And I’m supposed to be quick! A battery of chemical reactions tells me! And Otis — that dead man tells me too.
The passionate vibrato infused within his voice as he sings each note. Otis’ distinct moment and memory circulate and repeat so that we all can hear and create our own short-lived passions across the play of one of his melodies. A single moment that spans and spreads across the universe as our own recycled memories.
There’s an innocence to memory. Over time, we forgive and forget ourselves. The cycles of memory and moments that sustain our passions, desires, and wants. The constants that do not span across hours but are fixed to the point where the clock on the wall doesn’t fall asleep, waiting. It’s not frozen. It’s not tired. The forever of a lifespan, between the shadow and the soul. Now the day is over, that singular moment fades from memory. With the night, the desire, the craving, the want and hunger, a daydream turned real, ourselves entwined and lost in the reality of passion. Now, the morning comes. The night is over. The wind blows, stars die. We all die — the batteries run out. The cycles fade and shrink. Constants shift into invariable variables and crumbled pieces. It’s all the same in the end; settling. Settling with Elmer’s, settling putting it all together and hoping the glue holds it all when you are tired and desperate and lost and see the most beautiful and fucked up-looking puzzle you’ve ever seen, and you realize it’s not even a 3d one and either way — either way — it’s not staying together even with the rubber cement, not even super glue. Nothing keeps something so imperfect together; this set of dreams and moments and constants, our passions and desires. Nothing can when so many pieces belong to another picture puzzle where all the pieces fit. Love is not a recycled notion but a constant cut directly from the soul.