5 February 2007
I am at home, which still sometimes seems like a strange place. Where to start finding it again? Music, my music.
Generally, I veer between organising my music neatly – alphabetical by last name or stage name, within broad genres: soul, jazz, hip-hop, reggae, rock/indie/folk, etc. – veer between organisation on the one hand, and, on the other, a lounge where music is listened to: CDs in haphazard piles all over the place.
But now I order, and play music as I go. From Aswad to Mingus to Waterboys. On the stereo right now, the latter’s “Fisherman’s Blues”. Next maybe some Peaches ‘n Herb or George Benson. Yep, my tastes are all over the place, as it should be. There is place in my life for soufflé and fried chicken.
Occasionally, I catch myself wondering what the hell I am doing here, in this house, with its dusty corners, and gigantic spiderwebs all over the place. Above the kitchen sink, fruitflies hang caught in these magnificent structures.
Slowly, slowly, the audio-visual corner of the lounge finds order. I sing along to favourite songs, happy that I remember lyrics…