Mephostopheles is the name of a male gigolo I knew. When he's reaching up to grab me, I suppose it's an erotic bit of poetry.
I think that's what finally stopped me. I slid right to the edge. My legs were hanging over. And I could feel it too. I don't know how. There was no wind, no sound, no change of temperature. There was just this terrible emptiness reaching up for me.
I think classical ballet dancers dance on pointe because they're simultaneously touching the earth and reaching up to the skies
And reaching up my hand to try, I screamed to feel it touch the sky.
When I was a kid, three years old, I couldn't walk by the piano without reaching up and trying to play a few notes on it. There are kids who are just drawn to listening to music and dancing to it and trying to conduct.
We are like flowers always reaching up towards some shred of light. I find this wondrous, nearly magical, certainly brave.
I've looked at pictures that my mom has of me, from when I was four years old at the turntable. I'm there, reaching up to play the records. I feel like I was bred to do what I do. I've been into music, and listening to music and critiquing it, my whole life.
A voice is very intimate. It's something of your own. So there's always this fear, because you feel naked. There's a fear of not reaching up to expectations. As you become more famous, people come and expect to hear something extraordinary, so you don't want to disappoint them. I feel this sense of responsibility.
I refuse to accept the idea that the 'is-ness' of a man's present nature makes him morally incapable of reaching up for the 'ought-ness' that forever confronts him.
