Four and a half seasons after Australia — was it really such a short time ago? — I still drift into the inorganic and organic fusion of mother earth comfort. Surrounded by meaningless artifacts from a dead civilization, I drop my blood into the clear water of this music. AIR: Talkie Walkie. AIR: Premiers Symptomes. AIR — it's so elemental. Visions of the future should never be without it. Visions of the present can always benefit from it. And who needs visions of the past? 气. 真棒.
我很喜这种音乐. (I'm fairly certain that's correct.)
He will someday retire to the lounge with his guests. He will drink exotic teas and share his wisdom while a European woman in full Japanese dress expertly plays the harpsichord. A tall man with close-cropped hair in a tweed suit plays stand-up bass alongside. And maybe a drummer could join. Technology remains contingent while style and emotion remain eternal.
Keep plucking those zither strings, third man. Ya dig?
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