sweaty crease 26

chit-chat cat 'n play, Buster

swcrease26.nfo

1. play the music
2. look at photos
3. play again if music stops


Adult. - Don't Talk (redux)
pressed in 2005




















































sleepless days and sleepless nights
pick up the phone, i'll be alright
your mother wouldn't like it hearing you talk that way
really?
i have nothing to say
so i'll just listen to you breathe...

sleepless days and sleepless nights
pick up the phone, i'll be alright
your mother wouldn't like it hearing you talk that way
really?
i have nothing to say
so i'll just listen to you breathe...

i'll listen to you breathe
ah listen to you breathe
ah'll listen to breathe

sleepless days and sleepless nights
sleepless days and sleepless nights
sleepless days and sleepless nights
sleepless days and sleepless nights

sleepless days and sleepless nights
pick up the phone, i'll be alright
your mother wouldn't like it hearing you talk that way
really?
i have nothing to say
so i'll just listen to you breathe...

ah listen to you breathe

don't talk, just listen
don't talk, just listen
don't talk, just listen
don't talk, just listen

don't talk don't talk don't talk don't talk don't talk don't talk don't talk don't talk don't talk don't talk don't talk don't taaalk










We used to read T.S. Eliot aloud. For utterly different reasons, we were among his admirers. Time the destroyer is time the preserver - we loved those impressive contradictions of Eliot's, that authoritative way he had of stating a paradox. Perhaps too tidy, too controlled? Yet he did know something about destroying and preserving; and about time.

Judith said she read Eliot because he understood how the sacred resides in time, is time. For me, reading his work is like trying to intercept a butterfly. It comes so close you can see its markings, the luminous wings, and then as you extend a hand it's gone - hidden among other flickering objects of consciousness. There's a pleasure in this approximation, I suppose, and even in the failure to apprehend. I don't mind the obscurity of Eliot's verse. (What good after all, is an insect pinned on velvet, gorgeous but dead?)
- Martha Cooley (cut)