I walked through the kitchen of a Cantonese restaurant in Hong Kong once, and heard the sound that is caused when a wok is lifted from the fire it covers. One feels the tension, the release of great passion, and now I go out of my way to pass through as many Chinese restaurant kitchens as possible. My body senses the same kind of tension in the music of Shostakovich.
To experience, to want to experience more, and a sort of transfer. It is a classic narrative move from psychoanalysis: replacements made possible by the genius of attentiveness to the texture of tension.
And so for day 244
15.08.2007