The tiny slip of pink, a hint of a bite, a bit of a smile before muscle is made fluid and her liquid mouth slipstreams, her eyes slipstream behind the rest of her as she pirouettes; the celerity casually disobeying the physics of conservation of physical conversation. She pirouettes, and is simultaneously a wave and a particle and I’m scared of staring too much. Sinew made sensual, every smile a skirt.
The stray slap of a guitar, betraying the riff and the rhythm, sparking between the twin flint stones of thrill and impatient skill. Stings and bounces, in between, in the interstices of the beat, an insolent court dancer under the tyranny of a musical scale.
Irascible art in complete control of itself, exuberant with the confidence of competence. The most purplishly beautiful thing in the world.
...
Writing, on the other hand, is art extracted under torture.
The stray slap of a guitar, betraying the riff and the rhythm, sparking between the twin flint stones of thrill and impatient skill. Stings and bounces, in between, in the interstices of the beat, an insolent court dancer under the tyranny of a musical scale.
Irascible art in complete control of itself, exuberant with the confidence of competence. The most purplishly beautiful thing in the world.
...
Writing, on the other hand, is art extracted under torture.
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