| Jazz Journalism | ||||||||
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Past
one o'clock. Most likely you're in bed. The Milky Way spreads silver through the night. I'm in no hurry. I have no cause to stir or startle you with lightning telegrams. As they say, the incident is over. Love's boat has smashed against our daily lives. You and I are through. Why balance out the mutual waste and pain, the old affronts? Look, what peace descends upon the world! Night has filled the sky with a praise of stars. At such a time one rises to converse with centuries, history, and all creation. (Vladimir Mayakovsky) |