Jazz

Jazz

Jazz. In the mind of a jazz musician, inside the bebops and blues, intelligence and innovative movement of time, rhythm, and lust, is a residual purity of soul. Doot dat dat ratta tat tattin' in the beat out of beat and through the beat. Inside out juxtaposition of music that is felt, not played. Jazz and musical evolution fight intonation and creationist theory. Coltrane riding sax bwee dot'n Davis making his trumpet stretch for Miles while Louis plays for Pass in the pace of a fretboard. Drugs are dilapidated by it. Enhancing the rich sounds of the un-tat-tat of a swingin' set a pyro scheme in red flames, as Wes fuels these, Brubeck cools it off in five, four, three, two, one...

Fall back to thought. Everybody has a natural rhythm. Connecting on that rhythm you play with tempo through lights, camera, interaction! flashing spurts of song and dance to one's aura, kissing God's fingertips as they brush the skin of the head of your drum at the side of your brain outside of your box. Flow with it but always sto-p to find the music inside. Focus. Yeah, that's right, the music dwelling with fashion. Dealing with strap-ons pounding culture where the lights are growing dim.

DESTROY. DEFEAT. DEFY.

Forgiveness can eradicate truth as much as pleasure escapes reality. Time to sleep then. If your dreams are death, waking up should bring pleasure. I'm pleased to announch that I sometimes question this theory.

03 April 2005