griot

Your muse ain't singin' on your MTV? Can't even see him on your HD TV?

We start our lives with blues . . . with music. It's our first language. It's the rhythm of the womb. It's your mama's heartbeat inside your head.

And here's to the blues, the real blues_ where there's a hint of hope in every cry of desperation.

You got infinite channels and limitless rhymes, but the riddles of livin' stay undefined?

The music echoes in the emptiness. It reminds us where we came from and where we__e bound.

I preserve my worldin journals so my children can eat without me

And a ride in a hearse tells us we__e all close to that final cruise . . . when the body dies and we move on. It__ just the body, man. It__ just the body. The soul__ already gone. So don__ be afraid of a dead body absent a soul. It__ empty, man. No resident. What you need to worry about is a living body that__ lost its soul. Now that is scary, man._ - Funk N. Wagnalls, owner of the Grim Reapers auto lot, a character in Professor Brown Shoes Teaches the Blues.