wilbur-loud

No matter how loud the guitar is and how much you jump around and sweat and get angst-ridden, eventually you have to go home, be polite, and kiss your mother on the cheek.

Thought:

“Writing itself would seem to be… marginal to a vast, empty, unarticulated center called reality that was displaced more and more by it.”

Samuel R. Delany | The Motion of Light in Water

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