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Be the Mule Blog

In the Morning in MX City

I felt happy this morning, and I didn't need anything to do it.

Last night we were playing a song, with this young piano player, younger than me, I seem to always be playing with older players, but we were playing this song, in duo, to no one really, and a string broke at this crescendo of energy. Nothing was getting louder. I wasn't even touching the strings. I was listening to them resonate. And force willed one broke. If you have ever watched something be born, it was that.

Every morning here I wake up to someone in the street yelling. Colchones, microondas, refrigadores, they want things you have, so then they can go sell them to other people. A man drives a car around town. It has a speaker on top, the voice of a young girl repeats the items they are interested in. I imagine that girl. She should get royalties. Mattress pieces, or a leftover microwave.

The trash man collects trash by telling you he is outside waiting to collect trash. He has a collection of orange, dented but sturdy, cans, metal, on a wheelbarrow of sorts. He just hangs out and walks down the street, not particularly in a hurry nor particularly lazy.

This is all between the hours of about 730 and 10 a.m., when I am generally waking up. I step out of bed and onto one of the piles of charts I have on my floor. I have them separated unneatly but in a way that allows me to find what I need whie also being surprised by what may be next to it. They end up moving from pile to pile after gigs, classes, sessions, this tune fits with that band. They all fit everywhere. I love them. They are the first word in the greatest conversation ever made.

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