I have the blues. Literally and metaphorically. After many months and years of jazz being penetrated into every fibre of my being, I have recently decided to get hooked. I cant sleep without jazz, I cant get to college without jazz, I cant get up and do presentations without jazz, I cant write without jazz – I think you’ve got the hint. The melodies of Miles Davis and John Coltrane are keeping me alive in a city and a course that are as dead as dead can be. Doorknob kind of dead. You gotta love those doorknobs.
I read a someone’s blog a while ago. Brilliant writing – but somehow the sheer juiciness I knew the blog contained was marred by big words and sheer eloquence. I wish people would realize that you don’t have to use big words to be articulate. The simplest, shortest and sweetest of words and phrases ensure that you’re read over and over again. Better yet, they ensure that you’re remembered. I must have read Vikram Seth’s "A Suitable Boy" time and time again, simply because the words flow the way I think – simply and swiftly. However, despite the brilliance of Rushdie’s "Midnight Children", I have never read the book more than once, simply because its too hard to digest over and over again.
I rarely fall sick. No, seriously. Through Polaris, through FYBMM & SYBMM, through washing my clothes and cooking dinner, I rarely fell sick. Now, Im falling ill with a frequency that is alarming. I put it down to being plain unhappy. Even the novelty of chai has failed me. And when all else failed, I always had chai. It has begun to strike me with louder and louder boominess, that I dont know what to do to be happy. In FYBMM, I relied on being busy. I whored myself out to projects, to festivals, to friends. In SYBMM, I relied on being peaceful. I fell back on the joys of Polaris, of morning chai. In TYBMM, I have nothing. The little things offer no pleasure, neither do the busy-body things. Worst of all, people provide little pleasure. I like sitting alone, fixing my face into a "stay away" scowl, turning up the jazz as loud as it can go. Stable in my little iPod bubble. Forget being a snob, I’ve become a hermit.
If Mappings was jazz, this particular entry would be "In a Sentimental Mood" I like the way jazz, even though its always constant, will have different ups and downs – remaining melodious all the while. I like the way it’ll start light, get dark, fall into melancholy, be joyful and trill, and will still be the same old tune. I love the way ONE song, gets to be so many people. Sometimes, its a lonely soulful person, wearing black and playing the sax. Sometimes its a spontaneous child, playing and dancing tunes that are beautiful in its bravery. Sometimes its a slinky and sultry woman, wearing purple silk and pouty lips, singing melodies that leave a trail of goosebumps on virgin skin.
I want to be a jazz tune. In the Summertime, In a Sentimental Mood, In a Wonderful World. Straight, No Chaser.
To Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong.
To Hobo. The closest to a jazz tune I have. He’s the lonely sax man, the spontaneous child, the trail of goosebumps on my virgin skin.