Interpret:

Patti Smith

Album:

Easter

what i feel when i'm playing guitar is completely cold and crazy, like i


don't owe nobody nothing and it's just a test just to see how far i can


relax into the cold wave of a note. when everything hits just right (just


and right) the note of nobility can go on forever. i never tire of the


solitary E and i trust my guitar and i don't care about anything.


sometimes i feel like i've broken through and i'm free and i could dig


into eternity into eternity riding the wave and realm of the E. sometimes


it's useless. here i am struggling and filled with dread-afraid that i'll


never squeeze enough graphite from my damaged cranium to inspire or


asphyxiate any eyes grazing like hungry cows across the stage or page.


inside of me i'm crazy i'm just crazy. inside i must continue. i see her,


my stiff muse, jutting around round round round like a broken speeding


statue. the colonial year is dead and the greeks too are finished. the


face of alexander remains not only solely due to sculpture but through the


power and foresight and magnetism of alexander himself. the artist must


maintain his swagger. he must he must he must be intoxicated by ritual as


well as result. look at me i am laughing. i am laughing. i am lapping


cocaine from the hard brown palm of the bouncer. and i trust my guitar.


therefore we black out together. therefore i would run through scum. and


scum is just ahead, ah we see it, but we just laugh. we're ascending


through the hollow mountain. we are peeking. we are laughing. we are


kneeling. we are laughing. we are radiating at last. this rebellion is


just a gas our gas a gas that we pass