- Notes
- ♬39
When you write that you want more good music and AI gives you something with which to make a sentence, what else can I say from rachael dadd?
From Mary Margaret O'Hara I’ve been warned what kind of point am I creating anyway when I choose the hue of my lights, the sound in my ears, and relay for others’ reading my conscious experience? Is this point in this universe or is somebody else's body’s in trouble?
And what then of the sunlight, the tune-yards warns, as it reminds what one prior such universe might just look like: I can bask in its warmth, and see myself watch the shadows it makes on green branches. And what of a sequence of these moments written as ones playlist given to them from an AI’d playlist with music for 18 hairdressers: braids and fractals as sounds from Ben LaMar Gray?
Finishing with the realization that it's important to increase the volume at the right time is when I’m reminded of my being a cosmic dancer, and so I close my eyes and fly and then open them up and imagine I'm flying and have fliven through the cosmos aboard the bass sounds entered into my frontal cortex wherein my microtubules grant entrance from the threshold of the quantum world in which I’ m falling together with Oona Doherty and Jamie xx
And when nothing ever happens I have to turn off the music to remember, after having sitten down, that as evidence for highness being a slowness of nostalgia when I'm high I always listen to the same songs but when I'm straight edge I'm always after something new
A natural anthem reminds that we know where new comes from and where it can from is the past too though this old reminder came from the postal service, and I wonder why I've yet to see in front of the windows from someone’s apartment a dancer with eyes closed, headphones on, and a given expression of not caring what others think as I ski the slopes of wonder formed by en attendant ana, or did someone else have a better idea for sharing #ishalllove2?
From Mary Margaret O'Hara I’ve been warned what kind of point am I creating anyway when I choose the hue of my lights, the sound in my ears, and relay for others’ reading my conscious experience? Is this point in this universe or is somebody else's body’s in trouble?
And what then of the sunlight, the tune-yards warns, as it reminds what one prior such universe might just look like: I can bask in its warmth, and see myself watch the shadows it makes on green branches. And what of a sequence of these moments written as ones playlist given to them from an AI’d playlist with music for 18 hairdressers: braids and fractals as sounds from Ben LaMar Gray?
Finishing with the realization that it's important to increase the volume at the right time is when I’m reminded of my being a cosmic dancer, and so I close my eyes and fly and then open them up and imagine I'm flying and have fliven through the cosmos aboard the bass sounds entered into my frontal cortex wherein my microtubules grant entrance from the threshold of the quantum world in which I’ m falling together with Oona Doherty and Jamie xx
And when nothing ever happens I have to turn off the music to remember, after having sitten down, that as evidence for highness being a slowness of nostalgia when I'm high I always listen to the same songs but when I'm straight edge I'm always after something new
A natural anthem reminds that we know where new comes from and where it can from is the past too though this old reminder came from the postal service, and I wonder why I've yet to see in front of the windows from someone’s apartment a dancer with eyes closed, headphones on, and a given expression of not caring what others think as I ski the slopes of wonder formed by en attendant ana, or did someone else have a better idea for sharing #ishalllove2?
