So, you think you’re not into show tunes? Let me see if I can convince you otherwise…
You may be cooler than ice cold, slide-uphill slick, so much so that Chorus Line to you is what it means to be in the queue at Absa Bank… You may think that Music is a Sound that should be sans all and anything miserable – just for the Ra! Ra! and the shits and giggles.
But then you’ll go and add a soundtrack to your shitty… Gabrielle, Boys II Men, Mariah or Adele, age depending.
Because we do.
And – when we are really lucky – life adds a soundtrack to our giggles.
That’s a show in itself. Which makes us – and how we do that – the show of our tunes.
An artist becomes a giant at his game when he breaks your heart through the beauty of his brushstrokes. Your own giant-becoming is in the ways that you stretch with your heart thereafter.
And that’s a show in itself, which makes each of us and how we do that, the show of our tunes.
Or talked about.
We are the endless journeying jaunts on either side of a scale that has Giant on one side and Ghost on the other.
Both will ever be our burning in the fireplace, either as firework or blazed by the flames of our forfeits.
So tombed, token, or talked about – we are the show of our tunes.
It must be learned then, that the links between us are ensured their longevity when formed from foundations understated. Where untold and unseen are bigger than any and all bullshit. But where untold and unseen are that assimilated understanding to not be ever, the same as unsaid or unheard.
I have a friend.
Her mom died.
Only 11 days ago.
I am a friend.
My Dad died.
Only 77 days ago.
Now… ‘experience’ isn’t really experience when the Universe is a Size Small compared to the gloved-muffle of that melancholy. So even though just a Route-66 days between ours, the way my friend arranged the letters of her update when she did, punched my stomach something proper!
I haven’t seen this friend’s face since April in 2013. Like, actually seen her.
But you don’t have to look at the sun to know that it is there and that you are warmed by its Light.
And because what – or however God is – that Giant turned mine to Ghost on the morning she did, muffling my planet with the boarding call for him to go back. And the moment that I pushed that pain into my public, I felt every nudge of every person who sent theirs.
On my skin and in my soul.
Still… the comfortable-coward wanted my punched-stomach to take focus, selling myself a story that would convince (only) me that, well, you know, I’m sure it’ll be okay… I mean… it has been three years… and I am very sure she has people coming from everywhere to keep and wrap her to them under arms wide and warm…
And only because the Universe is a Size Small compared to how hot the flames in that fireplace burn.
At any level, and in whatever role you play, silence is simply nothing.
It’s not placed as sacred by the beautiful of its own broken.
It’s just bullshit.
It’s the smug ghost of nothing, from a place of nowhere.
And insofar as tunes of the show go, silence doesn’t make for a rad soundtrack – in any genre.
But, hey! This here is just my soundtrack, of the show tunes I tap-dance to. You may not agree… but like it or not, by the pulse of your personhood, you actually are into show tunes. Perhaps on a very different frequency to mine, or not…
That’s Hz, and right now, Kerry and I share the same.
She Drama-schooled as I did, but elsewhere (over another rainbow?). And then life schooled us together, inside a Limelight of Giants, Ghosts, and all the terrifying, terrific tap-dancing we did between them.
As Giants. And as Ghosts – as and when we journeyed our respective jaunts of each.
Naturally, this post had me thinking about the one I shared when my Dad died, and specifically my signing off with:
“You are The Light of the Sun.
Don’t shine it where souls don’t salute yours back.”
Well, I am quite the smarty pant then, aren’t I?! 😛
And this Ghost is getting his colour back.
Still think you’re not into show tunes?
Prior to this, was Act 1… for more show-tune-context, should your toes be tapping and want for more 😉
© Dylan Balkind