breathingrevolution said: not really, but there are real people expressing outrage for various reasons. i wouldn’t say invest anything in it, other than outrage
I am having difficulty understanding the value of symbolic actions. I feel as though these are ultimately cathartic, demoralizing over time as they fail to recognize internal contradictions embedded within the state. I remain hopeful, however social affirmation of struggle in the face of state repression seems…courageous if not ineffective. Perhaps I am simply demoralized. At the same time, these forums for dialogue must extend beyond the space designated by the state.
The track flows into the room,
bathing eardrums in hot harmonies
and fresh thematic aromas.
“And as he practices scales, a life breathes into the microphone.
For hours on end he explores the threshold which separates cacophony from resonance.
The studio, absent of bigwigs, critics, and indifferent whites, commands no one.
The studio simply exists as a blank marble to be shaped as notes whip and dance around its form.
There is a setlist to play, but no one expects the songs to come out as written…or even as it has ever been previously performed.
This is because genius now occupies this room.”
Communal auditory dialogues on a feeling,
embodied in this music.
Rhythms dancing together,
melodies climaxing with each beat
Each, a step forward.
“The cymbals, trimming the space between notes, float into the atmosphere.
The bass kick keeps pace with the abstract voices of saxophones and trumpets.
The double bass forms a blood bond with with drums,
tied together by the strength of syncopated beats.”
As invisible musicians build together
towards this abstract goal,
a swell which lifts the body up,
souls buoyant with life.
Swelling towards a summit of notes,
previous forms as
an ever revolutionary peak arises
for everyone to see.
“And they saw as well as they listened.
They listened as well as they saw.
Some blinded by the dark skin of these musical virtuosos, expertly trained.
Some drunk with liquid privilege tossed carelessly around in transparent glasses,
for the help to attend to. Wine glasses which could never be shared between whites and blacks.
Some pretended to listen as they furiously wrote scathing “criticisms” which would would attempt to stifle the development of new genre.
Some simply sat and witnessed a history’s inception, in disbelief.”
To stare at from below,
As the winds whistle and blow,
enveloping the musical terrain in all of its delicate intricacies
fusing with this creation, this entity.
This air hugs the body as it flows through the mind.
As they gaze upon this musical life,
Stare at its highest point.
“And it was a point not previously reached in public for our people.
It was a point that would not necessarily be sustained by Jazz successors
or even Jazz innovators.
It was an unappreciative audience that had money for albums.
Many a musician dropped to their knees to cater to this unworthy population.”
Notice the stars gleaming brightly behind this human landscape.
Let your eyes roll into their lids
as the hairs on your arms stand in shock.
Humbly, tread home,
leaving that jazz inspired mountain to sink below the horizon,
pointing always to that unattainable point in time…
that syncopated universe,
light years away…
“Performances restricted by the untalented.
Isolated points in time.
As the minds of those great musicians continued to flow endlessly,
leaving a legacy for us to appreciate, to move our people, to preserve our culture in the face of isolation,
For those moments when we wonder what we did to be so black and blue.”