Priorities, I think they’re called. Other people have always taken care of the priorities, in my experience. Taken charge of the beat, the tempo. Conducting my life according to whatever norms were established before I got here. Funny. Getting readied to don your person suit, no one knows if they make one in your size. You’ve never been to the store, no one has taken your measurements or shape into account. You live your life tailoring your existence to ..a pre-drawn cut-out pattern thing. Put your words here, your manners go here, your docility goes there, your obedience fits right in here.
Just squeeze in to it. What do you mean you can’t breathe?
You have everything, you have an audience for the words. Your manners are rewarded, when they’re model. It’s not a corset. It’s a cloth to cover you. It’s shelter. It’s safety. It’s what you need to navigate through this world without suffering. Don the suit we made for you. Otherwise, your life will be a miserable one. And you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.
And by the way. There are no other covers. everything else is nakedness. Do you want to be naked in the world?
It’s the cold right? That’s why we need good manners, so others won’t be repelled by us and leave us in the cold.
It’s the heat right? That’s why we need to be docile, before the world shows us flames, mocking our attempts at defiance, establishing our inferiority.
The obedience is so our feet don’t get cut on the way. Shoes, that keep you from stepping on the broken glass, failed attempts at alternative lives.
It’s dangerous to walk without your protection. People might speculate about you. Wear your clothes. People might speculate. People might speculate.
This is called music, Nambahu. Why? Why is the subject of this late evening’s musing titled “Music”.
Because for the first time in 2 years I’ve spent my hours listening to new artists. Voices, that have moved me. Stilled me. Intrigued and kept me. I covered myself in creation. Beautiful, meaningful, real attempts to express what hasn’t been pre-cut. People who aren’t wearing suffocating suits. The best thing to come out of any person’s mouth at any given time, is a song.
Music tells me that I can own my own nakedness. The decision is mine, so let the lesson be mine. I can take ownership of my own fabric. Choice.
“Music” because there’s no force on earth like it. my tempo. my beat. my rhythm found in something established before I even got here. Tailored to me, without knowing my size or measurements. Crossing genre and purpose. Mirroring me. Expanding me and minimizing me. Releasing me from the tightness of convention.
I mocked my friend for being a creative, jokingly. When he said I should be writing something, or blogging something, or podcasting something.
I mocked because I didn’t want to show how badly I wanted to be naked like that.How badly I want to show my size and measurements. To be released from the corsets and expose my figure.
People who make music. I pray, I beg you. Never, ever, ever stop. Don’t ever cease.. it’s a matter of souls.
Speculate: to form a theory or conjecture about a subject without firm evidence