I swear my soul remembers a time when my dignity was intact
and there was no need to sing the blues.
I remember when suffering was not so monumental that
the blues was necessary. My soul remembers a time
when music and art primarily celebrated life.
Regardless of what others try to tell me, I do not hear anything celebratory about life in the
blues. What I hear is the sound of being stuck, of not having learned anything that
would aleviate the need to sing the blues. I hear the sound of being identified in a way I don't
relate to. The sound of the blues does not comfort me.