the thieving moon—
the universe's prodding finger. |
