0027 That Baker Boy

and allowing that records only record what’s recorded – that’s, written records – the sounds are something else - the records say that for most of your waking life you were out of this world on drugs or when you weren’t, you behaved appallingly; excepting when you sang and played, when, all agreed, you were ‘out of this world’.. and yet, you wrote an autobiography or should we say memoir, that is, what you might remember, which is a catalogue of innocence, of purity, of life as good, well lived… so I would not like to be your prosecuting counsel, taking you through this litany, each deed, each word.. I don’t think I could bear the pain.. was it what you really thought you were, or what you would have wished to be? I’ll settle for the love you whisper in the ‘standards’, convincing us they’re holy writ; pausing just where truth itself would pause; and blowing the truth that finds and speaks itself between the lips and lungs and trumpet’s mouthpiece; like some ancient seer or sibyl, shaman, visionary, speaking, singing, truths which yet you do not know or have forgotten. It seems that genius knows the greatness of the art of which it is (apt phrase) the mouthpiece; and all else is of this world; subservient.