2003-11-13 - 3:25 a.m.
If you had a deaf friend who miraculously gained the sense of hearing and he came to your place to listen to music, what would you play for him for his first song?
I wonder sometimes about what separates humans from other animals. You know that moment, when you're listening to a song you've heard maybe five, ten times before, and you sort of like it in a casual kind of way, but then something happens, something crashes, something moves, and you're in love? How, when you're sitting on your couch, grading papers and smoking a cigarette, the CD eases into track four and the vocals come in, all by themselves, soft and distorted, and then, about a minute in, the piano crashes in (again, soft and distorted) and you know you're in love? How, sitting there on your couch, not grading papers any more, not smoking the cigarette in the ashtray, the piano swells and swells until you can't take it any more? How, then, the drummer performs magic and the beat, complicated and breathing, takes you over so that you can't stand that any more, either? How, when the drums combine with the piano, the result is something you've never felt before, and the air around you thickens and you are no longer conscious of your couch, your lungs, whether you're wearing pants or not?
My god. We live a beautiful existence.
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