spun at the time by its sound, the ache then in some
bliss of discovery and now a pang of how far ago –
these records both played and chronicle in one
long line. Covers too delight and hurt in recalling:
outer, inner, gatefold, and almost origami in trying to
go beyond; how the liner notes tell stories about creating,
influence, histories – and writers wrapped up in their
own words to spin out of control. Always the music
pulling you back into the one true groove. I will
forever want their noise reminding me, the vicarious
haunt or a new thrill, and silences are interruptions
that need filling, the circle on a turntable to round
upon itself again and again in a constant of sound.
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