She’s appeared–admittedly polysemous and ethereal–in my writing more than once. And I’m certain that in the future, others will be equally inspired by her work. If not, the future world will be definitely as deaf to the muses as I just fear they are today.
I heard The Big Machine for the first time in the park at Pasadena for free, then two days later at a tiny club with unfinished wooden walls and a skylight. I’d only been so shocked two other time in my life through music; the fist time I listened to The Fragile on its release date; the first time I listened to “Heroes,” by myself in the dark. It is rare for artists to truly capture the ache of our condition so acutely. It is more amazing for readers to be lucky enough to recognize it emotionally, and even more sublime still for a reader to notice it for the first time in a work during a solo performance four feet away. I am confident; when I met her afterward, I could scarcely form words. Much of what you’ll read from me any time soon was written in the haze of inspiration following these two shows.
All I can say, still, is thank you.

