Paper clips on strings.
Crying...
WHY!!...?
How could you have let this happen to me?
To us, the set of 6 that cover the wholes held resting on one knee.
A melody like a man made of thumbs as suspense punctures the candle lit air.
Two men at first. One, long hair, leather boots, a black coat, singing like he wants to fight as he claps his hands could go bloody but just on the brink of his right boot held between gasps.
Man two, plays guitar. Short hair, widows peak, early 30's, urban holy jeans, white colored shirt and dark beige over coat.
The black metal sculpture of a dancing woman with a flamenco's head shares a corner of the stage 6 inches off the ground with melted candles of her own.
A free glass of local red eases my pen across the page as I relate to the sound of the man's voice. Like a shaman dosing spirit songs by The Earth's wood stove of molten concentration.
A gentle clapping of the hands until motion through emotion intensifies the tempos and the singer rocks back and forth with hands clenched between every back and forth.
The tremolo of the guitar player's right hand making it hard for me to write. Fast and furious yet controlled and articulate. Honest and prepared as if learned before birth he squeezes longing from the wires and wood.
The frequency of the evening reminds me of places only dreamt of. The kind of dream remembered but fleeting as The Eye comes into focus the white rabbit into shadows... branches on the window, back and forth like wires on wood. Like horse and cart traded for a motor car over cobblestone... fed in different ways but fed non the less.
2nd set, the jacket comes off and the heels become the heart beat 6 inches off the ground.
The distinct conviction is made even more evident in how the singer leans forward on his chair with his left hand out as if holding a holy crucifix as a last request.
The first thing that comes to mind during the last song is how we all sound the same. Melodies with longs... shorts and notes in between, some tortured others coddled, trying to break through in the same way magnets are either North or South. Some day I'll find the East and West magnets and be free from all concern like the cat that rests on a branch.
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Patrick Ross / Blog
Alone in Barcelona
Paper clips on strings.
Crying...
WHY!!...?
How could you have let this happen to me?
To us, the set of 6 that cover the wholes held resting on one knee.
A melody like a man made of thumbs as suspense punctures the candle lit air.
Two men at first. One, long hair, leather boots, a black coat, singing like he wants to fight as he claps his hands could go bloody but just on the brink of his right boot held between gasps.
Man two, plays guitar. Short hair, widows peak, early 30's, urban holy jeans, white colored shirt and dark beige over coat.
The black metal sculpture of a dancing woman with a flamenco's head shares a corner of the stage 6 inches off the ground with melted candles of her own.
A free glass of local red eases my pen across the page as I relate to the sound of the man's voice. Like a shaman dosing spirit songs by The Earth's wood stove of molten concentration.
A gentle clapping of the hands until motion through emotion intensifies the tempos and the singer rocks back and forth with hands clenched between every back and forth.
The tremolo of the guitar player's right hand making it hard for me to write. Fast and furious yet controlled and articulate. Honest and prepared as if learned before birth he squeezes longing from the wires and wood.
The frequency of the evening reminds me of places only dreamt of. The kind of dream remembered but fleeting as The Eye comes into focus the white rabbit into shadows... branches on the window, back and forth like wires on wood. Like horse and cart traded for a motor car over cobblestone... fed in different ways but fed non the less.
2nd set, the jacket comes off and the heels become the heart beat 6 inches off the ground.
The distinct conviction is made even more evident in how the singer leans forward on his chair with his left hand out as if holding a holy crucifix as a last request.
The first thing that comes to mind during the last song is how we all sound the same. Melodies with longs... shorts and notes in between, some tortured others coddled, trying to break through in the same way magnets are either North or South. Some day I'll find the East and West magnets and be free from all concern like the cat that rests on a branch.
Reply