The wheel has turned again, the great grapefruit SOHO wheel, and we come to the annual birthday celebrations of John Coltrane and John Lennon—Libras and happy birthday too to Linda the muse, who has called us all here, well some of us. And then Happy Birthday my dear Mr. Beel Dodge you will be 50 when KBOO is forty next year—what plans can we make for the party. Yes Daniel, I’ll go with you on 24 hours of St. John WillIAm Coltrane.
Hence two weekends in a row, of sleep or not to music, screaming Saxes, screaming Yoko, screaming Beatles, screaming flies, screaming electric unladylandlike guitars. Screaming, screaming—primal screaming. How after eight years of Lennon night I begin to notice a wave, a rhythm of the night—Because is always around 2 AM, and Good Morning too early in the morning before we country folks would ever hear a rooster crow, no wonder we are awake all night even in our own bed, and then the soft last two or three songs of the night before the country show starts. We walk softly out of the station; our trash put away, the dishes washed, softly to the bright October morning light.
And I think of/remember last year’s Lennon weekend and the first time I really went to the Greek Fest. And now dear Daniel tells me about the room in the Greek church that has the pix of the churches’ history including pix of his family and him with a crew cut, I imagine someone looking like Eddie Munster—I will have to see this room and the young Daniel to see this Adam’s family portrait.
How, last year/Lennon Weekend, the dream of the Laundromat in Greece was still alive, and the life that had been planned for next to ever was still taking shape, breakfast with Melodie, sitting in mamayiayiapapaFlessas’ living room discussing how that plan might take place and what it might look like. Oh my dear Laundretiki you are no longer a dream, a desire, and I’m not sure what else to put there, or where the dream is leading.
How last year, this weekend, I was so different than I am this year, this weekend. Perhaps I listened too loud to the music, maybe I was supposed to turn down the volume but it kept speaking to me and it did not seem to want to be on mute. I am as changed as if I had studied sax under John Zorn. My whole body has become an instrument, and I have learned how to whisper in the tenor—you should have heard me last Thursday. So soft on that G, so soft, listen loud, play soft. I have been played and I have played, been one, and been alone more than ever. Lost walls between me and the universe, lost boundaries, opened to all, open to one, with the door once open and the light of the sun shinning through it bright with arms open. Then as it opened the door closed, closed, closed; a glimpse as in the dreams, but only a glimpse, evaporation a mirage on the desert highway. Oh yes I could have written the Song of Songs, that is why I don’t need to read it more than the once. I have known it forever. Where is my love? He is always lost in the Song. Where is my love?
Oh and how listening to Lennon, finding the song of Donovan wafting through, even in Rocky Raccoon, and then hearing the Lennon in the other’s music. I don’t think I ever knew how much I’ve listened and internalised the music. But I do know now. And yet how Daniel also is the musician and how he and the good doctor Geoff play the instrument: Lennon.
And then there is Daniel, pitching, “join us" as in it's time to become a KBOO member, telling us all about Yoko and the Peace Tower that will light from the Earth on Tuesday. We parents of children dream/want to bring into being a world that will last for our kids. We will not go lightly into the night of destruction. Imagine. Through your music, Daniel, John and John, Timothy, Donovan, Frank, and Derek we dream/sing the new world that will come. If we continue singing/dreaming/loving.
Yes, "we are all one and it is all about love", haven't we consented on that in the meeting between us. But that love in the ether is just that ether, air/wind. And I call you to remember the very real/substantial earthlings that need love’s kinesis. Although:
Because God Is An Air Sign
Because God is an air sign
around us all the time.
Because God is an air sign
around us all the time.
Not an Earth Sign, God,
Or he’d be standing next to you in the grocery line.
Because God is an air sign
around us all the time.
Because God is an air sign
around us all the time.
Not a fire sign – oh no
Gusts extinguish each flame.
Because God is an air sign
around us all the time.
Because God is an air sign
around us all the time.
Not a water sign
Water obeys wind, creates walls/paths.
Because God is an air sign
around us all the time.
©6 October 2007—Yaney LA MacIver
Irini—Y—10/7/2007
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