ardently neath the moon

thoughts aflutter with its grey wings, the moth might not be living in truth.

je ne sais quoi.

Old riddles from memories of the afterparty.

It was near midnight. Not this year, but an early date of février.

(This is a self-interpretation, diary-like series of my thoughts spilled out as I hear music, only the melody, only how it sounds. It's got nothing to do with the real intentional meaning or lyrics behind the song, only the intrusiveness of my brain expressed roughly into words. Just for useless fun, past times.) To me, it truly does sound as if the moon could express itself—through sounds of music, somehow. As if declaring that it is not just a mindless, blinding beacon of the night. That it has a reason beyond merely witnessing all the terrible, and beautiful shapes that unfold in this world. An aptitude, whatever it may be. That soft, ghostly vocalization—Yorke's breath as instrument, (1:57 / 3:20)—representing that it has yet to truly made itself known to its own reason. Therefore shining in laments of woe. It questions, confuses itself with the true meaning of "unequivocal". It weeps. It hisses. The moon empathizes all suffering, yet understands none. That endless repetition of the same plucking of strings, are the clouds orbiting our clear view of the moon, shielding our eyes from meeting it directly. The moon is never hiding. It never did. It's quite futile to ever think it ever hid itself from what it must witness each night. It fades out—repeatedly, again and again—like the beauty, like the horror it is forced to endure. The night's beacon whispers, begging those it witnessed; "immerse your soul in love".

hypnotizing, loving~

I've got no idea what it's about, but it sounds so addicting...