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Apr. 26th, 2003 12:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
atotalblamblamI've been meaning to describe what certain musics feel like to me. Here's sigur rós. Warning: This is flowery and quite purple.
The voice of Antarctica, of some barren, frozen place, where ice sings. Wind sings, wind and ice are the same thing. But the wind, the ice, is a vast blanket, a soft snow-blanket, not warm or cold or pertaining to heat in any way. Burrying you down, down in peace and stillness and rest, so far down that you can't dig out. The loving Voice of Depression. It swoons back and forth, from ice to blanket and back to ice. Frosted wind, clear solid water that reaches up in tinkling glass fingers to the empty pink sky, to the voices that fly over the sky, the voices that are the wind. Ice that lies in shards across the frozen ground, glass land stretching farthest that glitters in the sun. Voices turn and head back, eyes gazing steadily as they come, mouths open pouring out sound, new love and young comfort, comfort that comes from pain, from loss and pure feeling. In love with sound, in love with the lands and the ice, with forgotten people, with the sky and the voice, with you. Spreading wind-blanket-wings over you, sheltering you in love, new comfort grown from pain.
The voice of Antarctica, of some barren, frozen place, where ice sings. Wind sings, wind and ice are the same thing. But the wind, the ice, is a vast blanket, a soft snow-blanket, not warm or cold or pertaining to heat in any way. Burrying you down, down in peace and stillness and rest, so far down that you can't dig out. The loving Voice of Depression. It swoons back and forth, from ice to blanket and back to ice. Frosted wind, clear solid water that reaches up in tinkling glass fingers to the empty pink sky, to the voices that fly over the sky, the voices that are the wind. Ice that lies in shards across the frozen ground, glass land stretching farthest that glitters in the sun. Voices turn and head back, eyes gazing steadily as they come, mouths open pouring out sound, new love and young comfort, comfort that comes from pain, from loss and pure feeling. In love with sound, in love with the lands and the ice, with forgotten people, with the sky and the voice, with you. Spreading wind-blanket-wings over you, sheltering you in love, new comfort grown from pain.
