Davi Marra (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} thisisdavi) wrote,@ 2008-08-25 23:27:00 |
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jazz
All four gates burst open in the space of a non-second and #2 catches halfway and the drums tumble all one over another and clatter frantically for footing as dirt clods rain up and out of the earth like fireworks. Trumpet in the lead by a note. Bass slow and steady muscles quaking rhythmically, bouncing sweat and sunshine into the conflicted air. Saxophone quiet on the outside eyeing trumpet. A full gallop and time scrambles to catch up, to syncopate itself around this explosion of action. Trumpet loses its burst, evens out, comes neck and neck with bass, head calm while all below is locomotive apocalypse. A scream from the crowd flees out through a highly improbable silence on the track and makes everybody all at once think of their first barbecue - then gone, a rushing roar of converging hoofbeats, one giant sustained hoofbeat, and the earth yawns under the rhythm and tightly controlled chaos of all four instruments belching the same note - hold it - four straining necks reach their breaking points of exertion, million-ton pressure, atmosphere pops a rivet, the clouds groan and strain - bam! a wrecking arrhythmic tumble-down-bashing till each of the four in turn recover from one impossibility in time and prepare for the next. Drums come out ahead limping snare. Bass twitters and thumps and growls just behind. Sax and trumpet, neighing, lag, and the whole wild weather system rounds an uncertain corner. Say you're in this crowd. Spectating. Skin taking the air's fluctuations like the skin of the bass drum all taut and abused. Eyes flaming feverish. Sorry sightless hands clawed and crippled. There you sit, just about to bypass the law of gravity, every molecule in your body gathering for mutiny, ready to leap the airport turnstile and hit the ground running. There's your haircut flapping inconsequentially like dead skin. A large vein in your arm twitches, fights the gray of your flesh with a rebellious blue. Everything comes undone, unstuck, unmapped, explanations flee, theories disband, laws unsling their holsters and drop them on aluminum desks, they light cigarettes under no smoking signs before leaving the room with its coterie of nay-saying, oscillating fans. Oh, how easily it all gets left! How little protest, how small a fight!
All four gates burst open in the space of a non-second and #2 catches halfway and the drums tumble all one over another and clatter frantically for footing as dirt clods rain up and out of the earth like fireworks. Trumpet in the lead by a note. Bass slow and steady muscles quaking rhythmically, bouncing sweat and sunshine into the conflicted air. Saxophone quiet on the outside eyeing trumpet. A full gallop and time scrambles to catch up, to syncopate itself around this explosion of action. Trumpet loses its burst, evens out, comes neck and neck with bass, head calm while all below is locomotive apocalypse. A scream from the crowd flees out through a highly improbable silence on the track and makes everybody all at once think of their first barbecue - then gone, a rushing roar of converging hoofbeats, one giant sustained hoofbeat, and the earth yawns under the rhythm and tightly controlled chaos of all four instruments belching the same note - hold it - four straining necks reach their breaking points of exertion, million-ton pressure, atmosphere pops a rivet, the clouds groan and strain - bam! a wrecking arrhythmic tumble-down-bashing till each of the four in turn recover from one impossibility in time and prepare for the next. Drums come out ahead limping snare. Bass twitters and thumps and growls just behind. Sax and trumpet, neighing, lag, and the whole wild weather system rounds an uncertain corner. Say you're in this crowd. Spectating. Skin taking the air's fluctuations like the skin of the bass drum all taut and abused. Eyes flaming feverish. Sorry sightless hands clawed and crippled. There you sit, just about to bypass the law of gravity, every molecule in your body gathering for mutiny, ready to leap the airport turnstile and hit the ground running. There's your haircut flapping inconsequentially like dead skin. A large vein in your arm twitches, fights the gray of your flesh with a rebellious blue. Everything comes undone, unstuck, unmapped, explanations flee, theories disband, laws unsling their holsters and drop them on aluminum desks, they light cigarettes under no smoking signs before leaving the room with its coterie of nay-saying, oscillating fans. Oh, how easily it all gets left! How little protest, how small a fight!
