Si la música simplemente se desvaneciera...

...la realidad podría morder muchos de los resquicios donde se puede pasar un momento de soledad.

P

Lead singer Thom Yorke said, " Street Spirit is our purest song, but I didn't write it. It wrote itself. We were just its messengers; its biological catalysts. Its core is a complete mystery to me, and, you know, I wouldn't ever try to write something that hopeless. All of our saddest songs have somewhere in them at least a glimmer of resolve. Street Spirit has no resolve. It is the dark tunnel without the light at the end. It represents all tragic emotion that is so hurtful that the sound of that melody is its only definition. We all have a way of dealing with that song. It's called detachment. Especially me; I detach my emotional radar from that song, or I couldn't play it. I'd crack. I'd break down on stage. That's why its lyrics are just a bunch of mini-stories or visual images as opposed to a cohesive explanation of its meaning. I used images set to the music that I thought would convey the emotional entirety of the lyric and music working together. That's what's meant by 'all these things you'll one day swallow whole'. I meant the emotional entirety, because I didn't have it in me to articulate the emotion. I'd crack...
Our fans are braver than I to let that song penetrate them, or maybe they don't realise what they're listening to. They don't realise that Street Spirit is about staring the fucking devil right in the eyes, and knowing, no matter what the hell you do, he'll get the last laugh. And it's real, and true. The devil really will get the last laugh in all cases without exception, and if I let myself think about that too long, I'd crack.
I can't believe we have fans that can deal emotionally with that song. That's why I'm convinced that they don't know what it's about. It's why we play it towards the end of our sets. It drains me, and it shakes me, and hurts like hell every time I play it, looking out at thousands of people cheering and smiling, oblivious to the tragedy of its meaning, like when you're going to have your dog put down and it's wagging its tail on the way there. That's what they all look like, and it breaks my heart. I wish that song hadn't picked us as its catalysts, and so I don't claim it. It asks too much. I didn't write that song."

Horrour

Noun [C,U] A misspelling changes it not...Sulphur mocking dawn, burning corneas, exhaling maniacal freedom, crying for help in laughter, whilst all deemed impossible parades by the windows...A dark den where the only thing to haunt could be yourself...Those three words you could only wish you had not heard...A sip of Schadenfreude...The voice of the person next to you calmly turning into a fountain of blood and thunder...A smiling vertigo staring at you without contempt, singing your name...Seizures of sounds without arrangement, of words stricken with blunt ideas of longings of liberty and poetry about the epics of one's common life, of tunes without notes and notes without tunes, of placid thoughts of paranoia...A red, intolerant eye watching your sleep...False salt from false tears...Deafness or blindness?...

A glide

So...
An interstellar glide. I got my trip companion: a whale. By the Butterfly Nebula and all the stars I've seen in dreams. By a cloud in the shape of the head of a horse and a planet that might have given birth to me. By the skin on her back and the stars in her eyes. A curved Universe to travel with her. The uncertain space and the inflexible time. As fast as bright light in search of a sea by a field of red and purple tulips.
So...