a_moment_of_lightness_and_sound ever dumbening A painter with piano keys. Another night of live_jazz. The first one in a while, actually. It was almost as if the Brad Mehldau Trio didn't exist. Yes, it was almost as if we were allowed into a timeless chamber to witness to a music flowing from nowhere. Out of the corner of my eye, a train slips past the side of Yoshi's. I imagine our arms, that have yet to meet, entwined beyond the limits of tendon and bone. We are a small group of ants, drawn to and gathered on a hazelnut leaf, fuzzy. He sets us free on a rivulet of sound, drifting downstream; we're blown lightly by keys, by strings and wood, by resonant skins. Pause, caught in a riff, feel the river below each of six legs. A small half-chuckle and minor smile rise from beneath my eyelids, from beneath my ribs. This is where all things are one. 020510 ... unhinged we rolled on elm and got ghetto and she was tripping over her feet. i couldn't stop moving; i wasn't sitting in the chestnut room. life disappears for the jazzer (s). 020510 what's it to you? who go blather from