Erik Satie

Listening to Erik Satie's Gymnopedie, which is (almost) every bit as brilliant as Moonlight Sonata, I have a bottle of Spanish wine beside me, and I'm feeling a little flowereaten - my skin itches a little bit. I take a sip of the red, go back to the first song, which is really the soul singing, or speaking, as dusk takes the streets and the trees outside my window, and another radio plays in the other room. The voices of people drift up from downstairs, someone is standing in the hallway, a telephone rings. There's an immense weight pressing down on me, and I don't expect it will ever go away, the smuttiness of things past, regret, the people -- why is it suffering always seems to involve someone else? and joy? joy is best when it's shared, of course. Joy and suffering - borne of the people... and the sound of Gymnopedie, borne of a piano, and of the soul, and when I listen to it I know, the soul is sad, and beautiful in its sadness, and it will keep going on that way, beautifully. Sad.

(the above is a pic i took from a dock in key west, nov '09 - i've decided to put more pics in here because i think the artwork ran its course, for now, and sometimes tends to bore more than real life scenes - still haven't figured out how to get the comments right... one of these days i will have comments, i swear... anyway, back to crying in my wine -- "no tears for the writer, no tears for the reader...")