![]() Even when you escape, there’s always someone listening, behind a curtain, or around a corner. Stepping back, I admired my artwork, then turned for home, leaving my message behind. This is a hopeful city.īehind me, a metal doorframe jutted out from the brick wall. The shining streets cut through the haze. The sky was black and the air thick, but milky iridescent light made the roadways sparkle. It’s dripping and cold, but it keeps you upright. Take another breath, and once again, the wool is pulled over your eyes. This city only flashes its loneliness for a moment. I mounted a flight of concrete steps, just for the view. My melody sang solo against the rhythmic remnant of rain, which fell from the oaks and splattered against the concrete. I waddled by the dripping street lamps, willing them to hum the sad, low harmony that echoed in my thoughts, but they were silent. The damp, glistening sidewalks were empty and strange. Ain’t no way I was risking tomato nightmares.Īnother night in this big, hungry city, full of hungry people and guilty pleasures, stormy attitudes and dark corners. Ma lelemento ritmico, danzante e ossessivo, resta forse lelemento che meglio caratterizza la musica dei Can, e lo dimostra un altro brano intrigante come 'One more night', con la chitarra solista di Karoli che svaria e sincrocia sun timbro minimalista con le tastiere elettroniche di Schmidt e il gioco costante e dinamico delle percussioni. Upon waking, I spent the rest of the night surfing Instagram. Raindrops - no, tears - brushed over her tender, scarlet skin. I stood in the rain and raised my arms to the sky. There was no window to shut, no barrier to seal away the swirling, raging embrace of the storm. At some point, in this big, big room in this big, big house the wall had crumbled away into nothingness. I heaved the enormous panes shut, one after one, letting the soaked curtains float gently down… until the wall stopped. It was a shame - I love a good storm - but I was a responsible and loving husband, and my frail wife’s wrath could surpass a storm’s any day. I started to close the windows, one after another. Curtains long enough to reach the floor billowed inward, heaving like sails at the wild wind’s mercy. The storm raged through the open windows that lined the walls. The furniture was ornate and the carpet looked expensive, and my wife sat up straight in an overstuffed chair. I was in a big, big house, in a big, big room, which shook with the thunder’s vibrato. I believe it highlights the deep undertones of my psyche.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Details
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |