All who are interested in heading down to Santa Monica for the Gregory Colbert show say “Aie”. It’s time, duckies. Easter Long Weekend. The show closes when May begins, so we’re running out of time. If I have to, I’ll go alone on the train, but I think this should be by group design. It’s too beautiful otherwise. Help me, come with me, let’s go.
In the same sort of vein, Sophie‘s looking for Sin Borrows. I’ve just recently tossed out everything I could have given her, does anyone have anything proper that would fit?
I hung up the phone and smiled again. I feel like I’m at a train station and one of us has run next to windows, shouting “I’ll see you again sooner than someday.” There is reason and love in my mind and it’s nice. So few are my moments of grace.
I watched, enraptured, as someone played the saw last Saturday. I love the tonal structure of it, the glissando that arc out to pierce the audience so effortlessly. I swore again, as I have at least once a year since seeing Delicatessen, that I would find someone to teach me. Burrow tells me that all is required is a saw and some insubordinate patience, but I’m not so sure. I’m going to trust her on this one to the point of digging out a saw and an old bow, but past that I’m shy. How silly will my injuries be from holding this sort of musical instrument wrong? I can only dare not imagine. It’s not like gamelan, where the worst I do is pinch a finger carrying some of the bigger gongs.