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Monday, April 4, 2011

Black, and Blues' Eye

There is a moment at the center of a blues dance, when our bodies are held together by common will. The moment when we have breathed in unison. Our air has not yet flooded the backs of each others' necks with torrents of wet heat. The music skips it's beat as we our step.

No part of us moves save a pair of pulsing hearts that know nothing of music because they are the beat that gave birth to rhythm. In the corner of the room, the record spins.

In this moment is the drive that sets us in motion. The black that gives form to the light. The infinite potential that is limited not even by a failure to imagine. It encompasses all possibilities thought and unthought.

Still and silent mystery fills our pours as we feel the moment break under it's own weight. Like a sheet torn, shattering the mystery of a projected image. We take no heed of our own illusions. Holding each other in the shape of some forgotten and unpronounceable letter.

Even the record revolving is motionless at it's center - Surrounded by it's own violence - The eye of a storm ever brewing, waiting to catch us up and send us spinning in different directions.

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