The Song Remembers When…
I’m finding it hard to put into words what’s on my mind tonight. I wish I could describe how it feels to think back to wet, but happy summers in rural Carolina; the heavy smell of dogwoods mingled with freshly cut grass, and the breeze! The breeze carried in the scent of the river and we were surrounded by it always.
Now add to this memories of a lost love, a time of brightness, friends long past, adventures (such as they were) now forgotten…
It takes a sound, a smell, sometimes the viewing of a particularly vivid color, to put me in this trance (I guess is the best word for it). But when it comes, it comes strong and I never want it to end…though end it does, eventually. I’m snapped back to the cold and hopeless future, where Satan (or, at least, bureaucrats acting in his name) rule the world. And Satan is the god of the void; a void of eternal, existential bliss.
It’s this void the “dance club” tries to create – deafening and nonsensical pop-music, bass beats reverberating through your entire body, and everywhere a spirit of licentiousness. Women, clad like whores, gyrate themselves against anyone and anything, while the entire crowd gulps down alcohol, dances, and sees only a vague future (of a few hours hence) when the promise of a sexual encounter looms large in their thoughts. Besides this brief consideration, the future is forgotten, the world is bliss, and time all but stops.
The entire world is turning into a dance club.
But sometimes a song or a poem or some bit of art, transports me back to Europe. Maybe this is how we can fight back? Maybe the Prince of the Power of the Air – Satan’s old title – refers to the mytho-poetic narrative of the culture at large, and its a narrative that can shift and change – and has been forcefully changed?
It will take a mighty poet to bend the air…a mighty work of art.
And, that sort of thing is beyond me…unless…
…unless that work is a team effort. A choir. A medley of voices. To that, I might add some small effort.