The Martians are here!
He had said Orson.
Maybe he does not know himself how he was right. Fifty
later, barely half a century, here we landed on the planet
MUSIC, well rested, his face drawn in our saucers at night,
licit and illicit, to infest the world of ITS. As a trail of
powder, have spread our mix and our hacks who seemed
straight out of an electrocardiogram, or the wild ride that
the fetal heart beat is in the womb. What noise, what
deafening statement. So we too were at the dawn of a
new era.
Newborns on a virgin and unexplored territory. Electrocardiogram, the word
is launched. This music, this sound had no ancestors to show him
the track. No wise to show him the way forward. It was dangerous
but then the bottom could be where the danger when we had nothing to
lose.
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