Dancing In The Moonlight
<p>Iam standing barefoot in front of a mirror after taking two hits of a sativa live resin infused pre-roll. I am spending time with my body. Sure, it’s old on the outside, but on the inside it keeps getting younger, as I learn to escape the tyranny of other people, in confederacy with a couple of friends.</p>
<p>I move to the music by using imagination, not memory of how to dance. How I used to dance was more like Trump than Jon Batiste. One night I dreamed I was crossing a river on a bridge, and there was a black man sitting on it, and he was laughing. “You don’t know how to play that guitar,” he said. This carried with it the suggestion that he does know how to play a guitar. A black man in a dream is the shadow, what has been repressed in order to develop a defining ego. I needed to integrate him if I had any hope of playing a guitar at fifty, with no training, no voice.</p>
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