and then to lie silently
like deer tracks in the
freshly-fallen snow beside
the one you love.
- Amanda: I think it has to do with being driven to perform. That's the thing that I find myself trying to explain to people, is that certain songwriters or musicians say they just feel the need to play music and performing is kind of a hassle. And I look at it the other way around. Music was this thing that I did in order to perform... Did you ever go to a point in your life where... how do I put this? There's a part of me that actually found it sort of hard to accept, because I think I felt sort of ashamed or guilty about it [...] The idea that most musicians or performers who are musicians give all this lip service to music being the highest truth. Like that's the top of the pyramid and everything else sort of backs up underneath it. Where I looked at music as kind of a necessary side effect for wanting to get up there and perform...if that makes sense. I looked at all the possibilities of my life and I was like, "That's it, that's the easiest way to do it."
- Peter: It's like the tea is the excuse for the conversation.
- Amanda: Right, but it doesn't mean that the tea isn't fucking fantastic, and you can make a higher art form out of it.
- Peter: It's important. No, the formal welcoming, you know, the ceremony, it's all about the welcoming and the preparation. And the form. But then the conversation starts.
- Amanda: Oh, that's a perfect fucking metaphor. Absolutely.
- Peter: And it is like that, though. It's kind of like the other one, there's another one I like. You know, the master's pointing to the moon. And he'd say, "Look at the moon," the moon being whatever it is he's teaching. Okay? And the students are just looking at the finger that's [pointing], saying, "Yes, what a beautiful finger." [Laughs] "Fuck off, look it's not my finger. The moon, look, the moon, look at what I'm pointing at!" But most people fall in love with the finger and they don't even know what the moon is.
we out to be frightened of the spot
the flash, the flood lights that filter in their
lurid disease of nerve blown in from pig
brain. age the bank account and religion
of our future dressed up for the occasion.
elimnate the process;
the chicken is born boneless skinless.