Currently, we have Zeke on both trocadero and tarantella speeding and scumbling systems and we're feeding him infraredously and ravenously burnt burgundies and frozen eskimo tear pies... His first memory upon resurfacing: a line from that great poet of the coocoo clock, Robert Desnos: "Love like fish swims in acid." Think of the ramifications, friends and Jim Nabors, think of the ramikins, and Ramses II--- where is that Narrow Pharoa now, but searching the fetid dumpsters of history, looking for a donut and a phone card with enough juice on it to phone his old lost love DAMSEL DISTRESS, and one last sweet ride back to the border...home... Of course, everybody's holding their breath. Lots of us have been breastfed by the twin tits of Hiroshima and Nagasaki and are more or less surprised the old ball of granite has managed to rotate on its axis this long without the human viral presence annihilating itself and everything it touches. But be it Golden Dream or Bloody Nightmare, what fortune and future bring is rarely in the guise we imagine. So we sit on our lily pads of uncertainty on brackish, bubbling waters, under a Rhapsodizer moon, and hey-ain't we all feeling a wee bit jumpy?!

Cogito, cogito, wherefore art thou, cogito? Fate's an awful thing, like T-Bone Walker sings, But, Jack, that don't mean that we can't love it. Could Slim Pickens know something Happy Penny misses? The Conjuring Woman in "MIDNIGHT IN THE GARDEN OF GOOD AND EVIL' tells the young writer: "There are no answers!" Maybe that's an answer. but as sure as the Way is Milkt and the Night is Long (ain't long enough for some), this Zekemos GNOWS there are dreams and there are songs and then there's the rhythm of it all...

All in all....

So: let your sweet breath out, children, get that riddim back on the track, the main track (known in some winding circles as the Wrong Road)..no need to get blue in the face. The color of the soul changes, mutates, blue to purple, edging towards the green. "Green, I want you green!" the wild Andalusian cried before the drove him into the mountains. and mowed him down...you're gonna cry, cry, cry anyway, so why not cry "Joy, joy, joy"? Why not cry "Joy, joy, joy"? Your dreams are mine.......

amor fati
© Ed Volker 1999