Sparklehorse (February 3)

I was listening to Sparklehorse, on some mini bus with a special friend of mine, heading back from the Polish countryside to Wonderland. Yeah, so it was night now and darkness was consuming our little bus. Sparklehorse. I hadn’t listened to Mark Linkous’s project in years, not properly. He killed himself not that many years back. Now he was singing to me. I guessed he was as alive as I wished him to be. God, I wished him to be. His voice was eerie, broken, whispering to me (as if he was actually ghost while he’d been alive even), as if from some deathly place. He was amazing. I didn’t want to think too much what made him do that. I knew some people’s burden was just too much to take. I knew it. I could just cope with my own. Just. I believed to my soul that others weren’t so fortunate and escape was a saviour to them. It was sad, but it had some fucked up beauty to it too. Somehow. He was with me now. I was holding him in my heart. I nearly turned his album ‘Good Morning Spider’ off several times and put something else on. It was simply too good though. I let it play out, from start to finish. It was a perfect night companion. It was strange, different, gorgeous and tender and utterly shattered in parts (like a mirror on the floor, scattered everywhere, totally broken). I could feel him inside my heart. I didn’t know all of his work, and I hadn’t listened to this in a long, long time, so it was almost like a fresh piece of music to me, or some long lost jewel, but what a lovely collection of minutes we were sharing in that bus in the middle of some Polish countryside.