  Oh wow. These files on my computer that were recently transcribed onto the hardware of the new amazing shoebox Ive been thumbing through them, playing bits of each. The audio components of each. I didnt even get through the As until I ran into Ginsbergs Howl .
A wonderful reading by the man himself. And I couldnt say no, however Ive heard this track more than 3 dozen times. All 18 minutes of it. And usually, yes I dont try to write whilst my revisit is broadcast in stereo sound. It transforms me, engulfs me. I cant help but submit to it. Willingly. Hopelessly. Amazing. Very, very, very few pieces matter like this. Yes, so along with playing Charlie Parkers Embraceable You at my funeral.
Will someone insist this too be played? The beauty and the horror of being is hardly captured so poignantly. After almost a decade of loving, it remains as such. And after how many decades of the pieces being? Lord, the timelessness of the pain of human existence. Shrouded in dissimilar garb, the heart of it never phased. You know what, no. I cant even handle the whole thing tonight. I know where this goes, and I cant run the risk of falling flat on my face.
Not tonight. Not with that poem. It has too much weight, personally. Id like to reserve its power for those late nights with sharp objects and virgin skin. When I long to feel the hell. When I need to draw blood to find release. The highlights are dim at best. And thats why I so appreciate his words, his voice. The pain deserves the respect. Im not there tonight, and Ive been advised not to go there unless Im there already. Annie Lennox isnt the apex of the EKG, now is it? But Im on the first letter. Then again, I can skip, cant I? And yes, Im right back into my dream song from the other night. And just like that, Im following the grainy voiced lyrics of the Rolling Stones Thru and Thru .
Its heartbreakingly slow. Everything seems to be reaching reach right into me tonight. By choice; I could always opt for meaningless songs. Then again, our artistic universes reflect, inevitably, with our inner worlds. Or were blind. Or incurably shallow. A depth of sight, Ive never been accused of being without. Song: Thin Line The Kinks, Roxy Music/Bryan Ferry Don't Stop the Dance 
