Chapter 49 irish music

I've been listening to Irish music since 1998.Heard it all the time now.The first CD was a pirated copy bought in a small shop. I forgot all the tracks, only sporadic melodies remained in my heart.It was music that was really as clear as water droplets.Like a dark blue puddle in a dark jungle.The wind blows down the red leaves and pink and white petals, floats on the water, and is carried away.This is the image brought by the music. I had this CD in my bag while visiting a friend up north.I met him and listened to some of my favorite pieces with him.And left it to him.Then I decided to disappear.When I did, my favorite CD was left in the North, with someone I didn't want to see again.I couldn't buy the original one anymore.I just bought other Irish music.Much.

There are three that I listen to most often. "Celtic Dance".Dance music played by the violin, accompanied by bagpipes and piano.The Allegro is hearty, and the Adagio is circuitous and gentle.In the pure beat, there is pure mood. "Celtic Woman". 14 mellow and sweet songs sung by 7 female singers.Song titles include "Trees", "This Moment" and so on. "Song of the Irish Whistle".Soothing melody.Also one of my favorites. , and other novels are all written in the melody of "The Level Plain" and "The South Wind" late at night. From morning to evening.From late night to early morning.The kind of melody that is bright and sharp when it is high-pitched, and soft and melodious when it is low-pitched.Like a silk thread, constantly winding.

I don't know the relationship between music and words.Sometimes there is no sound in the room, only the sound of keyboards tapping in the air.Sometimes the music like running water is pouring everywhere, I sit in front of the computer, watching the early morning light outside the window.So the night passed. It was autumn then.I remember. Autumn of 1998.My closed life alone.Only Irish music and writing accompanied me.They keep me awake from rotting in the silence. Listening to this kind of music should be in that ambiguous time between late night and early morning.In autumn, the weather is slightly cooler.Barefoot, wrapped in a blanket.alone.There is the sound of rain outside the window.Bit by bit hit the glass, like an echo in my heart.

They occasionally appear in a large number of pirated discs in small shops.Later, I rarely bought CDs.I'm a nostalgic person and keep a lot of used stuff around.I always think that maybe they can stay with me forever.until it loses its voice.Until my mind is blurred.But our souls once mingle in the dead of night.Every grain of the heart is gently covered.fill up.and healing. Every time I move or move between different places, I have to throw away a lot of stuff.The life of wandering makes people have nothing to rely on. When cleaning up old letters, diaries, and E-mails, there is a pleasure, and everything is suddenly blank, like a vast expanse of white snow.

There is only dependence on the warmth of matter.Old clothes, old photos, old books, old CDs.Take them everywhere. In 2000, I brought my three favorite Irish music CDs to Shanghai.this crowded city.Writing late at night in the rented old apartment on Beijing West Road, let the melody flow like water.Then see your peaceful face in the mirror. fine.Nothing is right and wrong.