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/ november is a month of ghosts

a grey knive lurking on the corner of the bathroom counter, incongruously balanced on the edge - just about to fall - the light of day leaked into the room like dish detergent being squeezed gently out of a bottle, and over in the corner, rats rustled in a paper bag. he walked into the room to the sound of the ceiling fan slowly misunderstood. his left sneaker squeaked slightly. paper in his pocket crumpled up and a blue crayon behind one ear. a muddy cigarette in one hand and no lighter. his eyes are silently stained-glass windows inside a church with no congregation, waiting for the hollow bellpulls - the doorbell of the Almighty. he takes out a sharpie and marks an x on the wall. moments later a fly buzzes fatly in and lands on the ��������������������������������������������spot, preening and humming to itself. below, at the baseboard, an ant trundles in. he looks at the mirror. he looks away. outside, a bird hits the window, and all things still, in hushed������������������������������������������mourning. an ignorant cricket looses a selfish mating call and
2003-03-06, 12:27 a.m.

i listen to the days getting slower like a rubberband unstretching

��������� �����crazy how a voice can touch you. even if you don't know or barely know the person behind the notes. in this case - and it feels sort of weird to speak of it, since i already made it the song of the day, etc, and she was illimitably happy for it ... ashley emerson, who sang in "songs for a new world" - which i saw both nights it went up, sings "christmas lullaby" ... a delicate piano, and her passionate, soothing voice. there is a control to it, a very deliberate control to the way the notes spill out -

and he will make me shine - there is a specific yearn, a longing feeling right there, right between the "me" and the "shine" ... a subtle, tender break, as though she were to begin crying - but not out of sadness. out of supreme joy for something so amazing. the future of the world. it's funny how the song begins, too. since the recording is in a space - you hear her walking out to begin, and the footsteps for some reason even enhance it. the opening words - i will never have the power to control the land ... to conquer half the world, or claim the sun and yet out of such humility and gentility comes a spiralling, passionate melody. i think what makes it so great - at least to me - is the tremolo, the quiet acceptance, the humility ... i keep repeating myself. it has been said that if you are truly in love, you should be rendered speechless. this is a kind of love - a supreme admiration. as i have for all singers. anna, jason, anthony, josie. the names that pop right to the forefront of my mind. a power that you see in their eyes, in their bodies - they assume a stance, a pose, a shine comes to burnish their eyes, and it's as though melody runs hot-water through their veins.

it reminds me of the power of things. of the weather. of sound. i am currently fixated on nature, on the shift and tug of the tides of environment. i neglect the incredible power of the senses. those footsteps! equally measured, one-two, one ... and stopping. the applause comes to a conclusion, then those three footsteps. i can hear her breathing - and the opening phrase, measured and steady. forgive me. sometimes i get carried away.

then. the angels call you ... to leave this land he does the same thing. a power belying the words, the sound, a passion that surges up like something majestic, something regal in nature. the piano frames it. jason's voice is like a paintbrush, it's delicate in the same way, putting the finishing touches - or perhaps just beginning - on the canvas of sound. then anthony ... straight into your arms the harmonies surge up, and the power begins to gather, a lightning storm of energy! cloudbursts and rain, the piano providing flashes of light, their voices are rain, soft, pattering fly ... and BANG. flying home. straight into your arms. nearly there, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling -

landscape tones. soundscape.

it is said that when you truly love, you become speechless. words & sound - a bizarre synaesthesia that never quite meshes, syncopation only in the hiss of syllables and the peculiar rhythms of speech. visual as opposed to aural.

and oh, those footsteps!

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�SEH