Sunday Music: Mad Rush (Phillip Glass)

Mad Rush to Here

...it always begins with the body.

Always:

Always movement, breath, silence, odor, maybe,

Maybe another gently teasing over there, another and

Another just outside of things you can be sure of,

Of things like love or its end.

...always music, dancing: elements of obliging.

Always:

Always a meta-thing but the hows - 

How to dance, how

To listen - depend on where you hear and where,

Where a rhythmic entraining, inside the walls,  

Inside dull straight lines of culture and flat screen flatening

Everything, even love, to only now. Swipe. Left.

...after the golden start you both walked within, a less brilliant golden

After:

It had been always golden though- the grassy field, maybe, 

Maybe a gold-hued night sky, maybe,

Maybe under sunlight warming your skin 

Or her smile - what's the difference, her smile, your skin? -

A muscle stretched, maybe 

Maybe the crunch of gravel beneath as

You were walking, there, now here (and there) you know: 

Look at your foot.

There it is, there you are, 

You doing something

Or here at the same and in the same

Entrained, entangled, necessary inevitability.

Of one single moment worth all the rest.

Like one rose opening to a light,

Already there before its un-budding.

There's always a quiet whirling after the silence,

After the love has floated on,

Pieces of one smile, one whole but

One that plays hide and seek, 

Appearing behind a thinning haze

Like the rose flower - white or red or yellow or, oh,

Any color might do.

Any at all, something to hold onto,

To keep, to remain with you or 

You within it. As much as you can.

Warming your skin even when her smile has gone.

...it begins with the body,

Not with everyone but most don't need that - after all.

Many won't ever even feel it that way - at all, not always.

A neglected thing re-found, a sort of affordance of your self

Returned, re-placed within. A Gibson-like thing

For the Gibson-like. 

How too little attention is payed,

Really,

To changing affordances of self within affordances

Of the body, almost. Always. Building.