I’ve recently gotten myself into the voluntary loop of listening to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, recomposed by Max Richter. I do this thing with a good friend of mine: we find songs that we love and can listen to upwards of 100 times in a row, until there’s nothing more to hear in the song. And then, without realizing we’ve moved on, we simply never listen to it again.
This is so beautiful. It reminds me of Joan Didion's magical style of having an ending that seems surprising until you realize the essay was a set of clues that lead up to it from the start.
This is so beautiful. It reminds me of Joan Didion's magical style of having an ending that seems surprising until you realize the essay was a set of clues that lead up to it from the start.