Improvising is having the ability to control one’s mind and think clearly. To speak from memory and experience within the presence of now and not get tongue-tied. I watch how some people are so good at this type of control. It amazes me. They can move their bodies, speak and improvise with a type of grace. A controlling of the mind and the body with entertaining perfection.
It is not about repetition or practice, yet that is part of it. Taking tests and writing essays in a class is the same type of improvising control. Some are good at it and others are not. Takes a lot of practise yet some people can bull their way through with flying colors. That is what I would like to be able to do.
I guess this is why I love Jazz. It is improvising control that is so perfect. A yearning for me…
“I stood for a moment on the scent, smelling this shrill and blood-raw music, sniffing the atmosphere of the hall angrily, and hankering after it a little too. One half of this music, the melody, was all pomade and sugar and sentimentality. The other half was savage, temperamental and vigorous. Yet the two went artlessly well together and made a whole.” Pg. 37 Steppenwolf
In the early morning
there is nothing like driving east
on Sherman Way in the San Fernando Valley.
Not too many drivers
on the road
the view of the Verdugo mountains
are straight ahead.
The Verdugos shine with a blue gray hue
bringing to mind my youthful wild days.
The street is lined
with dark green pepper trees
blocks of brilliant yellow mustard greens
freely enhanced with
miles of tall brown yellow wheat weeds
What is still left of this wild valley.
It is a cool windy day
goes round and round.
Made up of different colored leaves
memories that stir within me.
Prehistoric blue gray mountain range
I am getting younger
Coolness on clothes
distance of windy gray sky
I feel 13 again.
Posted in "In the beginning there was a void except for the written word." The Avengers (Band)
Tagged Art, beauty, Daily Prompt, Depth Psychology, Goddess and Home, hue, ode, poems, postaday, spirituality, Verdugo, will-o'-the-wisp, Women, Writing
“I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till I drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.”
~ Jack Kerouac
I grew up during the 60s, 70s and 80s. I was 30 years old when I was bumped blindly into a world of a new education. Each generation I lived though, I loved. As a song, friend or lover, which in fact… all three generations supplied me with abundantly.
I fell into the late 70s punk scene blindly and without any ambition but the rebellious call of youth and ideology built on an underground scene. Yet what I witnessed in the 60s was wildness of a different rebellion. I miss the hitchhiker’s ways. People on the streets at every corner. I felt safe and awake.
Then as I have written before, the end of the 70s brought the multiple attacks of serial killers and we all pulled into ourselves. Now I drive by the many blocks where I grew up and see all the streets are empty. Cars and more cars blindly drive right through my memories of those street kids. They were just hanging and talking. They improvised life without any hand-held device. Only the feel of a hand.
I feel the need to move to a new place where there are no memories. I did it at the end of the 80s. I left to a place of no memories for a short time.
As a culture we have become so pulled into ourselves. I am guilty of this as well. I am not blind to what is going on yet, I am getting to old to do anything about it.
“The Greek poet Orpheus carried Willow branches as a symbol of the inspiration this sound gave.”
I pause outside as bee and lady bug fly around.
Sweet is the nectar from
lemon tree and lavender.
Letting go of worries and
desires that do not serve me now.
An old friend, a song, comes to mind
as my "leaves in the wind."
Perfect are old recorded songs
and the insect, flower and tree!
Somehow as I pause in breathing,
I am lost in this perfection.
The recurring of pause of being,
the repetition of listening to old songs
the heartfelt listening and watching nature,
Is my catalyst for artistic expression.
Never to let us down !!
Posted in "In the beginning there was a void except for the written word." The Avengers (Band)
Tagged Alternative music, Art, beauty, Daily Prompt, Goddess and Home, nature, poetry, postaday, punk rock music, spirituality, Women
Triangular poem…. by Hudley
The best I have achieved in life is to follow things through. It can be a project, a meeting or supporting a friend. I can follow through with a yes or a no.
This is a good feeling. I love to follow through with an event. Sometimes this means doing the laundry in one day. Gathering, washing, folding and putting everything away.
Going shopping, cooking and cleaning up. Having a dream and making it happen. These are the qualities that I am capable of. Many wonderful things that make life better.
Even in the face of diversity, steaming contraries, and politics. I have the capacity to live a decent life.
I walked around the city. I experienced the cold winds of youth. I had a cup of coffee. These are the freedoms I am capable of achieving now.
The cats are hogging in front of the monitor. I look out the crack of my window. There are the waxing gibbous moon and Venus. Venus and her holy grail. What is she pouring in her bright light tonight?
Some of the houses have lost their Christmas glow. Not ours. We still have the spiraling light moving around the front door. I still wonder what Venus is pouring in her bright cup tonight?
A very quiet night tonight. Maybe I will attend and old buddies music show? Maybe I will watch a film. I already took a walk. Shall I eat the seasoned sweet potatoes with honey, olive oil and hot sauce? Venus can I see what you are pouring into the crescent moon this evening ?
I started out indifferent this morning. Why can’t I feel anything about this new year? Now I feel something in my belly. It is starting to grow. A slow swing ride. Excitement and hope, shall I create some art with my hope and excitement? Where are my water colors, ink, erasers and pencil. Cats, please get out of my way, I can not see what I am typing. How many others are wondering about Venus and the Moon tonight? How gracefully she holds her grail this night. What magic does Venus pour?
“Eventually, Echo, too, began to waste away. Her beauty faded, her skin shriveled, and her bones turned to stone. Today, all that remains of Echo is the sound of her voice. “
Hudley Clown party ’83
The echo of music is all that is left of the experience we shared. Just like Echo, we begin to waste away. Knowing the melting of my brain towards this reality, is something we all face. Is there comfort in the echo of music?
Yes there is!
It can be like an old friend that does not age. It is like an eternal echo from the past that is consistent with the present and beyond.
Lyrics echo this and books echo that.
Memories are echoes in my mind. I can go over the memories again and again.
I miss so many scenes and groups of people who have gone. I still hear the sounds of their voices but they are not there. People, places and things that hold on with an echo.
That eternal echo of music, clubs and beer.
Screaming, dancing and holding friends near!
Dear long friendly echoes.
A funny thing happened while watching the Alfred Hitchcock Hour last night. The Photographer and the Undertaker (1965) was the episode I watched. I realized I had viewed it before, but today it had a new meaning. As I watched the show I was also researching Jack Cassidy. He is the main character of the episode. He is the original Mad Man character actor. He was married to actress Shirley Jones. After their divorce, he seemed to melt down into alcoholism and mental health issues. I’m saddened by my research because to me he always seems like a sharp, upbeat and intelligent swinger. He has a deep history in music and brilliant acting career. It is his demise that shocked me.
Shirley Jones & Jack Cassidy
In this episode, or story, Cassidy’s character is a photographer who gets wise to a scheme that he is a focus of a hit man. He is scheduled to be killed. Cassidy turns it around and catches the hit man at his own game and kills him. To cover the evidence, he burns his darkroom down. In the news it is confirmed the next day. The photographer is burned to death. Cassidy’s character collects the money from the man who hired the hit man and assumes a new life. A great story with some ironic twists and turns.
As I was watching the story unfold I was thinking how clever Cassidy’s character was, and how he cheated death, something hit me hard. As I watched the flames burn the dark room and the hit man….I realized something. At that moment I read something profound. Ten years later, in real life, this is how Jack Cassidy dies (1976).
Cassidy returned to his apartment alone, by which time he was drunk, as he had consumed alcohol at various bars across West Hollywood that evening. In the early morning hours of December 12, Cassidy lit a cigarette and fell asleep on his Naugahyde couch.  He then dropped the cigarette, which ignited the couch. The flames quickly spread throughout the apartment and the building.  At 6:15 a.m., the blaze was discovered by Deputy Sherriff Jon Dimeter, who evacuated the building and entered Cassidy’s apartment. A charred corpse was found in the doorway of the apartment. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jack_Cassidy
I felt a terror over come me. What a strange revelation to perceive. I quickly said a prayer for the man. Last night he whispered a short story in my heart of his ironic demise.
Posted in "In the beginning there was a void except for the written word." The Avengers (Band), extramundane
Tagged Alfred Hitchcock Hour, Alternative music, Art, beauty, Daily Prompt, Hudley Flipside, Jack Cassidy, postaday, Women, Writing
The sun let’s go slowly each night. Jupiter appears all of a sudden in the twilight. In the distance dark tree leaves shimmer in between as light twilight flows as a river; breathing, dancing moving as the sun dies this day.
“Hello Jupiter!” All reflected down below in a common blue pool.
Surprise. A new light next to Jupiter silently sustains in the twilight sky. Opening slowly a pulling glow. It is gone. No trail, no sound to its presence there.
Just in the remembrance here.