To explain it, or to in any way connect it
on the face of this earth my role is merely
as experiencer, writer, with a need and
my experience. I want to tell you what I hear.

Wiggles his ears to music. The experience.
If it were, we could concern ourselves with sound
exclusion of all else that musicians might
realize. We listen partly with our memories,
to clash and sing with the patterns already.
We listen somewhat with our bodies, responding
to the nervous energy and emotional
release; we listen mostly with our souls,
a sort of magical matrix that, passing over,
can bring us together, can make us
whole. A piece of music that happens to a
timpani will seldom tell the
critic if there can be such notes.

To you, probably as many times
each time, it will be
the music of subways.
No attempt is.
The listener is.
Integrate this.

It’s exciting
playing this record
spun. Playing it for
playing it for yourself
or it may be more like
life goes on below. It is made
helpless by an exciting
development in the
head. What is and isn’t.
Whatever it is you’re
of motion, and are left
only certain knowledge,
beginning to end.

This could be true:
that it is so
past experience.
Origins,
then
key to.