I’m not a robot nor secret agent
manufactured and trained in a factory
of compartmentalized parts: none and feeling

as this will interfere with my true joy
when and if I do experience the purpose
of this fleeting exercise of being happy

there won’t be any need for giggles
as a solid laugh will be more evident
of nothing and everything…

Recline into a recycled chair of whatever….

Broad Strokes narrow linesThe cling of residue is not as listening to the end of rain… It is more like a dangerous virus indulging in its wasteful raillery, or letting itself kill you. Yes, this is my poor excuse for feeding a discomfort of a terrible year which ended in even more grief for my graveyard.

It is incredibly difficult to find footing on any land, when even believed concrete pavements can quickly become invisible… And all that is left is a chase to keep as much physical form, ground, so you can still at least walk. This is what I attempted in last month’s broadcast of Washington Heights Free Radio’s (WHFR) Broad Strokes hour with Calypso Sally. My attempts failed immensely…

Even though I spinned a lot of deeply felt tunes, and I like the mix I eventually came up with, my commentary was fucked up. So as an apology, my redemption to WHFR and my likely listeners, I am going to re-play the tunes from last month’s broadcast. No commentary next Wednesday, February 27. Indulgence necessary!