carl jung does coltrane
in turn, like cherished childhood vagrancies, curb-sitting at corner stores and such, i remember with such great smiling eyes, the moments of laying on couches listening to coltrane in the dark dribbling out babble about music being closer to perfect than we know and thinking how fine it must be to fall into such flows, in synchronicity with sounds that everything falls free without pulls or wails or taunts, just outwards like breaths across long ocean-lives and nile-virus awareness passing from one person to another like muhammad ali passing the olympic torch, 1996.
2004-07-15 | 11:20 a.m.
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