Bedroom Sunset

Sometimes I have to force myself to settle on back to accept the shadowy recesses of modal shifts ‘twixt sunshine and moodiness. I tell myself to remember Miles. That dark master, a warlock that straddled the transition into an almost openly psychedelic world (momentarily), a paradigm psychological shift that erupted out armpit sized jazz clubs into studio produced cut/spliced internalized packages that traversed boundaries cultural and physical and otherwise, united in an aural depth of explorative bliss that was generated through uniquely disciplined collaboration, managed quietly by the ultimate anti-micro-manager, he who directed simply by presence alone. If only I could be so comfortable in my own inner vision skin, to sit back and preside over numinative formations in moments of over-riding mass mentality, in those times when the crowd dominates knowledge of self and I am lost in the over-arching eyes and critical judgements that come from fear and past submissions to low self-esteem.


Author: manderson

I live in NYC.

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