My beloved Björk.
You came from an island in the middle of the stormy part of the northern ocean. Isolated.
Far, for the most part of history, of conflicts, and the vanity of the rest of the world.
An island made of fire and ice.
A band from San Francisco sang that with fire and ice a dream won’t come true.
But, there you are.
A dream of music and pagan poetry.
Your strange and baltic beauty holds inside a soul that is far from souls coming from other latitudes.
This, that sounds like an oxymoron, is not in front of the fact that only you, coming from your icelandic home, could provide us with such out of this world sounds.
Needless to say, I am deeply grateful that you are giving your work to the world.