character study under cover of darkness

Half-remembered conversations about that quote I've heard so many times: "Writing about music is like dancing about architecture." Costello, I think it was. But maybe it wasn't Costello, and that's not what the conversation was really about. Or even about at all. I think someone said it once. I don't remember why, or who. Maybe it was me?

Then, a vision: me saying it, everyone looking at me, and did I say something wrong? do they know what I'm saying? do I know what I'm saying? Except that never happened. I didn't say anything all night. I drank. I drank and thought about dancing about architecture and the image is just so captivating.

There was a part of tonight when it made sense and everything was lucid and clear and perfect and I don't know if it's before tonight really started or if it's after it was all over and now I'm here and not sure if I'm trying to get my head clear. I don't always know what I'm saying, I'm sorry. I'm trying to figure this out.

I think that last round was probably a mistake.

I don't really remember anything clearly, or if I do I don't remember what I wanted it for, and it's--I'm so close to figuring it out. I don't really know what "it" is. But once I know it'll all make sense. No more worrying about the right words or wishing I'd done things different. That's what it is. An answer to everything.

And then someone quoted Douglas Adams and I said "Hey, fuck you," but I was probably smiling when I said it. I don't know. Maybe it's not important. I'm--I don't want to say something like "I'm tired of caring." I care, I do. Too much. But there's mistakes and there's mistakes and there's someone telling me we're going home.

All I remember is the city spinning past and the sense that I'm an inch away from everything there is to know, and it's got something to do with architecture.

They dance at the Sydney Opera House, don't they?

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