“So What!”
What is this life without worry, without any anxious moments to motivate? Take time to listen to what Miles Davis attempts to revert, not from his discourteous manner what made him so infamous as a man, but from this life, with a musical intelligence that made him so illustrious as an artist.
The man who knows himself and knows nothing more of this world has too all and every right of claim to know just as much of the world outside of himself as a seasoned traveler who has trekked decades across the globe. And this man, this self-proclaimed aficionado of any and everything, carries not a single second of hesitation to join those ranks of the very few and as every educator who has the right to educate, he has earned such right by a consistency that gave no leniency, never a sabbatical, from learning. If a book is near, it is reared in days, consumed; if there so happen to be music, as Davis himself spills in a “kind of blue” fashion, rarely does he respond to this mood but creates, then shortly after, sets its pace, then, and only then, can he find the cadence in which his steps should follow.
Call upon the bookkeeper, the one so entangled in the leather-bound covers shelved, adorned in their dark corner, let him then call the astronaut, become the origin of the rumor mill, so that man who has gone out of this atmosphere no longer has to despise his haunting incapability to have never step food upon another planet; surely, he’ll confide next to the woman who shares his bed, the one who has lost her identity when she gave birth to an offspring who has become all she attends, now, she can smile, not due to schadenfreude, but to the knowledge that now she’s alone.
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