hora decubitus

Charles Mingus was a true genius. He managed to take the blues and make it sound like something I’ve never heard before but still fits like a pair of old broken-in jeans. Jeans that get you riled up, jeans that make you want to go punch Governor Faubus in the face. You want to sing praises to the skies, you want to dance, you want to run around screaming at the top of your lungs on a beautiful Indian summer day in the hopes that it will prove some goddamn inequalities about random walks.

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