Said the Gramophone

I Like It, I May Not Like It

Idiot Glee - "All Packed Up"

In the glowing shade of an evening nap this song floats in the open window. Between sleep and awareness, this shapeless thing is like second-hand smoke, like practiced violin, like curry. In a closed courtyard, with rugs out of windows and soccer games playing, this song swims lazily up where the sky starts, floats up past the rooms like laundry steam, and swirls up the silence like a ribbon of colour. [MySpace]

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Elsewhere: I wrote a couple of pieces for the always-impressive Moss Bailey. My thanks to her for inviting me to join. (check out the whole site at http://sowehere.com)

And: