Jesus, Buddha, Confucius, Mohammed, Krishna or Jehovah, but I sho nuff do believe in Miss Mavis Staples, her golden pipes and the friendship she is preaching about on that stage. Show em how it’s done Mavis, show em how it’s sung.
I’m lost in a time warp of my own making and I’m going to be in 1971 for a bit longer. I’ve been nine again and it’s been illuminating, shocking, soulful, morbidly fascinating and one wild ass ride through one summer of my life. Where is all this happening? Wilson Park of course. 😉 Yeah, I’m back in that project with everybody else and we are reliving some nasty things so I can shape it with some brazen cool and tell it like it was. When I’m done, it won’t just be a novel my dear scribes, it’s gonna be a shameless epic. So if I’m not here posting my one, two and three minute poems WITHOUT revision (Ms. Jessie) 😉 I’ll be back there, so when I’m finished I can take you there.
Just to get you into my frame of mind and feeling, here is one song that opens the gates for me every damn time I sit down to write the glorious trashy prose that was Wilson Park. Staples Singers, take them there will ya…
“A man’s work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened.” Albert Camus Nov 7, 1913-Jan 4, 1960