“So What!”
What is this life without worry, without any anxious moments
to motivate? Take time to listen to what Miles Davis attempts to revert, not
from his discourteous manner what made him so infamous as a man, but from this
life, with a musical intelligence that made him so illustrious as an artist.
The man who knows himself and knows
nothing more of this world has too all and every right of claim to know just as
much of the world outside of himself as a seasoned traveler who has trekked decades
across the globe. And this man, this self-proclaimed aficionado of any and
everything, carries not a single second of hesitation to join those ranks of
the very few and as every educator who has the right to educate, he has earned
such right by a consistency that gave no leniency, never a sabbatical, from
learning. If a book is near, it is reared in days, consumed; if there so happen
to be music, as Davis himself spills in a “kind of blue” fashion, rarely does he
respond to this mood but creates, then shortly after, sets its pace, then, and
only then, can he find the cadence in which his steps should follow.
Call upon the bookkeeper, the one so
entangled in the leather-bound covers shelved, adorned in their dark corner,
let him then call the astronaut, become the origin of the rumor mill, so that
man who has gone out of this atmosphere no longer has to despise his haunting
incapability to have never step food upon another planet; surely, he’ll confide
next to the woman who shares his bed, the one who has lost her identity when
she gave birth to an offspring who has become all she attends, now, she can
smile, not due to schadenfreude, but to the knowledge that now she’s alone.
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