All the snow-blizzards. So then I divide my life into chapters, I suppose; encounters of the third kind. Grace. Could be rotten or even mushy . Indeed . Flame. Imagining the flaming sounds, a line or a motivic cell, an aura, or kinetic impulse. Would you mind rubbing that out ! ( Not yourself, no! ) A reed bending in the wind. Did you hear that ?
Music as snarl, as threatening or soothing or taking off. Angelology, part two. We’re all getting on, some famously. Nor ear heard. I suppose courage is a big part, too. The simple in the complex. Many are one here.To sum up: it is my eye or hear which impose a leitmotiv – that it ? So proves just what ?