Steel, rocks, wood, dirt, heat, and thorns.
Relief
Astor Piazzolla, Hector Lavoe, Horace Tapscott, The Birthday Party. These are my lullabies.
Paris, Texas
Jorge Luis Borges, William Faulkner, and right now, again, Cormac McCarthy.
I used to think Beethoven, partly because myth has it that he died with a raised fist. Now I can only think it sad that he died not so much cursing but alone.