TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile
oh! Listening to Manu Chao because it is the only album on me as it was friend-sent and my collection is boxed and waiting for my boombox to be set on a windowsill in a place called Phil's. When translated, song after song becomes relief, like waking up from a bad dream and feeling one's heart pound hard. You're not dead, not yet, cause here thrives all these vibrations, through bone and blood and muscle, desire connoted, song after song epicenters of desire. Long after the body that first sung them has died - there will always be an audience. A major difference, I suppose, between creator and audience.