Give me freedom! Give me the snap of the snare and themelodic undertones of your saxophone in the underground. Deep, soo soo deep! Anger and rage and fear and hate of you and I and… AND! The ceiling is leaking sewer water, my heart is pumping blood black with the dark hue of a morning left naked by the sun missed. Clouded rain rushes through my soul with every key stroke, every timeless [thought] taking time away from… You! Focus, I have you in my mind’s eye. You are the truth, I am the absolute. Repressed thoughts manifest forsaken by a world that pushes. And pushes. And pushes! As I channel the raw emotion of John Coltrane more pain seeps through these veins. What is my destiny? A Love Supreme.
I feel the vibe, the rhythm, the conscious the … saxophone! Drums come crashing down from the right, and the winds barge in from the left. There are two levels. My right brain; the creative aspect seeking to be found. As is all creative based systems; thus all. Thus you. And, my left brain, logic the masculine discerning what experience is. Mechanically, abstractly, mundanely all with thought. All for me. ME! Organic incisions of syllables sew the web of entropy I see when I hear this. In. Out. In. Out. No corrections, no time to lose no no no! How could I ever look back? Who is this demon I saw, mephistopheles… is no more, thank you sir. Thank you kind sir! You were blessed in the water from which the one note came. From which I, you, we, the three perhaps nine would be fine. Chaos my thoughts bounce bounce bounce further away from any concept of sense other than the two cents left in the man’s pocket begging. Begging for the dime in mine. Praying for the quarter in yours. Dying by a blind man’s sword.
A cool cool intro, I close my eyes and let the sound take over. Let me find the mind behind the sound coming through your speakers! Rhythm, sound, voice? No voice just the words on this paper, in your mind’s eye. In your actual eye… I correct myself; I see ego therefore I skip the trip and I stride! Wow, this happens to be… me. Believe it or not I love what I spy with the little root of my soul to the core of my creativity. Sexuality! Pneumatic lust carries my chakras off into the sunset. No no no! This is not the first time u ear me say that … Not the first time the third would come last… Not first? Not worth my time. I want to… be… the… best… dead… no, not dead; alive! I have never felt so alive! Never felt so much pressure to produce. Never felt so happy to create! I love allowing my mind to exist in this plane for once. I deserve this, and I think... I shouldn’t do that, but I think! You should too. I want you to hear me for the sake of hearing unto itself. No selfish motivation other than to give you me. Sometimes I see things, sometimes I hear things, sometimes I think things… but that’s all gonna bee; all right! What’s this cross on my back, what’s this hole in my heart? Who’s this man in front of me? That’s a mirror, thus me… I tell him press (Repeat): What’s this cross on my back, what’s this hole in my heart? Who’s this man in front of me. That’s a mirror, thus me… I tell him play our part. My muses dance gaily to the left, shining light into my closed black eyes laden with fatigue… For the lack of a better word… Much much worse words exists, but who am I to complain? I write therefore I am! Damn whoever says the latter like a latter day saint faced with a bad bad choice. Choose wisely St. Germain, I see you.
Down. Down djinn no kin of mine. Down. Down thoughts that dare not align with us. Fair enough, a tad premediated now. I get to imbue thought into… One. Word. At. A. Time.
Please … Please! Just a little bit more water most high. I thirst for dreams infinite. Dreams infinite. Why do you think I keep saying the same thing over and over and over? Abrakadabra… No question; I wish to create as I speak. John, oh dear John Coltrane! You speak more words then the most intelligent fool, move more worlds then quantum mechanics. Press my heart, solar plexus, then throat in a very specific order. The first shows me love, the second is supreme, the third lets it be! Lost in a trance yes a vision; I will find my Eve. Fuck! I will find my Eve. I see the roots, I get the reason that I exist. I don’t understand what is possessing my fingers to write what they are. The music. The music. I can’t think; deep deep deep deep… repetition because I can, a purple ether arises then swarms, but it’s neither negative nor evil. My brow seeks to speak. I will listen:
Two wings, listen, two seraphim!
Fuck it; the angels dance! Turn, bow backwards to me. The flip... They leave. I cry. I wait. I rise to the light, peace, calm and serenity who befriends the lonely writer leaning into the point of this exercise. Knowing the paper before him is a mess. Knowing the paper before him is truly a work of art. Something the world could have never seen before.
