Neil Young’s Only Love Can Break Your Heart. Borderline saccharine, overbearing in its sentiment; it wears its heart on its sleeve, an odd voice floats over. It fills me with nostalgia for its own dated sentimentality, a contemplative melancholia for the bittersweet imagined at another time.

A melodic transcription, stretched and condensed, flipped and overlapped. I never know how to choose notes anyway, so today I choose a choice made by somebody else. It is amplified, it feeds back melodically. Rarely is the order of notes affected, and yet the original is barely recognized: it is a mist draping over, a hazy daydream or a half-remembered moment.

The song is a ray of light, refracted by a prism. It goes through me, and ends up at the other side. It is twice sentimental, twice melancholic, twice lost in thought.