August 17, 2005
Dear Bob Dylan,
Pessoa says we never truly realize ourselves. We are like two chasms – a well staring up at the sky.
Arthur Rimbaud says it’s as simple as a musical phrase.
Rainer Rilke says music: the breathing of statues. Perhaps: the silence of paintings. Language where language ends. Time that stands head-up in the direction of hearts that wear out.
I can’t say anything. I can not speak, my tongue is broken. Sappho said that.
All my love,