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no hay banda

We shove those two little things to our ears and push that small triangle button.. We slowly sink into a warm coma-like state, surrounded by violins and trumpets. mmmm. When Harvest is playing any average city becomes a magical village. Any child is an angel when Regina whispers softly into our ears. The black black darkness of our closed eyes is illuminated with infinite colors when sir Thom Yorke is carrying a delicate tune that goes straight to our brain-stems. bzzzt. Hokus Pokus. We don’t want to hear the bus engine, nor the snoring person beside us nor that awful devil of a baby crying – oh, no. Please give us something familiar, something similar. Our lives surely deserve a soundtrack. The joy of repetition is in us. Over and over. 1,2,3,4.. sometimes 3 or 5 if we’re adventurous. There’s nothing to worry about. We know every note. Every guitar glitch. boing. boing. boom tschak. peng. zong. We are every band member. We lip sync or allow ourselves to actually sing. 17 hours bus ride? No problem. We are already home.
Pero silenzio! No hay banda!
-ayalgelles ►►►
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