Hey there @rudrajaya ! And look at @vickipowell getting down. Everyone was there: the mean kids, the popular kids, the bad kids(me), the old kids, Latinx kids, traveler kids, lgbtq + s kids, kids, kids in cowboy boots and hots pants, kids in John Deere, kids, dancing kids, spectator kids(me too), tattoo moms w/skater kids, old men that were kids. And we are all were dessecated and ground in the park Pavillion mortar. We were then synthesized by the DJ turntablist Selecta’s using a polyphonic pestle on the ones and twos This was on mission in the furtherance along the way bonne voyage as we lay deshabille no skin suit it gone revealed: just spirit.
It’s not the style it’s the Technic…It was a good day to dance alone amongst so many people that I don’t normally mix. I entered the fray of the southern sun full of history. There are moments to/to be cherish(ed), beats to remember and habits long dismembered that arc like an electric spark in the synapses. And then what under the detritus of time emerges memories zippy doo da aa the now. They bring along all the attendant emotional power of the catalyst moment. So out of fear came a new mantra, a better meditation w/mudras. My counter narrative was written on no expectations lined yellow paper and set to Armand van Helden. And because of the aforesaid I feared no thought.
And so there is glad in me. In my memory palace today and victorous Thursday sit like a full Santa satchel with corners made from moments that threw heavy bows with edged old bone. Those non permanent moments rest and quickly flutter like flys with out butter. But it was done and so it can be done again. I just have to be skittles and bum rush the rainbow.
And the erstwhile negative self centered piteousness that set my attitude to a horizon that ain’t fall were mostly thoughts that are my own in super imposition over what can only be known telepathically and not by winnowing pain of tortures breaking bone. Opinions of me that ain’t my business and are not essential have never stopped me from making my way on my own.( Exiting after dramatic reading, Ms.Lawanda Page as “Aunt Esther” [Sanford and So] in a haymaker purse round house over her head and a shout towards the upper room, “Glow-ray ..Hallelujah” with a Holy spirits hitch kick toward the door)