One timeAnyway, that's what I feel like, writing on my blog today, February 21st. Some John Cage type shit, write there. My choice. We're all going to die. Tell your cats you love them every chance you get. Eat that last birthday cupcake.
At an outdoor concert, Monk was
sitting there playing until it was his turn for the solo:
He just stared at the keyboard
for 16 bars.
Plenty of time for a solo
but he just sat there and stared at the keyboard.
And then the next soloist jumped in to take his turn.
The audience applauded
One assumes that Monk was thinking through the notes, just not actually playing them.
In one's head, it must have been an astounding progression.
A sound assumption.
It was a heavenly movement, immanent, to be sure,
transcending a genius like Monk's human ability to perform it
much less mine or your ability to understand.
"The readiness is all."