music is bullshit. tricks and catches, a scam, false stops and starts, a bungle, full of ingenuine positive-reinforcements. fade in, fade out. making believe existence is powerful, enchanted, knowable. fucking sing me to sleep, you pulchritudinous everpotent placebo. stick your deft fingers in my heart and make little changes in spacing. swell, release. like the jar of water hung tantalizingly in front of the camel I walk out into the desert until the water spills or just vanishes into thin air and my spirit with it. Then the next track plays so I do it all over again. I always come back to you, you sneaky little whore. As if the fact that you're intangible, that you have nothing to physically grasp, as if that weren't enough to warn me you don't really exist. Con. Coyote. Bull Ring Clown. since you came I haven't once held my feet firmly to the ground. but i still love you.
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