I wanted to explore the concept of ecstatic interruptions as a form of music. When children run up to you grinning about an emergency just around the corner, and they touch barely your bare heart with open palms and lead you into the middle of a demonstration, trapezes on their faces like feel-free, and you start to...then be suspicious. Spirals in the fist to suggest how many ages it's been since this position was lifted in the name of protest or lucky so-and-so with the gold fronts and toll-told in his showingest-gums smile. Then be the subject
And live in palaces,
if not in peace
And in peace, if not these places
The world knew it would end, escape toward home,
and that breaks are as important to joy as suspicion is to picking one, picking-one-out, and keeping it out, like Questlove or the daydress, or crowded can-I-get-a-witness-eyes. Vandals.
Some are baffled, but that one is not, that one knows me.
We're allowed to do everything but use words together. So we move into the other languages. Occupy them. And live in guesses if not in answers. One thing I am sure of: Everyday, everyday, everyday, I synced the blues.
Another thing, another encyclopedia to empty the body moving in
And the 'other' thing, the main obstacle and main ingredient, the wild color you paint the told/truth, is no longer in stock, so tell it black,tell it back, and let it go on like that, gold mouths, the closest houses, slow-motion-corners, all-out-to-show-them-to-no-words
