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Faced with the unutterable, words still disintigrate...
And ever new, out of the most quivering stones, music builds her divine house in useless space.
-Rilke
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I am moody.
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[I am not very good at html]
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sometimes i wish... [a blog]
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Wednesday, March 20, 2002
ok, i have to say it now with real conviction: Low Level Owl is amazing. shhhhh. don't say it with any volume. it's delicate as a porcelin doll. an ice sculpture. talking will shatter it into a million pieces that melt into nothing. shhhhh. close your eyes. let it quietly drift into your consciousness, almost imperceptibly. don't talk about it. don't kill it. it is a whisper. ravings will destroy it. it is a dream epic. trying to describe it is as futile as explaining the appearance of anything abstract. and if i am the only one in the world that hears it, that is ok. it is ok if only i like it. it is ok if the band never existed except in my head. the meanings of the lyrics are irrelevant. they are ideas. ideas trapped in shells. shells broken open by the whisper. subconscious. agreed with but trivial compared to the dream. the bits of imagery just help build the landscape like things you hear in the day are expressed in symbols in sleep. the voices. the echoes. the notes. the hitting. the everything. it is a dream epic. a dream epic.
12:00 AM
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