Monday, July 18, 2005

Smoke your pipe, you brown-skinned champion.

I once wrote a poem called Cigar Store Indian. Ostensibly, it was about stoicism. People ran away from it, and it eventually became fire, burning into nothingness and everything.

I once wrote a song called The Unexamined Life. Supposedly, it was about Socrates, though I didn't know it at the time.

I once said "great men need not account for their art." And Nietzsche flopped over in his grave.

***
Back from the Continent, with my only regret being not trying harder to see Taj Mahal at La Cigale. Currently short on inspiration, but we'll return to normal soon - what with the music reviews and such.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Glad to see you're back. Looking forward to some new reviews!

7/18/2005 4:49 p.m.  

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