The future has no formula baby…
It’s all Jazz.
It’s the ultimate
improvisation.
No script,
No plot
Except the one that the Big Man got.
It’s not
in your 401k
or retirement plot
and it’s most assuredly not
in the hole that your
head is buried in.
You thought you
thought it
Through
Quite thoroughly but in real time it’s just a
giant knot that they got you tangled up in,
They star spangled you up again
(Singing D’Angelo style)
“And they laughin in yo face once again, got yo mouth up on they hook…one mo gin’”
It’s just the same old lies
strewn from the snake’s green eyes
In the Garden of Eden with
Eve and them
And after all that, the wars and the bullshit
reasons for war, after all the millions and
millions
of innocent simple folks Uncle Sam
murdered by the bushel…
the smoke cleared and we all got in gear behind
television fear,
We forgot about the lies and believed again.
Amnesia is the state that we ALL are licensed and insured in.
The Rat race
marathon where
Nobody keeps winning
it’s
the Worldwide Web
that we are all happy to be stuck in.
The reason we all keep
running in circles trying to
eat,
drink
sleep and watch the watch-box.
It’s all Jazz baby,
It’s the worst notes sung and hung on the wall with the Karaoke speakers
And the speakers aren’t speaking anymore they are screaming
“Die you fucking shaved monkeys!”
“But die slow so we can get our flow…”
Drink your miller’s light
wear your team’s colors.
Swallow
the pills
they give you
and wash it down
with holy water
and try to find the time.
Have you ever seen Miles Davis
tap his feet to find the beat?
Never my man,
He was the master of improvisation
he rode that wind without a scowl or grin,
He is one of the main reasons they stopped calling us boys and the reason we call each other men.
You all cannot bob your head to anything but a four-four,
What will you do with a 6/8 or a 12/8?
Five time?
What if it swings from Staccato’s branches?
Or hangs from Legato’s leggings?
It’s the new bowl of gumbo;
sling shot around the corner on the first day that your pension plan kicks in odd meter
(Somebody spent it)
The future is improvisation my sissy boy nation!
Jazz is improvisation
And it’s the truth.
The truth never sounds the same any more
The Truth wears no make up and has Its own schedule and agenda.
It’s everything that you think will last,
everything you thought would last.
You sweat up your shoes
and pulled out your hair for the future!
You planned without the plans my man!
Does the architect build his dream house with dreams that he drummed up while
dreaming?
I don’t know about you …
but me?
I’m always scheming…
hoping and
believing,
And just banging on my drums
to whatever beat
I
choose
in
the
late
watered
down
evening.
D. MEDINA 14’
