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| Words and Music at 35,000 ft. | ||||||||||||||||
| Words | ||||||||||||||||
| It is said the pen is mightier than the sword, but what of the keyboard?� What are these words, which come spitting, flying out of space, from the void?� They are meaning given form, like a body dead and warm.� Like the Buddha said "Form is emptiness and emptiness form".� | ||||||||||||||||
| It is a stream of energy which passes through this Roman Anglo Saxon filter and empties onto the paper or the screen.� To be seen and obscene, like ghosts from a dream. | ||||||||||||||||
| From where does it come?� In fact it comes from here to here and goes nowhere, or Now Here.� | ||||||||||||||||
| These silly abstract symbols cannot be confused for reality, for you and me, for he and she, for that which never was and what will never be. | ||||||||||||||||
| Music | ||||||||||||||||
| Music is nothing more, nothing less than the sound of leaves rustling, crickets chirping, lovers panting, moaning, wrestling on through the night. | ||||||||||||||||
| It is the sound of energy pulsating through the material world in cosmic rhythms.� Rhythms that make us dance, make our hearts pump and take our breath away in moments of pure brilliance. | ||||||||||||||||
| Music flows from my fingers, my hands, my voice.� Music tears my fingertips to shreds until chunks of skin tear away and fall useless to the ground.� Music consumes me and flows through me. | ||||||||||||||||
| My body is like a well, a conduit which draws energy up from the infinite cosmic plane.� It radiates from my soul and shines out my essence.� | ||||||||||||||||
| The body is an illusion.� The guitar, the drum, the little egg shaker are but vehicles through which the energy passes, but they are also an illusion. | ||||||||||||||||
| All is energy, all is delight.� Nothing is fearsome, nothing is fright. | ||||||||||||||||
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