“The person who lives ethically knows that what counts is what one sees in each situation, and the energy with which he considers it, and that the one who thus disciplines himself in the most insignificant life situations can experience more than the one who has been a witness to – indeed, been a participant in – the most noteworthy events. He knows that there is a dancing place everywhere, that even the lowliest of men has his, and that if he himself so wills his dancing can be just as beautiful, just as gracious, just as mimetic, just as dramatic as the dancing as those to whom a place has been assigned to history.”
We don’t make this music because we have to or because we want it on your blog or in your tape player, or whatever. We make it because its how we communicate with each other. And we’ve made it during incredible sickness, in sadness, in ecstasy and in joy. Through the fields of millions upon billions of points of shining light, in our apartments, in our beds, on tv or on stage, we make this music. But whatever, we’ll keep making it when we’re dead. We don’t make it to get recognized. Recognition comes easy for us. When Jones left the block the proprietor of Depanneur St Henri (Cazelais and Desnoyers) gave him a pack of smokes on the house. Recognized! When Jones rolled on the new block they were asking for him at the padaria within a week. When we order our Zataars in Arabic they speak back in Arabic. Jones once thwarted an armed robbery in downtown Ottawa and was recognized as a hero in grand ceremony. We’re recognized. Paid? We’ve never been paid. We don’t care. Jones got a job dialling. Weren’t paid to sing at St. James United Church ever. We don’t do it to meet girls. Have you met Ivy? If you had, you wouldn’t even ask. Besides we’ve necked while listening to Physical Graffiti, the best Zep record, so really would we even need ‘em? We just make the music because that’s how we communicate with each other and solve the alterity problem. Feel me? - Jones
Available on cd only. 6$ + shipping and handling, Canada Post prices, sorry.
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