“In truth everything and everyone is a shadow of the Beloved. Our seeking is His seeking. Our words are His words. We search for Him here and there while looking right at Him. Sitting by His side, we ask: ‘O Beloved, where is the Beloved?”
“After three days on a banana daiquiri binge I found myself walking the late-night streets in a world belonging to the dispossessed fallen angels, travelers whose detours on the road to the American dream led to another America, an America with streets of rags and banana peels, an America that belonged to them and to no one.
These monkeys, these wounded warriors of mind and heart, search for something, search for anything; restless angel-souls seeking solace in the crumbling walls of suburban sorrow where thousands find almost-joy in apathetic reclining chairs and always-clean aprons.
Damp night-air halos around forgetful street lamps make me think of jazz. I hear jazz in a breeze that offers no comfort and follow the siren-song to a club with a rag-tag drummer and a monkey who blows mercy-notes, throwing convention to the ground and playing for real for real for real.”
from “The Angry Shoelace” by U. Boris (1951)
A rare photo of the band that inspired this passage: