 T. Paul Has Passed on...
On Thursday, May 31st, the Iconic T. Paul Ste Marie passed away at the age of 41. He leaves behind a legendary struggle to make the most of life, while embracing and fostering the creative spirit of anyone who dared take themselves seriously. He was a friend to the emerging Artist, and a mentor to many. He opened doors, and he will be missed.
If you knew of him, you liked him.
If you knew him personally, it was a rare glimpse into a man who persevered through monumental struggles, to find his place and create his own success. "I Can't" did not exist in his vocabulary.
Good-bye T. Paul,
Safe journeys (where ever that is). To you I tip my hat in honor of your fine and Passionate Invocation....
INVOCATION We need PASSION to put words into context to formulate a pretext worthy of our cut-and -paste verbal aching to be heard thunderclap blurred quake-shake that thundering word herd to play those changes that rearrange us rain down rhythmic rhyme-time jazz-jazz-jazzy clime axe teases in the licks chaotic brrrrap-bap-bap-0-matic PASSION bring on the axiomatic round sound midnight drumroll fury- ocity velocity squeeze beat angel wings 'til they sing sweet drink the bebop sax the wing drip wax of them that flew too close to the sun fillin' holy souls and tongues with the ever changin' always in the now manic minds eye milkmaid leading the tongue tied to the teat that paid the fare with their jailtime press and their pain was not in vain they were paving the wagon train ruts with gluts of tarry thick ideas fresh with bloodsweat extract doin' that literal literary lowstick limbo into the next generation of word play sensation- alists like us thinkin' 'bout what to say and how to say it that beat in rhyme and time to play it We need PASSION to bask in extremes to set our wet absurdist dreams in flight through tarpaper night satellite kite crowded skies where our white noise pen toys spin spiderweb thin sinewy monkey limbs limberly groping at new poetical chins our fingers licks spittle thick with ripe hype glory pricks the juice-blown words tasting flying syllables invisible chords tying them to howling celestial forms storm voices that are politic / lunatic / heretic our kinetic kites collide in starry night skies with leaky loud electric pens our ecclectic process begins where it never left off sound richness rhythmic hitches content stitches together pop-pop-poppinn' a hole in the whole of time art serving purpose continues expansion in the Universe of Rhyme We need PASSION to invoke the everyday everyman tin pan alley trashcan huckster scam slam sing-song banter that is simple sinful with those blam blam blam gunshot phrases that glazed ham canned heat edge of your seat repartee because we learned from those who told it who origami folded visions in deserts dry selling passers by wordy purple fishes from their oceans of sand We've got to EXPAND on this vocabulary form a mental constabulary arresting ignorance at hand because knowledge IS power the sting bee in the flower that pollinates and seeds with concepts overgrowing the weeds of conformity building bridges of wisdom over the dull beige schism torn by sitcom mentally and wisdom culminates awaiting cultivation by our visual cortex spiritual vortex whirling helix twirling out the answers to our prayers and the spoken word blares from invocation to creation occurring within the process of lookin' for words to say.
AND SOME DAYS THEY SPLIT ATOMS AND SOME DAYS THEY KICK STONES today they find our voice. |
