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SIMPLY MAGIC
The magic of jazzis not what you think –there is nothing randomeven in the wildest, inthe acidest of solos. Cacophony is randomnessand the key to jazzis to see theinvisible logic,read the mind,be the mindof the musician. It is zen, but onlyif you stop searchingand just be in itsmoment.
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THE BLEEDING EDGE
We are lovers of novelty, we wantall that is new or clingingto what we imagine are our roots.It has long been this way,you need only look at the map.Hampshire, York, Jersey, andfor that matter Brunswick and Mexico.We crave innovation, we alwayswant to be on the cutting edge, forgettingthat all too soon it will becomethe bleeding…
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CALLING
As I age, I more willingly accedeto the sirens call of sleepfor as night washes over mepulling up its blanket of starsshe takes me on a voyageto destinations she willnot disclose until our arrival.The journey may be pleasantor the seas of night can beroiling, but her grip is firm.But in her never certain worldage can…
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JUST LIKE THAT
“And just like that,” he said. “Just like that,” she replied. “Are you certain, I wouldn’t want to go off half cocked?” he asked. “I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t almost certain, would I,” was her retort. “But almost certain isn’t absolutely certain,” he noted. “As you well know, nothing is absolutely certain…
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NO HARRY
There is no Houdini today, nomaster of escapology, only sleightof hand that cannot providea release from our self-made shackles, for we havefailed to learn the secretsthat might have saved us.We were stubborn, figured thatwe could solve the problem later,read a book, looked to a new masterbut those new masters have onlyperfected the art of illusion…
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EULOGY
In a perfect world it would bea requirement that every personupon reaching the age of 40would be compelled to writea draft of a eulogy in the voiceof each lover or partner whoserelationship he or she chose to end,one that the spurned loverwould deliver at his or her funeral.The task would comewith the caveat that one…
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GOOD LUCK WITH THAT
The fortune cookies of my childhoodwere far more interesting, or somy memory would have it.The cookies offered wisdomof the East, or so it seemedto a 10-year-old, but perhapsit was the same mumbo-jumboin the bulk print today, nowthat the cookies, which oncetasted good, unlike today’sorigami cardboard, werefolded by hand, and therewere no lotteries then, sothere was…
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THE WEIGHT OF MOURNING
The weight of mourning defies precise measurement,and all of the rules of mathematics fail in an attempt.Grief rejects being placed on scales, there is nevera moment of pure equilibrium, only a teeteringthat always threatens to bring it all down in a heap.A million who are nameless and faceless is an agonyand yet eighty thousand with…
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STILL
Someone once told me that painis a good way of knowingthat you are still alive.I did want to kill that person,but thought better of it,why not simply smile andleave him in a life of pain.More recently I was toldthat I would get used tomy chronic pain andover time it would seemto hurt less if I…
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SHHHHHH
Step outsidelisten carefullyto the morning breezehear its songenjoying itsilentlylips not movingyour voicea chorus.
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an old writer and his words 