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Damian De Souza – The Final Ecstasy of the Good Brother Andre
Brian Eno—Who Gives a Thought Who gives a thought about the fireflies Short lives of moving light Perform their quiet flight The stars of starless nights Who gives a thought about the nematodes There isn’t time these days For microscopic worms Or for unstudied germs Of no commercial worth And who gives a thought about…
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Damian De Souza – Self-Portrait by Gregor Samsa
As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. – from the Metamorphosis, by Franz Kafka. The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka Audiobook I had decided to put the Metamorphosis audiobook in Damon’s post before I saw Damon’s quote from the book! Great minds and…
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Damian De Souza – Self-Portrait by a Hanged Man
https://youtu.be/Z6gYe8gH5nI?si=LzUYv_ctaDiuDbeL Here’s some weirdness from David Bowie I just discovered, perfectly appropriate for this image.
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Damian De Souza – Show & Tell
A rough mix from my next album. I didn’t write the song. My friend Greg did. He insisted I learn it. Two years later, when he commited suicide, I realized it was his goodbye note. I could never come up with an arrangement I liked, so I asked a French musician, Sébastien Bédé, who had…
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Damian De Souza – Big Brother
As you watch, there is no Big Brother out there watching you, not because there isn’t a Big Brother, but because Big Brother is you, watching. – Mark Crispin Miller, Boxed In: The Culture of TV. Videos for Dogs To Watch – Dog TV Videos of Birds and Squirrels for Separation Anxiety
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Damian De Souza – The Man Who Thought He Was Someone Else
I is someone else. So much the worse for the wood that discovers it’s a violin,… If brass wakes up a trumpet, it isn’t to blame…. -Sixteen year old Arthur Rimbaud in a letter to his schoolmaster. Trio in E flat for Trumpet, Violin and Piano (1992) — Eric Ewazen
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![[sunday] Damian De Souza – Moon Dancing](https://pixelsatanexhibition.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/03/IMG_1063.png)
[sunday] Damian De Souza – Moon Dancing
Enigma with Flower by Pablo Neruda Victory. It has come late, I had not learnt how to arrive, like the lily, at will, the white figure, that pierces the motionless eternity of earth, pushing at clear, faint, form, till the hour strikes: that clay, with a white ray, or a spur of milk. Shedding of…
