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i can almost feel the rumbling, underfoot... like some big unseen engine is just beginning to rev up. it's just like the bass, amplified in a concert hall: it plucks your spine like a big, fat string, and resonates in your chest, expanding in your lungs. it's felt, not seen, these wheels turning. four days from now, i'll be three-thousand miles away form here. hopefully, with a pretty, welcoming face on the other side. wheels turn, gears shift. selecting an entirely different gear while finalizing some more monetary split with my ethereal Ex, i asked her to cut my dreadlock off. three (or was it four?) years ago, she braided a clump of my then-longish hair... which, left to itself, became the antithesis to my caucasian hair, extending to below my shoulder blades. funny thing, though... my passion for the music that spawned it, felt like it was sapped from me, as it lengthened. like so much else. now, it's absence is imperceptible. as if it was never there. and now, the music begins to restate itself. opportunities for writing, too. more interviews popping up... which began a new, yesterday, with a young woman in the studio, without her twin, that has been a part of the scene, both on-and-off stage since i first stood up behind a mike. backing up, in past years, theWailers-Culture-theMeditations-BurningSpear. all grown up. it was an afternoon, in essence, featuring everything that i remain in radio for: thinking on my feet, sharing and having some fun, giving talent the chance to shine. fending off hordes of phone calls. pushing the causes of mistreated incarcerants. putting two hours of FCC-approved politics with drum-and-bass into the ether. maybe it was worth sacrificing the locks. it started some wheels, turning, too. now, to trade this MercuryRetrograde for a Big Red Rocket Of Love. with optional pink pearl gear selector. |
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