Chopin did it. Copeland did it. Miles Davis made it cool, but I don’t care if things are cool. I mean, Bach didn’t. He didn’t do it, either. And no one on the radio does it. If only they would, I wish. But they’re too scared, of scaring us.
Gah, it feels so good! You know it’s true. There’s nothing like the feeling of it; like you stumbled, but never caught yourself, but never fell; like the sky is a magnet, not a dome– drawing all of you to all of it at once. All the joy of God is coded in it!
This guy did it:
These folks too:
So you go ahead, do it.
Throw that time signature on the floor!
———–
Take that form and shove it!
It’s not at all the way to get to the place where we are on our way to
nope. nah-ah-no. nope. nope. no.
<spitting sounds>
i’m going OUT
———–
Oh no, now I’m scared! Will people get my polyrhythmic poem about tax day? Is it too much, are the leaps too big, I mean, won’t they like it? Maybe I should have written more traditionally around it, defined things more.
Oh no, what if I have to write something else to explain it? You know that’s when art is bad, when you need to write about it for it to make sense. Cha-grin!
Oh well, what can I do? It’s not like I know where you’re coming from; I have to guess. And since I can’t guess well, I just won’t bother! Pour it out straight instead. The way I like it.
!!AUDIT RISK!!
———–
Sometimes I might get a little discouraged, you know . . . I start to feel . . . like I’m the only one who worries about how big our minds are, you know, like no one else really cares that we keeping making the same movies over and over; that the biggest dream we can offer our young people is they will one day make overgrown calculators run faster; that we can get excited, as a nation, about bacon . . . . It makes me feel like a tiny point in dark space, with no point in it.
Man I wish it wasn’t just me. I wish I could believe that there had been other people, over history, who understood, who were working on the same thing. I try to imagine who they would be, what they would call themselves. And then someone says:
Seriously? But .. but .. who? How? Why? What are they trying to do? Where are they headed?
That sounds good.
But wait—out of where?
*
(or if you’re me)
?
————
remember every single bit of our modern music comes from africa
where the math is base several.
(which would make doing your taxes more interesting)
almost every single song almost every single person knows traces back to a Sunday afternoon right here:
doesn’t look like much, does it.
what’s going to happen because you did something different? go get ’em.
*where is the fourth picture I hate you
Shoutout to Jackie McLean! The cut was just a little too harsh for me, though, sorry.