The New Seekers
We were accordions -- free reed aerophones at the least -- clattering eavesdroppers busking for poise and context. Our buttons and keys were polished and our bellies provisioned with beeswax & pine rosin. Contorting and pivoting with the Baroque obedience of an orchestra: we were played.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Ray Conniff’s World of Hits
Ray Conniff
A dialectical mind, meditating on hot and cold, warming and cooling -- a spirit enthralled by a sun-stewed station wagon on a sub-zero afternoon: I discover that we vibrate (our amplitudes intrinsic, swapping focal distances...). We learn the pitch of fuses and the ashen yield of poor arithmetic; we breathe pure oxygen and Hydrox and more; we crave stillness, moisture, and protein.
Today, New Hampshire is marshmallow drifts and fat fish. May the thaw never come to pass; long live the thaw!
A dialectical mind, meditating on hot and cold, warming and cooling -- a spirit enthralled by a sun-stewed station wagon on a sub-zero afternoon: I discover that we vibrate (our amplitudes intrinsic, swapping focal distances...). We learn the pitch of fuses and the ashen yield of poor arithmetic; we breathe pure oxygen and Hydrox and more; we crave stillness, moisture, and protein.
Today, New Hampshire is marshmallow drifts and fat fish. May the thaw never come to pass; long live the thaw!
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