So Father Thames had gathered London

Skizze zum Thema KeinVerlag

von  DanceWith1Life

and the early morning  shuttle to gatwick, to catch the flight
was a few hours ahead, i had already checked out the hotel, to save the payment of another day.
I was hoping for some lucky incident to spent the next hours and there they were coming along, people of my hometown, all with some sort of plan in mind what they wanted to do.
Of course i was invited to join, so i did.
Fragments of what had happened the last few days still visiting my mind.
There wasn't really a question, not the sort of question, one would identify as one, but there was.
And i still have no clue, how to put it into words.
It felt like the end of a very long journey, not really sure what will be seen at the end of it.
The journey itself had been quite a trip, so to say, ups and downs, us and them, feeling of getting some dream accomplished and all of a sudden, dismantled, around a few words and scenes, that never could stand any expectation, such a amount of time and energy could have been justified, no way.
In other words, there must be something more, something thats worth it.
And thats the crux it, because that depends only on me, what would do the trick for me.
Thus i sat there beside the venue, waiting to somehow get a clue, and find myself just comforted by joining some human beings i felt comfortable with.
This was strange enough, to put the whole philosophical attitude in a box and store it away.
No more, just time to enjoy, my mind needed a break.
And that was offered.
How did i get here, i heard "Talking heads"  singing, of course i knew that, every step of it.
But the strange feeling wasn't really attached to those steps, even so i thought it was.
Well my companions knew me long enough to stay on their trip.
And gave me the time and space to clarify mine, even so we tried like many times before,  remember every fragment we could.
Life, would one whisper in rememberance, noticing, that the echoes thrown back from the walls, were different, because what it should have said and what we could remember, kind of went different directions.
Life, whispered again to call it back to life, but the moments were fleeing, somehow disguised as a search for fun.
And that was the source of the feeling i had, noticing exactly that.
Life, disguised amongst us as a bunch of actors trying to play a role, that doesn't even make sense at times.
I had read the love songs from Kabir.
I still can't remember, what or when exactly this clue of a hue entered my imagination, but it did, without me even noticing, its one of his poems, so familiar it felt, so way  back in time to the first interactions with musicians, that tried to put into words, what the fun of it was.
And so it proceeded, sort of lightyears travelling sparkling of creativity talking in a language to the musician in us, the rest of the inner crew could not make sense out of.
But nevertheless alive, even disguised.
Sitting outside Wembley staring into midair, because there was nothing to look at.
Its just me.
How fragile.
Yet kept walking all the years to find out, its just me.
That wasn't easy to swallow, and even harder to digest.
But that was the answer, i heard, felt and identified.
religion, a set up.
society, a set up.
art, most of it, a set up.
the only thing i could identify not being a set up, was creativity itself, thats a gift.
And those who have been gifted go for it, of course.
Then how do we interact with all the set up.
Thats the artist decision.
Some try to be mindful, some try to be pathetic, some go for interesting context.
Some try to provoke. Provoke the most inconspicuous, most normal, most extraordinary thing ever, right now in full action, like never before and never again. I am alive.
But I don't notice. Because i don't take notice.
Oh weia.
chip-Knappheit bei Autobauern, hat meine volle Aufmerksamkeit, in Zehntel Sekunden.

thats the laughter i heard all the years, some even call it "the devil laughing his head out" in the background.
To clarify, i didn't really "hear" a laughter, it was more of a natural conclusion at the end of a specific thought.
And here i was, barefeet and pregnant, so to say.
Thats the songtitle coming to mind, that was even the question at the start, one of the bandmembers asked me, at our first (and only) gig. Was los mit dir, bist du schwanger, oder was.
Three of us five originaly from New York, or New Yersey, all exceptional musicians, except for me, but somehow you are in, they said. And everyone noded.
Like in the middle of  pow wow.
20 years yet to cover to start this thing i called  "DanceWith1Life".
And of course, there were dreams, lots of them, scattered like snowflakes in the first steps of winter.

And then Prem visited Hiroshima.
     Humanity
    Remembering Hiroshima


Anmerkung von DanceWith1Life:

i will try to translate, but sitting in London, i could not decide to write in german.

Kommentare zu diesem Text

Hütchen (30)
(08.10.21)
Dieser Kommentar ist nur für eingeloggte Benutzer lesbar.

 DanceWith1Life meinte dazu am 08.10.21:
die würde ich nicht mal erkennen, da bräuchte ich jemand. danke
Zur Zeit online: