6-17-08
Those measured imperfections took
me to a place for away...
His hands elicited expert movement
upon those strings, as if his life
story came back every time they touched
~
Bringing to mind that of amythyst
mysterious skies and indian tribes.
Warm tribal nights , where the
peace circle is everlasting, the
song never dies. Tranquil, careful
notes make their way across the sky
~
That of a wanderer is made
apparant in the physicalization
of those notes played. Carefully
stepping and savoring every
decision. The mistakes sound
beautifully intentional. Raw
emotional to the point of being
part of life.
~
The ticks of the rythmic movement
take me to the clockworksof his mind.
Intricate, rapid, racing. As if it never stops.
The only release being those strings
Those strings make everything so real.
They make the memory live forever on. Forever
echoing in the heart, forever living, forever breathing.
Forever