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Tuesday, May. 04, 2004 / 11:43 p.m. ~She Is Music, Inside Her Smile, Her Body Is Her Songs~ The moon is shining brightly through the blinds just past my monitor. Out of the corner of my eye I see it, or at the top of my eyes, together, depending. I've just written this about Edie Brickell, and the concert I just saw, so herewith, a cross-post: Her arms flail about in spite of herself, and she is music, she doesn't just feel it, it consumes her and propels her. Her clothes hug her body and I could stare at it all night long. Proportionate, torso, curvy in the middle, hips wide, and she uses them, leans on them, and moves them, and kicks a leg up high, smiles when she sings, her voice is a smile, and she bends over at the waist, hangs her head and sways when the music takes over, when she stops she's not stopped, she's waiting, she's possessed, her hair hangs and the blood must rush to her head there, hanging low like that. Then she flips it back up, her hair falls back, she's beautiful, and she smiles again, sings so big, so wide, that smile is the music, and it's inside of her. And when she talks between songs there's that Texas twang, and each and every word is chosen so perfectly, nothing comes out of her mouth unless it's exactly what should, and we hang on them, all those words, there is silence when she speaks, silence and swaying and moving and mad dancing when she sings. When her hands aren't on her guitar one will fly up in the air for punctuation, the other will follow and she'll look like a windmill suddenly, but it looks right on her, and you think, she had babies? She's had children? What does she do? Look at her body, I want to see her naked, I am undressing her as I'm sitting there watching her smile in her songs. I thought the woman next to me was a girl, she was small and pixie-ish, until we talked, and she touched me when she talked, and I could see her age, and she asked if I wanted a beer, I said no, that's alright, I'm fine, and she came back with one anyway, said she couldn't not. I thanked her for the kindness, thought this is a first, a woman buying me a beer at a concert, and wanting nothing in return. When we said goodbye and I thanked her again and she said, "Thank you for drinking it. Not everyone would want to drink something that a stranger bought for them", and I said, "What are you saying?", as we shook hands and held our hands together, and she said, "You should feel it in a couple more hours", and we laughed. Cost of the War in Iraq
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