I am still on the boat today. Yesterday’s events were frightful. I haven’t seen Ellis or anyone else in a while now. I started tidying up the boat today. I knew the song. It was a saxophone concerto from Rahsaan Roland Kirk. He was one of Ramon’s favourite jazz composers next to Coleman, Coltraine and the likes of Sun Ra. Ramon loved baroque and classical painting, he owned several inexpensive prints which he had left in the building that housed his old set of wheels. I tried to understand the baffling lyrics, free instruments and different brush strokes and learn more about it. I tried to understand the man who called himself my father. But I no longer care for jazz music or classical art or bohemian culture or any of those mental acrobatics.
Perhaps I have not been honest with you. Ramon never told me who my paternal parents were. He never told me my last name or where to find others with my last name.
Call me an ignoramus, a truculent bastard or a capricious individual or whatever your vernacular tells you to scream. I don’t know what you’d call me. Hum. I am a writer who hates visual art…. Perhaps a writer whose just degraded into the son of a poor man’s Nietzsche….no, that’s not me. Ellis, I can accept it. No I’m not that intelligent. You are more wise. Hell I’m a grown man struggling with what has been given to him on a silver plater. I mucked it up. I need your help now.
It’s too late to take an interest in those whimsical things. That ancient harmonica player is off somewhere shredding his lips on his harp and probably expiring. Probably off rambling about some old Rembrandt painting. I wonder if he has met that old piano player. I wonder if he has met Hector or Elizabeth. I dream if he has once come back to where I am now.
If there’s anyone actually reading this; there’s some ‘links’ on the side to some interesting stuff. Maybe you can get something out of it.
Flip
I feel like a painting lying in the air
