November 30/30 - 29/30 - Dance
Dance.
This is a dragon-tooth reminder about the value of hot jazz. Watch the fingers dance over bongo skins, saxophone valves, trumpet plungers, and piano keys. Feel those drum brushes on your skin as the dark room of improvised music turns you in the wind from hurricane to calm-day cornfield and back again. Let each tick and sharp turn of the musician’s unified timing cull your boredom with the now. Become the present and move with it.
Meet each solo with your hands up and your eyes closed. Feel the scarlet ribbons and blue nooses trip your hooves. Feel the very air around you reek of mistletoe as you slip from appreciation into full synesthesia. Smell the music and let your nerve endings listen. See the rise and fall of stabbed melody curtain in front of you around the ghosts of accordions and meat-cooking fires throwing shadows on cave walls while it rains outside.
Let your tongue trace headlights across the roof of your mouth and realize that blood tastes like batteries if you want it to, like legal-tender pennies to buy thoughts. Communicate in erotic semaphore to others on your page with eyelash sweeps, leg stretches, and barber-pole hair. Show the music how your clothes fit. Test the limits of the silly strings, the super strings that hold you. Become the drumroll. Become the present.
It’s not a trance, it’s a lack of trance. A vacation for as long as possible from the demands that society, rational thought, concern, and the fear of consequence squeeze from you daily. Let life flow into you, not out. This is the dimension-shattering, quantum continuum that people knew before language and will always know. Dance is what breaks the shackles and music is what drives dance. Dance is the most important component of humanity, the truest form of meditation, and the key to living.
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This is a dragon-tooth reminder about the value of hot jazz. Watch the fingers dance over bongo skins, saxophone valves, trumpet plungers, and piano keys. Feel those drum brushes on your skin as the dark room of improvised music turns you in the wind from hurricane to calm-day cornfield and back again. Let each tick and sharp turn of the musician’s unified timing cull your boredom with the now. Become the present and move with it.
Meet each solo with your hands up and your eyes closed. Feel the scarlet ribbons and blue nooses trip your hooves. Feel the very air around you reek of mistletoe as you slip from appreciation into full synesthesia. Smell the music and let your nerve endings listen. See the rise and fall of stabbed melody curtain in front of you around the ghosts of accordions and meat-cooking fires throwing shadows on cave walls while it rains outside.
Let your tongue trace headlights across the roof of your mouth and realize that blood tastes like batteries if you want it to, like legal-tender pennies to buy thoughts. Communicate in erotic semaphore to others on your page with eyelash sweeps, leg stretches, and barber-pole hair. Show the music how your clothes fit. Test the limits of the silly strings, the super strings that hold you. Become the drumroll. Become the present.
It’s not a trance, it’s a lack of trance. A vacation for as long as possible from the demands that society, rational thought, concern, and the fear of consequence squeeze from you daily. Let life flow into you, not out. This is the dimension-shattering, quantum continuum that people knew before language and will always know. Dance is what breaks the shackles and music is what drives dance. Dance is the most important component of humanity, the truest form of meditation, and the key to living.
tags