Of smoke and gold and breathing

Hösten är årstiden då allt vettigt sker. Till exempel föds bra människor då, höstfolk. Idag fyller Nick Cave år – igår Leonard Cohen. Två av mina favoritartister nånsin. Skulle kunna skriva hur långt som helst om alla ensamma nätter som blivit uthärdliga, i vissa fall även underbara, tack vare dem, och hur sättet de använder språk och ord har varit en stor inspirationskälla för mig och en massa annat, men det orkar du ändå inte läsa. Och det känns lite fånigt att skriva om. Så jag låter det vara osagt.

Lämplig hyllning är varsin playlist med alla bra låtar.

leonardThere’ll be fires on the road

 

nickKeys rain like heaven’s hair

 

Beware the autumn people

For some, autumn comes early, stays late,
through life, where October follows September
and November touches October and then
instead of December and Christ’s birth
there is no Bethlehem Star, no rejoicing,
but September comes again and old
October and so on down the years,
with no winter, spring or revivifying summer.

For these beings, fall is the only normal season,
the only weather, there be no choice beyond.

Where do they come from?
The dust.
Where do they go?
The grave. 
Does blood stir their veins?
No, the night wind. 
What ticks in their head?
The worm. 
What speaks through their mouth?
The toad. 
What sees from their eye?
The snake. 
What hears with their ear?
The abyss between the stars.

They sift the human storm for souls,
eat flesh of reason, fill tombs with sinners.
They frenzy forth. In gusts they beetle-scurry, creep,
thread, filter, motion, make all moons sullen,
and surely cloud all clear-run waters.
The spider-web hears them, trembles—breaks.

Such are the autumn people. Beware of them.”

– Ray Bradbury

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