This song has been on repeat since he died. I don’t think I’ve played another track this many times before and at each play, it sounds so fresh, so relevant. It’s not just for the aptness of the lyrics and the title that relates to what I am currently untangling, but the magic is also in the music conjuring up a nebulous zone of hope and dismay at the same time, in the same punch. The sanguine groove of error and regret, the uninvolved witness, lights on Broadway, all the faces that came out to peek at the careless floater I am ambushed to be. Stopping, I have been walking the rabid dog of someone else’s confusion. Why am I always crashing in the same car, then? I should define this car, once and for all, shouldn’t I?; it’s my purity, my juvenile honesty; unwavering dedication to maintaining the clarity of the message permeating across my every cell, you guessed it, something gravely inconvenient for the masses doing their best to maintain a grid, the false sense of reality I am so viciously free, even art as a box cannot contain me.
18 January 016, NYC