Flying Lotus – Parisian Goldfish | Et Musique Pour Tous
Another brushfire belches acrid smoke into our lungs. The city stained with ash, gray as the sky. Last time fourteen young men were swept up in the blaze and killed in an instant. The town held a candle light vigil. Oxygen, in the end. Red sun setting, mirrored in flames that creep up, floor by glass-paneled floor. From the top of the hill, the city burns, before night's coolness fades all to silhouette. Poignant films are planned, imbued with misplaced resonance that no one is looking for. Based on a true story. These are the facts, or, most of the facts. The rest we enhanced for entertainments sake. What really happened, guess we'll never know. Just appreciate the artistry. From pulp to press to printout, curling waves of bleached wood cut fresh from the soil some miles away. Clouds hang mixed with residue, a roiling mass, a vortex turning. In the eye of the storm a woman dances. Doesn't she know? Careless how quick we forget after the darkness has passed. Infinite sky, space;