28 Oct, 2005
the sound of my mother tongue. the sounds of trees. galloping horses. the sound of percolating coffee, the sound of carbinated water. the sound of a well-maintained motorcycle, and sounds that ratchets make. or the way in which only david bowie can pronounce: “jasmine” every sound that keith jarrett has ever spilt into this world. the turning of pages in old hardbound books. the lack of sound, the spaces in between as these to me constitute the essence of breakbeat, of poetry, of philosophy… and, at times, i also like the sound of my memory
breakbeat, happiness, love, mom, poetry
13 Oct, 2005
chris fucking rocks my world: he has bbq’d me tri-tip in the middle of the night for my birthday on the playa. chris has given me so many good hugs when i’ve needed them. chris listens when it matters; not just listening right then in that moment but, rather, listening and remembering, because that’s how he cares for you. chris makes me laugh hysterically. but more importantly, he makes me smile: he makes me smile when he’s not around. he is little rough around the edges, because he’s always growing. he doesn’t give a fuck because he gives a fuck. with chris you either take it or leave it. you either get it or you don’t– but if you do, what you will quickly understand about this man is that his loyalty stretches further than you can possibly imagine: you sense it in every part of his being from the moment you connect with him. and it’s remarkable. i love you, crazy guy! BOOM! sam
