and when you think about it, that can be pretty weird. like, i requested a dizzy reece box set from the library. i just dug a quartet album he made called "soundin off." basically, who gives a shit? who even knows who dizzy reece is. no, he is not the guy with the big cheeks, mo. he was a good trumpet player though. i especially dig the one with mobley on tenor called "star bright." he tries new things, doesn't just run changes, has a good tone. again, who gives a shit? well, i do, and i guess that will have to be enough. also, i know i can always count on the pink man, and the old man. well, i guess i will have to sea if more jazz fans come my hemingway. meanwhile, i wait in an earnest fashion for like minded listeners of music, but it seems that heller will freeze over before the average joe begins to dig america's only true art form. if they asked me, i could write a book about the jazz masters, but sadly, i don't have the hart to initiate the project. perhaps that is why the man is a tramp? all i know is that i am bewitched, bothered, and bewildered, and even my pal joey doesn't seem to be able to help my mood swings. i just can't figure out the worth of anything. holy cow, what is hay worth? to be frank, i don't know. i could ask kim, but she probably wouldn't no, and that would leave me in a vak-uum. james tells me that life is worthy, but he will never be mc-haled as a powerful messenger. but still, there is a bird inside of me that i only let out at night. sadly, the cat ate him. my, there are too many strays in this parish, and they rob the lives of all the little bird fellows in loin cloths.
yeah, just being myself, listening to music that hardly anyone else digs, telling jokes that hardly anyone else digs, writing blogs that hardly anyone else will read, cocky for no good cause, a radical in thought and apolitical in action. all in all, a decent guy, but the world cries out for so much more from people like me, who have a sense of how fucked up it all is. but that might entail laying it on the line, and that brother, i ain't really up for.
because man, i got a couple more of these reece discs to get to, and then it's the herbie nichols box set, (by the way, pink man, i dig nichols, an obscure piano player who blue note recorded in the mid 50's. i'll try to lay him on you at some point) the bobby bland recordings on duke, the bennie green mosaic set......
yeah man, just being myself. as the world burns. al keep trying to hide from the gore, and beatin around the bush, being myself. just tryin to keep from gettin too dizzy, digging reece. man this shit may not be too bright, but i never claimed to be no star, and while i sing these blues, i don't see the trinity anywhere in sight, and perhaps that is why i am soundin off. perhaps i will now listen to trane play spiritual, or go with an old gospel thing like swing low, sweet harriot. maybe i will write a poem in free form, or contemplate a run for mayer as i sit on my john.
just thoughts man, just me being myself, as i try to get through the final act of this shadow play.
1 comment:
What is there to leave after such a Shakespearean closing. Of course, me being myself, I can't help me interjections. So along with your theme, as Living Colour (channeling Dionysus) once crooned, "A wise man said to 'know thyself' 'cause in the end there's no one else."
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