it's silver's birthday and while we were waiting for myrtle (who bought all the presents and made this perfect hand-drawn birthday card one could base an entire ultra-depression-proof park slope card boutique around) she played nina simone at full volume and we split a bottle of wine.
because i was drunk and hell bent to explain how i appreciated the infinite despite my bureaucratic trappings, i launched into this whole tirade on why i liked the music so much. what i ended up vaguely articulating (besides dumb shit like "that piano is bright fish skimming the ocean floor" or "she's an angel sent to remind us we're alive") was the idea of african rhythms searching for freedom within a western idiom. something i'd read once in a jazz text and have been trying to make my own ever since.
silver's commie response was that all people are searching for freedom within whatever imperfect system they've had the misfortune of existing into, and that while people are capable of the worst atrocities you could imagine, they're also it must be stressed capable of busting through their fuck-all cages to express their infinite contents, letting the totality of their beings shine forth in whatever milieu they happen to exist.
hopes for mr. obama.
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