Be The Invincible Spirit You Are

Brian — Fri, 15 Feb 2008 20:48:51 +0000

Lights dimmed, room hushed, MC in silhouette at center stage blessing the packed room of book-reading edge-cutting hipsters from all over the world thanks to email and web sites and a collective unconscious that keeps them striving for the new, for where the heart pounds, the eyes twinkle, the women aren’t treated like girls, and the men have self-confidence without conceit. The lively linguist at the microphone calls up John Cassady — son-of-a Beat, Neal, icon of time — his nearly white faded jeans matching his white halo hair, begins to spin a web of the road, of wanderlust, soul-searching, pine-climbing, spine-needling pursuits of what’s through the next door, who’s at the next table, and when’s the next epiphany drifting away in the eyes of another as everything else dissolves into a candlelit dream of two people’s faces. Then Breath Cox comes up, down from Cherry Valley, trim and straight-legged in cowboy confidence reading classic couplets in a sensuous, lip-curling elegance that stops even the waitresses in their rounds, the poetry attenuating the vibe and vibrating the antennas until every head is quivering. Dancing butterfly imagery spins from the lips all night, the room’s transformed, the dream’s alive. A band starts up, subtle at first, then two dancers on stage, and the Beat’s jamming jazzman is massaging the grand, with saxophone shades weaving in from the corners, and the brick wall backdrop dancing with shadows of clarinet solos as more cats stream into the scene and fall into the jam — the djembe, the congas, the violin and the bow. A poet, a prankster, a king and a queen. A flirt, a chat, you know what I mean. On your feet dancing, warmed by the light of a new beam beside you, dancing off demons with a smile inside you, dancing with purpose in a circle of light, in a bass-thumping heart-pounding soul-swirling twirl, to dance above the diamond earth, to stoke the improbable, light the impossible, fan the invisible, be in the invincible spirit you are.

The After-show Glow

Dressing room bear-hugging back-slapping friends dancing in the after-show glow of a standing “O” — radiant faces in the gleam of a dream, with mirrors, musicians, danger and drinks, and sparkling eyes searing with some serious flirtations. Bright-faced pranksters in purple paint-splattered jeans weave through the poets and nail-polished players in eardrum circles pounding out the beat — it was Cassady’s licks, the sax on the side, the poetry core, the nub, the whore – to the art — “To the art!” and glasses arise, as the room’s all a’chatter with the bebop patter of double-time minds in hip-hop rhyme. Then cruise cross the street to the 24 Diner — the table, the truth, the picture’s alive, the Beats’ a’buzz in a 10-cent dive. Let me pose you, compose you, transpose you right here! With lingering longings in all-night play, it’s a once-in-a-jumpstart on a new superhighway, as you pile away in a new mini-van, scrambling strangers on speakers and gear, a heart and a hearth, a lap and an ear, a hope and a prayer, a few lights you’re there! The Chelsea Hotel’s haunted gables beckon, its balconies flutter with the rockingchair mutters of old porch-smoking authors musing in the moon-mist on their straggling children. Up the stairs twirling, past poets and play-rights, up the stairs curling ’round road-cases of songsmiths, up the stairs swishing through the ghosts of Bohemia, to the bed-flopping sigh-gasping room with a view, with the all-access, all-beaming, all-night crew. A purple haze dawn refires the flame, warmed by the passage of the passionate night, burning with desire for the mindful day, for the glow of the future in the other’s ray, for open window ocean-breezes cleansing the night, for sizzling fresh sunrises and being warmed by the light, for climbing the stairs and taking the chance, all alone on the roof while still at the dance, hand-in-hand sneaking ‘neath streaking skies, tenderness trembling baby-finger sighs, floating in emerald-eye oceans of bliss, kettle-drum heart-beats as soft lips kiss, alone together in a mountainous breeze, enwrapped in a life-breathing soul-hugging squeeze.

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by Brian Hassett

brianhassett.com

karmacoupon@gmail.com

Brianland » beats

Be The Invincible Spirit You Are