vineri, 29 februarie 2008


I watch Stop Making Sense and I suddenly have this weak revelation: the prophet. He's there, shaking on the stage, spilling beautiful, true words unto us. The one who's pooling the reservoirs of enthousiasm, of inner strength, of primordial energy, of libido.

David Byrne. David Bowie. Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. Jacques Brel. John Huston. Maria Tanase. Peter Hamill. Flamenco.

All over the world, in different cultural colours, however being one, the expression of the same craving, fervour and spirituality.

Men and women of intense energy, capable of spreading the waves of enthousiasm around. Offering life. Spilling words, ideas, sweat and blood. Vibrating intense enough to wake up us inside. Filling us with pathos. Making us want to be like them. Spreading fervour and acculturation :) Defining trends, faiths, waves of culture and thought.


Envy. Beautiful envy. Trezvie. Awakening.

Enthousiasmos. Holy madness. The prophet. The skald. Patimashul. The dervish.

Spiritual, religious, emotional intense feelings. The realm of the gut and of the tremour. Religion, psychoanalysis, art, music. Sound. Voice. The animal within. The human above. The brotherhood of them.

The beautiful ones.

Listen to them. Stop making sense.

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