Raymond Soulard, Jr. New Songs (for Kassandra) - The ...
Raymond Soulard, Jr. New Songs (for Kassandra) - The ...
Raymond Soulard, Jr. New Songs (for Kassandra) - The ...
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54<br />
<strong>The</strong> power still awakes within my pen, still ready to make or maraud—less a pistol<br />
than a bullet—<br />
a bomb—a breach—<br />
the power raised—be wary—<br />
Power raised a rising sheet of water at night’s apex—a verity of musics, a clash &<br />
coalescence of myths—<br />
Where now? If the dimensions of possibility are seemingly numberless what to do?<br />
& how? & why?<br />
“Why?” I ask her.<br />
She nods.<br />
“What music to share tonight, Rebecca?”<br />
“All of it” she says—<br />
I nod—<br />
“No other way, Ray” she smiles—watches me scribble <strong>for</strong> my life—as always—<br />
knows I write to love—write to know—write to live—<br />
“My music has been torrent & tepid <strong>for</strong> so long”<br />
“But still you try”<br />
“I have no choice”<br />
“No—none of us do”<br />
Americus sits in the bandroom listening to a group of musical young flow into &<br />
away from coherence—knows they worship playing at Luna T’s—how it drives them—how<br />
it impedes them—sits at his little table beneath the front window & listens, sips his pint of<br />
Guinness—<br />
Cecile Grey mulls a broken-spined paperback of Aldous Huxley’s Doors of<br />
Perception—sitting in his room at the local YMCA—reads, thinks, taps out a rhythm with his<br />
left hand—chews some cheese slowly, reads:<br />
“That was the problem—to remain undistracted. Undistracted by the memory of<br />
past sins, by imagined pleasure, by the bitter aftertaste of old wrongs and humiliations, by all<br />
the fears and hate and cravings that ordinarily eclipse the light. What those Buddhist monks<br />
did <strong>for</strong> the dying and the dead, might not the modern psychiatrist do <strong>for</strong> the insane? Let<br />
there be a voice to assure them, by day and even while they are asleep, that in spite of all the<br />
terror, all the bewilderment and confusion, the ultimate Reality remains unshakeably itself<br />
and is of the same substance as the inner light of even the most cruelly tormented mind.”<br />
What music to share tonight? What colors to eat? What voices to dance? Memories<br />
to burn? Gurus to plunder? Mysteries to worship?<br />
What phreaks to follow tomorrow? What scriptures to crush under boots?<br />
Which love to win anew? Which loyalty to release?<br />
<strong>The</strong> Cenacle | 59 | October 2006