Daily Dementations: 9 June 2013

9 June 2013

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As if yesterday’s chagrin wasn’t enough, now my throat burns and I can’t speak. I cough but the phlegm seems to stick, my nose — however — runs like a maniac.

I blame this on the dusty venue from last night. We watched Ely’s concert and the seats were covered with thick dust. I could only imagine how much we were surrounded by invisible specks as the music traveled through them, within them.

Last night we listened to dust.

——-

He doesn’t sing like he used to. Not anymore. We miss the others. We miss the rawness of the act. We miss the connection. We miss the awkward tunes, the “non-rockstariness” of you. We miss your old version.

Or maybe we miss the old us and our old ears?

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“The question of what exactly we remember when we listen to old recordings, or whether it can be called remembering at all, becomes less and less answerable over a lifetime.”
[Geoffrey O’Brien, Sonata for Jukebox: An Autobiography of My Ears]

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