Put It In Your Pantry with Your Cupcakes

Wednesday, May 05, 2004

Prose Poem Regarding The Music Of The Slip

Seaside, at the Outhanox, the red disc of the sun becomes our early
morning serenade. Three musicians have each captured a fabulous rose
from the sea foam. Weaving impossible and gorgeous melody into the
crisp air, one can hear the echoes ring against the fine flame-gold of
the Temple walls. Guitar in contrast to drum, voice set against bass,
the voice of the water runs through the music, counter-poised rhythm to
the Atlantean heartbeat, question to all things, quest to beauty, all
seeing spirit-jaguar taking the shape of music to bound through jungle
and field.

The three musicians' faces shine, who create as yet unheard of beauty to
a gathering of gentle and joyous faces in like. Wild beasts pause to
listen, as also does the wind and water's waves. Like vines creeping
along the Temple walls, hypnotized scales of tone alive with slow
perfection, suddenly crash and beat with rigor and quaking force, from
out of the silence, into the clear blue of noon. Upon the sea, great
ships of jade sway. Oh, great and mysterious lyric, or Island of Peace,
reaching toward the sun's zenith. The music become an island of one's

Palm tree fronds sway upon the shore, gathered armies offer useless
weapons to the afternoon. The sun offers itself to the horizon, before
dark, which finally falls. Children wait for the moon to rise.
Beautiful women walk to the ocean shore and gather for the music. Three
musicians play for the presence of presence of the moon. Stars rise and shine their
reflections off the women's eyes. Everything is as beautiful and full
of sadness and joy as the various strands of rhythm. The music aligned
to the pattern of the stars, in tender equi-form to the blood of the
jaguar, or the lyric's cry. Ancestors gather at the beauty of the
tones, glad to be among their offspring's beauty, shadows melting into
fantastic dream.

At midnight, the concert ends, which had begun at dawn. The musician's
return their fabulous ocean-rose to the sea. The gathered people file
from the Outhanox grounds to return home, sated. The people's
conscience has been renewed by the music, goodness gathered to the good.
The Children of Atlantis have blessed the land, and travel far and wide,
gathering mysterious beauty for their return.

APRIL 30, 2004
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