finding_and_believing ever dumbening Pat Metheny--a weekend tradition since 1986. Thom turned me on to the singular sound that year. Tenth grade. I remember listening to KFOG's Sunday jazz brunch and hearing Phase Dance, knowing immediately that I would buy that album. Travels. She has just left my apartment. Jasmine tea, the touch of full skin, cough medicine, and I am left numb and full. Dense, chewy, textured--Pat, Paul, Lyle, Steve, Nana, Armando and more fill my ears, but only nominally. The fullness is so much more. The simple history of time wedges into me, leaving just as easily painfully. Maybe finding and believing is, should be, enough. Knowing might not be necessary or possible or even wanted. Medicated lead blankets have their appeal, though, you know. But the truth will always be. And he says all that without a single word. And I listen with years. 020223 ... fairydust orange pulp. we gave them all we had. why couldn't you find me? once i found you i did believe 020224 what's it to you? who go blather from