| |
[May. 22nd, 2012|04:30 am] |
atkal neviens mani neapsveic - sākšu apvainoties.
in other news, the drumming has kicked my imagination into gear - got a whole story lined up about life in a village surrounded by peat swamp - the dream-like repetitive beat a metaphor for the married-with-kids life: a sort of routine-like paradise where memories of lapsed time are shocked into being by old photos (that currently litter our floors). The beat can have the lilt of poetry to it (like the old rockabillies in Norfolk - or Gene Vincent on a cassette in a car on a scorching day) or be strictly techno (aggro and slit skirts). |
|
|