I heard this fire, these finger tips walking across coals. A sacred dance in Sin City. My reptilian brain was disquieted, he didn't know what to make of this language; the pain and insight of the Blues, delicious chaos of a Hendrix run. How can you put words on invisible tongues.
In 1972 the universe was created. Gods and goddesses were worshipped because they made it rain and the children grew up with a strong sense of cultural pride. In 1972, wars were fought and ended, long hair had politics woven into it. God was Black, Brown and Yellow.
On this sacred corner, wrinkled hands still remembered how to pray to ancient gods. The strings theorized people would pay to hear the gospel during their lunch hour. They was right. I saw all classes bow and toss IOUs at the prophet's feet. Their ears burned, they caught that feeling, then moved on. Prayer changes things.
Photo: Guitarist at 7th & F Sts, Wash DC taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Lucifer VI, Blanko Noir)
