Wednesday, September 6, 2017

Blue Notes

It's a wet, foggy night. Ideas are exploding in my head. I'm writing in the book margins, taking pictures, and making notes in my phone. We're on a boat that is circumnavigating Manhattan. A DJ is upstairs on the ferry's second floor, but just as many people are at the bow where it's cold, windy, and soaked. People are standing in the rain and looking out. It's good to touch the night every once and a while. it helps to make the light that much brighter when juxtaposed against the darkest hollow. That's the blues of the black experience. The saddest people in the world are the ones who maintain a hysterical happiness: the hyena laughter, the vapid smile, the neurotic nods toward nostalgia, twitching toothy grins. The night is a necessary recalibration in nature and in the soul. When I get 'the blues' I tap into the encircling sorrow. I ride the midnight streams that surround the bright islands. Who needs drugs? I get high off the blue notes.


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