RIP

June 4, 2008 at 6:53 pm | Posted in blogging, music, writing | 9 Comments
Tags: , , , ,

rolling in paradise sitting on the front steps
mourning the passing of Bo Diddley (though
it is surely better to rejoice in his having
lived)
Narcissus feels a tap on his shoulder, a reminder to interpolate translation of the fundamentally heiroglyphical as in that which can be told is not the true way, since language is linear forever redefining meaning by expanding the context til it’s too late gone like a butterfly which was a good idea,
However, if we could construct a language of echoes, the source, the one would still resonate by implication most evident when forgotten,
Shave and haircut the old jazzmen used to call the rhythm Bo Diddley picked up and added to the Blues to make his rock ‘n roll. Suddenly Screaming Jay Hawkins appears popping up from behind the bar,

Bo Diddley (RIP) Screaming Jay Hawkins (who wrote I Put A Spell On You) Nina Simone (Goddess)

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9 Comments »

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  1. he had the cool laid down sooooo smooth, smiling at a nothing slip of a girl and making her feel welcome in the presence of such greatness, kicked back in an Atlanta club, scoping for backup singers… no, no, not me – i can’t sing mr. bo, ‘xceptin’ with the voice of a crow, oh so envious of the songbirds who can. a moment of yours mr. bo, mine forever.

  2. There are four rhythms in this piece… five if you include the video. It’s a complex read, almost like a five course meal with which you would be polite to pause between servings. Wonderfully satisfying though. I always liked dessert… an exquisite ginger syllabub.

  3. He will be missed. Digging the new layout.

  4. Your writing continues to baffle me! honestly!

  5. language of echoes… thaz what i see when i hear the geetarh… now nina when she sings… hopeless kinda love you can’t walk away from… yummy… that love should be so engaging…

  6. “However, if we could construct a language of echoes, the source, the one would still resonate by implication most evident when forgotten,”

    I really like this. I’m with Disturbed Stranger a bit too! Your writing makes me re-read and re-read. It’s so lyrical and complicated. But I assuming this is the point, right?!

  7. Another look going on here. I like the red, how it flames the fire on the piano.
    Sexy slide show, great music. I wouldn’t mind having a spell put on me, as long as I got to say who was the conjurerer.

    Between the lines of your poem, a rhythm caught that then dissipated, because I held on tool ong, maybe. Yes, it’s true, we are antennae that hold out our brains for reception, but we seem to only be able to capture and recreate certain wavelengths. You do project this essence in the poem. Captivating ideas in the sound, you did do that.

  8. wow. everything is different and beautiful here. your piece is intricate and delicate and beautiful. i love this “if we could construct a language of echoes, the source, the one would still resonate by implication most evident when forgotten,” — brilliant.

  9. til it’s too late gone

    i grew up doing the hand jive… saw bo and did dance…i used to swing all the time, flip, flop and fly through the air, my legs straight up overhead. for modesty, i wore boxer shorts. i danced on stage with chuck berry too, long ago.


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