witty-remark's Diaryland Diary

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Billie Holiday rolls over the nightís silence. I donít dare stir in case I disrupt her melody. Every note she sings leaves me hanging from a precipice. Every sigh she takes, I drop and drift peacefully to the ground. Here I lie, close my eyes, and listen to every scratch on the record as it trickles down my back.

You have to be in a specific mood for jazz, and tonight I am in such a mood.

They know I am.

Billie knows. Ella knows. Dinah knows.

For that, they let me negotiate; let me consume them so long as they get to consume me back. What an indulgent deal. Such a delicate balance.

You canít take from these dames without a dime in return.

Or else their voice will haunt you.
In all the wrong ways.


4:11 a.m. - Monday, Dec. 20, 2010

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