I love music passionately. And because l love it, I try to free it from barren traditions that stifle it. It is a free art gushing forth — an open-air art, boundless as the elements, the wind, the sky, the sea.
The century of airplanes has a right to its own music.
The colour of my soul is iron-grey and sad bats wheel about the steeple of my dreams.
I missed the bus home yesterday. After considering various options, I hopped the next one, knowing it would only take me halfway. The second, pokey bus dropped me off on a springy bit of green turf outside what was, is, and ever more shall be my favorite used bookstore. Oh, joy! I walked in with a light heart and about seven bucks.