swans

"Doesn't really matter, you know, what kind of nasty names people invent for the music. But, uh, folk music is just a word, you know, that I can't use anymore. What I'm talking about is traditional music, right, which is to say it's mathematical music, it's based on hexagons. But all these songs about, you know, roses growing out of people's brains and lovers who are really geese and swans are turning into angels - I mean, you know, they're not going to die. They're not folk music songs. They're political songs. They're already dead."
Jude, I'm Not There.

Illustration of goose from here.

Saturday, November 13, 2010

voix de un meurtrier

i try to grab onto your voice when i forget it, when it tries to slip out of my pocket. it does that sometimes. it isn't locked into my palm yet, like his and his and countless others, because you're a chameleon whose voicebox is his skin.

it's so easy to fall in love with you
because there are so many of you.

but the one i love most seems to hide behind all the others, seems to be the most hidden one, seems to be the voice i can't draw yet

oh, baby. i wish i could listen to you forever, i wish i could pinpoint where your voice would drop and when it would rise and how your lilt makes your mouth look

bet it makes your mouth look stunning, just stunning, if only i could place it

if only you'd let me.
written by M at 12:57 AM
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angels