Leland Torrence wrote:
> Well!  Glad to have some support here.
Leland et al,

U got my support, but just as not all problems are solved by
hammer hitting nail, a sound i like that percussive ping, ping
not all jobs are perfected by listening to shaving wood,
when I am writing madly I like to listen to Buckwheat Zydeco, or Bela Fleck
the thump thump of fingers on sassafras wood, so sweet, mellow, also
and then there are times in which the dissonance of Captain Beefheart is 
exactly what I need to consolidate an estimate
bang on a pan, dong jing, Ken Can't Do
but usually I feel more sane w/ the Brandenburg Concertos, tear my stone 
walls down to mud flats, like J. Hiatt
so, there is a time, need and place for cell phones, and pictures of 
spiders, and sunrises, and stinky soup
and for ipods, the personal paparazzi,
maybe not in the wood shop, yes, but damned if I can focus when standing 
on the sidewalk
on 72nd street in front of the house w/ 15 bathrooms, the Polish girl 
inside is gilding the mirror frames
and my dyslexic fingers, yes
using Edison 45 on for crap brownstone that shld be thrown away
without putting on the earplugs to drown out the fire sirens --
and forbid I step backwards then into any bi-racial baby carriages
with that awful nasty paint stripper stuff.

But what interests me here is the contextual resonance of place, and 
sound, friends and time.

[this will be cross-posted with removal of all implications of sequence]

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