“ What an unrequited love it is, this thirst! But is it love, when it is unrequited? ”
Love cannot be reduced to a catalogue of reasons why, and a catalogue of reasons cannot be put together into love.
~ Eleanor Catton
for Pop, who sees the starsand Jude, who hears their music
The saxophone is the cocaine of the woodwind family, the sax teacher continues. Saxophonists are admired because they are dangerous, because they have explored a darker, more sinister side of themselves.
The saxophone does not speak that language. The saxophone speaks the language of the underground, the jaded melancholy of the half-light—grimy and sexy and sweaty and hard. It is the language of orphans and bastards and whores.
