"I can't help from looking outside for a guarantee", Jeff Buckley in Witches' Rave. its a phantastic mental orgasm when people collide, like electrons bumping against each other - random as ever, chemical collisions resulting in who knows what.?? who? what?
a baby.
born every second. a universe expanding and collapsing in every single multi-dimensional being. a walking contradiction with an ipod streaming bossa nova, simulating the scent of brazil, sun setting on beaches, and girls from Ipanema walking past, beautiful in their ignorance of poets romanticizing, kissing, sleeping, then waking up alone in bed.
"am I cursed or am I blessed? I can't tell... oh yes."
its the risen sun singing once again. on back-up vocals are the roosters, the birds, and the laundry woman downstairs on percussion. Stan Getz enters the stage singing in portuguese, "Brasil brasileiro...". I can't make out the words apart from Brasil. its a place I can imagine, yes. and just from the singing, I'm guessing it must be such a place. flowers must grow there. lovers must be sailing in their shores while artists wrestle with ghosts of gods and vodoo and magic.
"... will i ever make it out alive to join the witches' rave?"
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