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Dissidence in memoriam Thelonious Monk
You have to be able to hear past the pain, the obvious minor-thirds and major-sevenths, the merely beautiful
ninths; you have to grow deaf to what you imagine are the sounds of loneliness; you have to learn indifference
to static, and welcome noise like rain, acclimate to another kind of silence; you have to be able to sleep
in the city, taxis and trucks careening through your dreams and back again, hearing the whines and sirens and shrieks
as music; you must be a mathematician, a magician of algebra, overtone and acoustics, mapping the splintered
intervals of time, tempo, harmony, stalking or sluicing blues scales; you have to be unafraid of redundance, and aware
that dissonance-driven explorations of dissonance may circle back to the crowded room of resolution;
you have to disagree with everything except the piano, black and white keys marking the path you must climb step
by half-step with no compass but the blues, no company but your distrust of the journey, of all that you hear, of arrival.
Anthony Walton
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:hi:
RL & MAP
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