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Taco Mik - Excerpt
NonFiction
 Created on 4-3-08
 Views(80)
 Story Rating G
|
On the center at the stage of it all, with all our ears pointed - Was a man known as Taco Mik, sitting on his stool - playing his black night, oooh moaning his words, speaking his soul, fretting over the choruses and round-abouts moments of our babies in time - fingers licked and spun the tapping of the foot kept-in-time-beat-family-forgot-all left at the door. No mic, no, wisdom, no structures just two souls merged - no one in the room existed for Taco Mik, no universal being of the blink of an eye, a distant call of an ear, just a simple structure of time - running time INEXISTENT, as the night of the joining senses, a man and his guitar, a mother and a baby, a writer and a book,. a timer and a clock, a life and a God -- Is all Taco Mik and his guitar is all that were as it should be, as it was and as it would be as he crooned out his licks, struggling to lose his consciousness and restriction - the tense articulate-mass-murder-of-generational-input-from-society, one former man against a million in the struggle for what we humans once were - and his contribution of music, gained, superiority of self, gaining understanding, sense as the mirror unclassics since birth. I stood in wonder, awe dropped, I got up and walked to the front isle, ordered a liquor of pitcher beer, I called for a dear and made my way near to Taco Mik and his wear, sweat and tears dripped from his face, I saw him glance my way and made a cool face, itching his tongue and leapt from his place, in this moment of time and becoming phased. Fazed as the morning day - see- Taco with his eyes closed, marked his slowing down at a finger-licking itch, critch, fret'a-fre'ta-re'ta re'''ta, cooing the room and my eyes to a slow-closed murmur with his feet, echoing us into a trance - the leader, see, of the whole way, be may as he were with the road walking the street - hand in hand to throw away from the bad, the troubled, and the tremble, and the way to see everything with closed eyes, keeping his light, holding a tune for the, of an entire, and working its toll to a slow, continuous wave of relaxations as the music filled the silent room, not a critter stirred, not a silent wavered, as with closed eyes we tempered the inner-us, this THIS was the whole --------------
---------
---------
---------
Silence.
---------
---------
---------
Even Mik.
---------
---------
---------
Completely.
---------
---------
- --------
Silent.
Finely tuned no noticed to the surrounding - a life of hear, hear, noise and rush, flushed by the winds of the music - so called life of the teenagers and we in this generation - as the silent yearned wish of dreams, even then heard throughout more felt the sound of voice proper fixed in sensation of your body, feeling, seventh sense felt and heard but not the ear but tasted, tongued and seen, every eight body of self felt in the unconscious world that we were tapped into - but a silent, moment time , passing, soon, as the trip trip trip tript of his foot tapping lightly, in a monotoned timer of timer's on the hard-wood floors, "trip, tip, tip, tip" as the drumstick on the rim of a steel-edged snare drumingkitt in the background, this man is his drummer - his guitarist- his bassist- his pianist, his vocalist, his macramés, his cellist and engineer, conductor - alls a blues teen learning the life. All our moment rested on on on o n on his foot tripping tript tript-tript-tript- every other second slowly calmly resting waves of the audience on our sound-rushes of ear and see and felt on the atmosphere on the tip of our tongue as he slower, slower....slo.....wer.........s-l-....o-.....-w-.........-e.........-r-..............-slo-
---------w-------er----------....until------his-----foot---stopped----
tappping----and----the------entire-----room----stoood----saat---silent---
---admist-------nirvana---------not----a------t-----i------c-----k----had--
---made-----a------sound-----------
---A moment ------ Until----
Lighter lit his by the guitarist as the audience and crowd and all of us escaped from the trance he set us into- and he walked off stage and down to his seat in the front of the stage, we were momentarily gazed and stunned, realizing not what happened but clearly sense of what we knew before hand minutes had he played - the room applauded and coo'd - we'd all understood that he understood that we understood what we had tapped into and we shared it with each other - that was what the times were trying to achieve for us, the understanding of breaking free and getting back into what we felt was our natural right being so-slaughtered by the mass society of our generation, and we were getting angrier, angrier, more tenser, tenser as the night had droned on and the days had fades. All we had were our words, not spoken word, not violent words, not protesting words or words of peace, not the words spoken with the fist or the words provoked with our minds but the word of the individual, the word felt, the word projected through clarification visions burdened buried at the cup'bonet the mind - a treasure, greatest treasure indeed and so a few artists had tried reaching this, and this man Taco Mik this man had helped us discover it once again and so he smoked his cigarette at his table as the announcer asked if anybody else would like to participate and crow their words.
---------
---------
---------
Silence.
---------
---------
---------
Even Mik.
---------
---------
---------
Completely.
---------
---------
- --------
Silent.
Finely tuned no noticed to the surrounding - a life of hear, hear, noise and rush, flushed by the winds of the music - so called life of the teenagers and we in this generation - as the silent yearned wish of dreams, even then heard throughout more felt the sound of voice proper fixed in sensation of your body, feeling, seventh sense felt and heard but not the ear but tasted, tongued and seen, every eight body of self felt in the unconscious world that we were tapped into - but a silent, moment time , passing, soon, as the trip trip trip tript of his foot tapping lightly, in a monotoned timer of timer's on the hard-wood floors, "trip, tip, tip, tip" as the drumstick on the rim of a steel-edged snare drumingkitt in the background, this man is his drummer - his guitarist- his bassist- his pianist, his vocalist, his macramés, his cellist and engineer, conductor - alls a blues teen learning the life. All our moment rested on on on o n on his foot tripping tript tript-tript-tript- every other second slowly calmly resting waves of the audience on our sound-rushes of ear and see and felt on the atmosphere on the tip of our tongue as he slower, slower....slo.....wer.........s-l-....o-.....-w-.........-e.........-r-..............-slo-
---------w-------er----------....until------his-----foot---stopped----
tappping----and----the------entire-----room----stoood----saat---silent---
---admist-------nirvana---------not----a------t-----i------c-----k----had--
---made-----a------sound-----------
---A moment ------ Until----
Lighter lit his by the guitarist as the audience and crowd and all of us escaped from the trance he set us into- and he walked off stage and down to his seat in the front of the stage, we were momentarily gazed and stunned, realizing not what happened but clearly sense of what we knew before hand minutes had he played - the room applauded and coo'd - we'd all understood that he understood that we understood what we had tapped into and we shared it with each other - that was what the times were trying to achieve for us, the understanding of breaking free and getting back into what we felt was our natural right being so-slaughtered by the mass society of our generation, and we were getting angrier, angrier, more tenser, tenser as the night had droned on and the days had fades. All we had were our words, not spoken word, not violent words, not protesting words or words of peace, not the words spoken with the fist or the words provoked with our minds but the word of the individual, the word felt, the word projected through clarification visions burdened buried at the cup'bonet the mind - a treasure, greatest treasure indeed and so a few artists had tried reaching this, and this man Taco Mik this man had helped us discover it once again and so he smoked his cigarette at his table as the announcer asked if anybody else would like to participate and crow their words.
Comments
Please Login to post comments| On April 3rd 2008 Chula252 Said : | |
|
Mesmerizing!!! Your of imagery was fantastic. I felt as if I had been swept into a Hendrix concert, watching man and guitar become one!!! Utterly BRILLIANT!!! I loved it. |
