Musical Language | Musical Ghosts

Musical Ghosts by Joe Pollitt

Dear Editor of The Guardian,

To me, the keyboard is a piano and I the composer; making sense out of letters, the jumbled up words that sound nonsensical. The baloney sounds that shriek from the rooftops and those fluid gobbledygooks, the sloppy jibber-jabbers and mind dingalingers, the domdomdrops coupled with the old Frosbyflop, take-off and flyover.

Fingers tinkering on the ivories ~ stroking the notes with authority ~ gently touching the keys with controlled passion, as the writer tries to make his words speak for themselves. Then all of a sudden the keyboard becomes a drum-kit as it beats out the rapper tapper dodar and double-do-deday with the boom chap tapper, the tile tip topper, the thinga-me-jig, the two time loser, the big fat boozer, the good of the two, the best of the rest, the no good drinker, the top hat thinker, pinker, sinker, linka and dodopatti-day. 

Then the keyboard turns into a violin without strings. A cold slap snapper, a chick flick meeting, a sidedish, swordswipe, tongue-licking-peedee. I'll have a far flung dodee, a fat cat seeme, a boasemassimi dodar, a rum-bum-dobee, a first-time taka, a digga-de-do feedme, a pill-poppin yippee, a silly, dizzy hippy, a down on my luck seesaw, a swing by me Judy, a tea-total jambee, a washedout swinga, alost out dodee, a sweet sandwich eata, a popswinging teacher, and then at the end of the day it was time for a quick snooze infront of the newsbox doda, a snoozeme Granny, a wetdown puppy, a wicked cup of coco, a mocka-choca-medee before bedtime stories and out with the lights before 10pm2am sharp.

I touch-type and punch every key to make sense of the way the world is now, if not for you, then for me.

(For my dear friend | Simon Wajcenberg)

Are you Qualified to SPEAK?

For quite some time I have been feeling a little despondent; it is mainly to do with this idea of the “Institutionalization of African Art”. Writing out an oral culture, which is clearly impossible, an oxymoron in fact. This talk really harps back to the days of dependency and that omnipresent hangover of Colonialism. The questioning of, who exactly is qualified to talk on the subject of Africa? This is a matter of control. It is an ugly way to find order and gain rights to have opinions and what and whose opinions matter? To take charge of the way in which the words are placed and what phraseologies work best, sadly now, these inconsequential issues are of enormous importance. This maybe so today, but was never so in the recent past or beforehand. Personally, my passion for Contemporary African Art stems from the easy ignorance, that enlightening lack of education and the freedom to play with the idea of a brave new world. Its very strength lay in its lawlessness and nonconformity. There was no decorum or airs and graces; this gave the whole environment a sense of liberation, an awareness of an incredible newness, something unique and special with ideas that where inclusive and at the same time, that quintessential accessibility to the creators of the artworks too. Initially, unbeknown to me, this “Otherness” was a door that I had been blindingly seeking my entire adult-life. Today, the artists who are being bestowed grants and awards are simply over-qualified, many have done their MFA, Masters in Fine Art, some have even gone as far as doing PhD’s, so the whole idea of Africa is now leaning towards the academics, the historians, the wealthy educated privileged and drifting quickly away from supporting the true, original, raw and authentic impoverished artists. So, with that in mind I wrote this today...

Heartbroken, that is the word I was looking for. The wilderness has been tamed; the crops sprayed with chemicals, the water-table contaminated and those in control just sit back and smile. All that is free must be repackaged, forced into a certain thought process and caged, surrounded by newly built fences, making everything so exclusive and therefore precious. Awards dished out to those that stay on-the tracks and those compromised few, so willing to play by the rules are highly rewarded. Elitism has well and truly won, she has her claws embedded into the undomesticated; constantly polishing the unruly, finding every kind of fault in nature and reshaping to make a square pegs fit into round holes. The passionate have been de-fanged, their poison bled out, rendering their potent-sting useless. What good is life on earth when all life is instructed to do as they’re told by voices of authority; overlooked by cameras on every street enforcing draconian reliance of a bygone era. The time to riot was yesterday; today we have all but destroyed ourselves. Clap as hard as you can, in order to see us out with a BANG.

Salisbury and Gary in Captivity

When out walking my brother's dog, Cordelia (Cordy) around Bewl reservoir, I found a baby tawny owl that had been pushed or fallen out of the nest. Unbeknown to me, but the area is contaminated with poisonous green algae, lethal for the wildlife and even dangerous for humans causing rashing, vomiting and and and. We escaped with our lives and I decided to celebrate by naming my beautiful baby, "Salisbury" and took himher off to a rescue centre nearby, called Folly, a wildlife hospital..they immediately screamed, "bring me a headless chick and chop it up good and fine now and be sure to leave the feathers," was the cry from the young lady, Sandie, now in charge of my newborn. Within a minute Sandie, forced open Sailsbury's blue beak and with tweezers fed the wild fluffy carnivore....I left feeling a little bewildered and wondering who saves the chicks? That aside, this was an exciting day and I'm delighted Salisbury has been given a second chance at life, a new start and of course, we all need more of that! XX #Salisbury Salisbury, Wiltshire

When big brother came out I was amazed about how many people wanted to watch people sleeping in a room? Go figure..so tomorrow I am going to speak with Folly and ask some techheads (Luke Dunn) to see if we can get some headcams for Gary and Salisbury, the two tawny owls at Folly Wildlife Rescue Centre. I want to stream them live and then put advertisements every 30 minutes throughout the day...to raise money for the Centre..They are only there for a Month... https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=671399933251569&set=p.671399933251569&type=3&theater #Salisbury #Techies #Techheads #Geeks #Editors #Videos #camcorders #wildlife #tawnyowls #mypeople 

Salisbury is at the back and Gary is being HARD at the front.

IMPORTANCE OF LIGHT

Light on the Sea | Agadir, Maroc

Smoke and mirrors, lies and deceit, bright sparks playing with fire. Double-takes and blindsiding those that should find out that the stories told are falsehoods and terrifying fairy tales. Dying energy, the beams are fading, turning into dim embers of golden days gone by. The old order is dwindling, ever closer to the end, as that arrogant outdated supremacy ceases to burn as brightly as before. Counting down the days, that surely must be numbered, snuffing out the candles and replacing them anew. Lights of every kind, omnipotent light that illumination, that luminous light that shines, and flares into every corner. The contingent reality of our Celestial powers within the infinite enlightened Cosmos. Revealing the tendency to oppress the primitive and celebrate the unworthy.  Seraphim bring purity to our unblinking eyes, seeing truths where darkness overshadowed certainty, coining belittling narratives. Fabrications of what serves best for the few, those devious make-believes, deemed worthy by ambitious, cunning writers, turning fiction into fact.

The Nanny State, control-freaks, “Witch Doctors” with their multiple bags of tricks and ‘sandpit workshops’, building blocks of innovation. Motivational speakers and lifestyle gurus', coaching ugly ideas of ownership, brazenly spouting that privilege is merely for the few, hardly for the many. Laughing through their implanted back teeth, tongue-in-cheek whilst gainfully snorting through their noses. The Champagne Charlies with Oxbridge haircuts. Intellectual property rights, mental strategies, brainstorming in ‘think tanks’ devising vile and cruel human experiments.  Logos and catch-phrases, sound-bites and sloppy orgasmic undertones with every filthy lecture. Edward Bernays the "double nephew” of the incestuous Viennese psychoanalyst Freud and his Century of Self, in an ‘Age of Mass Democracy’. Hypocrisy with divisive intent to rule the one, fcuk them all. Power is contagious, dangerous and monstrous with ethnic cleansing disguised as humanitarian Aid as the culling of the Africans is set to continue. 

Reptilian minds with their Lizhard tails; when mentioned, ignored, neglected, pushed aside, rejected and seen as ‘Conspiracy Theorists’ with their fake news. Phraseology with the ultimate goal of causing global media censorship. Edward de Bono and his lateral thinking.  We are blinded by the light, a form of disinformation, a blackout, curfew for the populace. An illusion, confusion, the Bavarian Illuminati. Elite ivy-leaguers, integrating with the top brass on the High-Table, feeding-off fattened swans adeptly scooped from mucky Hudson waters. Neuro-linguistic programming, psycho-babble, cognitive behavioural therapy of our present imperfect continuous tense everyday lives. Committees and Gentleman Clubs, breakfast power meets, Crisis with Isis, terrorism and bombs ready to explode on every street corner. Privacy, insanity mixed with secrecy and all-the-while, being unknowingly hypnotised into an altered state of false happiness by ‘Wisemen’, re-engineering our every thought. God forbid we challenge the way it always will be. (Click fingers) And we’re back in the room.

JP. 2018