Where did they find you? They found me in New York…I enjoy what I see, it reminds me a lot of the mid west. Every new boy that you meet…here she comes again. Dancing beneath the starry sky.
The broken memory, the one that is prompted by the Madeleine, into which we are thrust, chest first, breaks the sheen of the surface of today’s past. The broken memory makes the past rewritable. It reminds us that we might remember something. That which is remembered was not there. This is the problem; if it wasn’t already there, at hand, how could it become that which was remembered.
Anyway you do it, that’s liquid gold. I wish you’d shut your noise. I don’t care what other people say, I’ll just keep strumming.