A musician must write, or be only a player.
And navigate straits of both rhyme and palaver.
So to avoid keeping footmen named Borange and Chilver
I’ve acquired two basses, rock Orange and Silver.
Slouching in bassman’s affected rock posture,
I will pound them with Dub King, or bling them with Houser.
Both shall boom out with panache and groove swing.
Cuz it ain’t got no thing, unless you stomp, mwah, and zing.
Who knows how hot thunder will roll once I’ve started.
When I’m holding the bottom it’s sufficiently sorted.
Who knows where I’ll play, where I’ll wake once I’ve landed.
I just wish for a Reverend to boom that’s left-handed.
note: a Reverend is an amazing musical instrument.
Sid observed that we are of types.
delusional, aversive, greedy.
never one to exclusion, or to define you.
not that there is such a thing.
but we live and play with habits of want.
wanting more. wanting less. wanting solipsism.
these roiling currents of craving.
we move through moments, in reaction and action.
but just have a private moment, with that moment, for a moment.
apart from any nonmoments clamoring.
they don’t exist anyway.
sail as Theseus. shift happens.
weather all weather, all storms of wanting.
the nots, be others, and mores.
simply have a moment, with your moment, for a moment.
or the nonmoments will have you.
but good news – you don’t have a moment to lose.
one part, the quiet part.
the small, still part. that knows.
said, “you have many things to do, that you will find joy in doing!”
then another part.
in an act of rampant ventriloquism