You have harmonized your weakest beat, and have freed yourself from the blues; your death plays on constant rotation. Get up to a different song, switch the catalog, mute the void, count cadence skip a beat downbeat out beat play outside The Multiplication Table.
Abstracting your death numbs the pain. A gut-ripping trip back to your legacy, hilltop—the home of my youth. Your hell. 24 flights of stairs erected on your crippled soul. Punch cards and prescription slips; you clocked, logged, marked every single sigh on your face. Your turmoil, not mine. Clutching at your past, holding on to your heritage, slipping through your broken life and your absent kisses. I will improvise you out of my being, circular breathing motions and sheets of sound. I will obscure your name until I forget it. In anonymity I will find my solace. Peek out from the precipice and I will furiously suffocate your memory. Focus on Sanity. Disappear in the crowd, find a grip on the nameless faces coming towards me. Never Run but Go. Silence, please. Perhaps we will meet again one day.
You are vibrant, I cannot negate your colours. You pulsate through my skin, giving shape to the father I will be.Tell me what to do, I’m all ears. Pace, tricks, gimmicks, licks, hooks…
What’s that you sing?
Change the record.
Note from the author: The Blues and The Abstract Truth is a four-part reflection on Jazz and its impact on my life during the years that followed my father’s death. The title The Blues and The Abstract Truth is borrowed from the Oliver Nelson album recorded in 1961.