I’m listening to john lee hooker. Which could mean one of two things. It’s bad, or it’s getting better. Doesn’t make much sense, does it? It’s music like this that makes me remember when I used to say “the world is dead”. And that’s a good thing, because atleast I’m not thinking that now, but merely remembering that I used to. Makes me lunge for the nearest drink. Straight, no chaser. Do you have to be tragic to listen to the blues? I’m not addicted to pain. But it does make listening to the blues a whole different experience. It’s falling into this deep pit, knowing that at the bottom of the pit is a cushion of feather down pillows, because you’re gonna have to survive the fall to laboriously climb out of that hole just so you can fall in all over again. I said to myself the other day that I envy certain people’s disposition of being able to delude themselves into thinking that there is no problem. Now I know that while that may work for them, just the same, they’re missing out. Sure, they hear the music. But to them it’s just mathematical equations that their brains decipher into notes that sound nice to the ear. What the hell kind of pussy word is nice? But to me…it’s more than just saying that it’s soul. It’s the blues, man! There’s no other way to put it. When you’ve been to the bottom of that pit, and you’ve allowed yourself to fall, you know you’re alive. You can just taste it. Sweet, sweet aching. Nothing better to jump start your day than a dose of wailing guitars and grumbling pianos. I pity anyone who hasn’t ever given in to feeling desolate and miserable. They’re still living in the bubblegum pop, pink balloons and fluffy teddy bears world where instant gratification is available to you 24/7 for a few bucks. I like my world. When I’m down, no one has enough rope to lower down to me. But when I’m up, I’m higher than a motherfucking kite. NO ONE can touch me when I’m up there. And that’s the blues. The highs and the lows. The summertime when the fish is jumping, and the cotton is high. The Stella by Starlight while holding Annie Mae’s hand. The laying my body down to burn in hell. The chillin’ out and leaving your hat on. I pity the ignorant individual who listens to the blues and says “Oh, how cool”. Life isn’t cool. it’s fucking beautiful.
No comments:
Post a Comment