Wild Conjecture: long-term robotics and immortality in general - I’ve been problem solving since I was little. That’s what I called it, for lack of a better word. Dreaming up some weird new thing in my head and then fi...
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
The blues man painted houses
The blues man painted houses. He painted the one across the street from us, growing up.
I don't remember his name. It might have been John or James. He brought his bass guitar and a small amp with him. He wrote a song with my sister, who was six or seven at the time.
My name is Su-sie, I live across the street from here...
An old school blues bass line thumped along behind her.
A cosmic smile wore his face, black skin and beard.
You might try to argue that he was too happy to be a blues man. His rebuttal was his heart, which seemed to take in the human condition. He felt. He got it.
And he took the time to plug in and help a six-year-old write and play a song. I was 11. And I can hear the song, his fingers walking on the bass, the plaster walls and old windows rattling, my sister's voice, off key, with a hint of what it sounds like now.
I can hear his smile.
The blues man painted houses. He painted the one across the street. And a couple of kids who hung out to hear him.