INCREASE-DECREASE

Artist Barry McGee tagged this entire wall, himself. Talk about work. I wonder if he made up these tags, or if these are actually folks he knows. Hmm, either way, good work Barry. You’re the man.

“Life aint so bad at all, if you’re living off the wall.”

Happy Birthday MJ. You are sorely missed.

Last night I was waiting for the A train at the Fulton Street station. There were two guys who I’ve seen quite a few times there. One is dressed in sweatpants and dress shoes. His hair is sort of permed, and sort of not, and his smiles boasts a few golds. Awesome. he plays the sax. The other one is dressed in his Sundays best, and looks like he holds down a decent job during the day (presumptive, I know). He plays the bass. He powers his amplifier with a car battery, which I find innovative and a bit strange, and the two of them just jam out some seventies classics, like, “Isn’t She Lovely,” and “Let’s Get It On,” and even “Loving You,” where the sax player hits Minnie’s whistle tone perfectly.

But the most interesting part about it all was how many people were talking about how much they love to see them. How every time they catch them jamming underground, it takes them back, and makes them move, and so on.

The money was flowing for these guys. I mean, FLOWING. And it made so much sense to me. Everybody, and I mean, everybody has an audience. You just have to find them. The truth is, these guys might be able to do well above ground as well. But they play down below, because they feel like that’s where there audience is. Tired, older, working folk who just need some smooth grooves before jumping on the train and being forced to listen to some young guy banging on a drum, or some kids breakdancing.  These street buskers, these train station musicians, have, sort of, a makeshift “career.” And that is an interesting phenomenon…if you really think about it.

I saw a little boy this morning being taught how to ride his bike, without training wheels. He was scared and frustrated.

I talked to my nephew last night about starting the 7th grade. He too, was scared and frustrated.

I’m three chapters from finishing a very important book I’ve been writing. I’m scared and frustrated.

Learning to ride without training wheels never gets any easier. And balance always takes effort. But when you get it right…

Something to think about.

If, for some reason, you don’t know who Abbey Lincoln was, PLEASE google her. Buy her albums. Listen to her jazz that was colored in blues. Her voice, her lyrics, will live forever.

Bird alone with no mate/turning corners tempting fate

Flying circles in the air/are you on your way somewhere?

Gliding soaring on the wind/you’re a sight of glory

 Flying way up there so highwonder what’s your story

Excerpt from “Bird Alone,” by Abbey Lincoln