Pack of hounds

A savage pack of hounds are trailing me

for several nights they're chasing me

indomitable cubs growing abhorrently

sprouting from one of my first dreams


Who knows if they’re seeking my skin?

Today I am my own quagmire wake

Are they chasing me to rip my vigil?

Now, I am the entire fragrance of fear


My dreams every night have created
an unstoppable unbeatable hazard

today, the mythical has become flesh;
It has become gasp, tusk and blizzard


Everything I've believed in me disappears

in my desperate escape towards the shadows

Will I be able to hide myself in my mischief

and be able to dissuade my own predators?

Letting myself dream, was that my mistake?

Now, I'll risk my uncertain bequest

giving back to the night my breath

I will sink myself into sleep again


Maybe those creatures will follow me
they'll release me, awaken me

returning to their uncertain substance
of which their sporadic world is made.

Prince - The last vestige of God's trace

With the unending loss of the Artist Prince the music’s world has lost the last vestige of God’s trace. If we assume that a Superior Power exists it is precisely because of the appearance of such beings in mankind. Human beings who are boundless, indescribable into earthly definitions.

We lost a lot in a single slice, we have lost many genius in one person.
Prince used to be, and bring brought to perfection, so many previous talents. He was Hendrix, James Brown, Steve Vai, Michael Jackson, Aretha Franklin, Santana, Lionel Richie, Elvis Presley, Miles Davis, Smokey Robinson, Marvin Gaye and more. All in one body that knew how to play every instrument and turn it into gold. He knew how to dance making unthinkable movements, he knew showed us the direction of revolutionary manifestation that the Art teaches, and he even knew how to sing every style (Gospel, Soul, Funk, Pop, Ballad, R&B, Rock, Jazz...) until it was perfection itself. Always he was prone to the change, everything he has done it has done with depth and sublime taste.

That is why Prince has marked us and, even more, he was a big generator to artists.
My music has started with him and all my musical life he has been a North to follow, a constant inspiration.
When I wrote my essay 'The Music has Died' I placed a boundary in my own career and today those words become in flesh.
I think perhaps we have lost the last vestige of God's trace.

In this Age, where the art is over-estimated, this sudden loss marks an (even more) acephalic direction.

In 1988, with tremendous sadness, Prince had written the song 'Sometimes it snows in April' dedicated to a friend who suddenly passed away. Now Prince himself, surprising us even in his last breath, has left this life also in April.
Many things evinced an End of Cycle. With a natural Afro in his hair he looked again, after his entire career, like his early days. He wrote a song in his penultimate disc ('Way Back Home') where he detailed his return to home and he thanked his parents that have had the courage to raise a boy like him. He starts his last album with the exactly same audio that he used to open the first track of his first album. A couple days ago he played intimate concerts only with piano and voice, devoid of everything else.

Perhaps the Spirit has indicated a direction that slowly was foreshadowed.


Now, our chance of enjoy his ritualistic and magic shows has disappeared but also this moment giving even more  importance the 2013 concert in Anaheim (California) where, touching the stage, I could see a magical performer Prince displaying his talent only one meter away from me. One meter that disappeared when he jumped into the audience and we had to hold his tiny body with our hands. If a God exists, and if He sometimes sends to us glimpses of His most perfect children, I can say that at least I have held with my hands One of Them.

At this time of emptiness I have only these remainings, I have only memories. I have the same remainings that we have (all of us) at the end of the day.
Just a few images of what we thought our existence was.
I can feel in its complete dimension the concept: "Life is only a dream".

Just like dreams, they are real  while we dream and suddenly... Pluf !!! ... everything, early or late, fades at the forgotten.
Thereby the instance of “what has vanished may have been just a momentary dream” begins in that moment. We are marked by oblivion and irregular events which designs us.
We are constituted by several vacuums.

Today Prince, the King’s son, the Son of God, has left us but at least we have his Great Art to fill this sorrowful vacuum until our own demise is consummated.

Mr. President Barack Obama

The manifestations of nature are not so dissimilar on all over the world, the rivers continue their streams and lakes extend their resting waters, every mountain dreams to reach the sky and all the species continue borderless its mission. Everything in the 'wild' world with no limitation of ideals is on naturally moving faithfully towards its same own site.
What makes the difference between dissimilar lands are not slopes, valleys, rivers, even the fauna; what makes the difference is the ideal of certain values on each Nation. Every day people makes the substantial difference.

Today I feel that the first step to my rebirth has begun in my life. I am now a resident of the United States of America and the emotion brings me to write this letter.

I think I was born in the wrong place. America should be my country, not Argentina.
I feel American by empathy with this land and its people, that are like the land itself.

Being American is my proud choice, the American dream is not about buying things; the American dream, to me, is dream to be an American and to be alive in the air of this land.
Is it not bravest to make a change in direction instead of settle with the given life I had?

Throughout my life I have studied American history and many of its great men became my heroes, geniuses like Thomas Edison, the great Abraham Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt (one of my biggest heroes), the magnificent Martin Luther King Jr., the Alan Lomax's contributions to the Congress, just to name a few of an endless list even not to mention great personalities of the sports and arts. People that made a great and important history from America to the whole world.
To me, Mr. President you are in that magnificent list.
From South America, across the continent, I followed your administration for years and I have been on tenterhooks beside you on many of your big decisions, like Obamacare.

I am very happy today but I have just one regret, I am starting my residence in this beautiful land just when you are concluding your administration. Therefore I will not be able to enjoy your work anymore now that this is my place too. Let me tell you Mr. President that a great man always leaves an unmistakable trail an undeniable path for future generations.

You have brought me inspiration and you have demonstrated me that it is possible to break the barriers and always to go farther away to the boundary.

In this virtual global world in which we live the history has taken a different dynamic. History is no longer moving in a straight line, however, history nowadays has a radial feature. I am sure you have launched ripples that will continue inspiring the minds that will change this world.


The least I can do is thank you in this letter. Thanks from someone who is American in his heart, someone who admires and values the way that your presidency has given a dignified fresh air to the world.

I ask myself, what is it more intimate to a man if not his own voice? The voice is a wisp of ideas that comes from within just to link us to others. Our human voices is our human race.

Thus, besides the content of your speeches, I enjoyed the charisma of your voice too, voice with a warm sound of scented wood. Just its cadence brings me a strange mix of relax and productive motivation. You, like every great man, is defined by his great acts and I am grateful to have been contemporary to your acts.

As happened with me I have the hope that his actions will continue inspiring more and more people that will continue making bigger and bigger this Great Nation with more and more commitments and sublimes ideals.



Most Respectfully
Halasius Bradford

Axioms

- SHAME IS AN ACT OF ARROGANCE.

- CULTURE IS THE RESULT OF OUR RACE'S SURVIVAL INSTINCT.

- THE CONSTANT IDEA OF CONSPIRACIES IS A JUSTIFICATION OF INDIVIDUAL LONELINESS.

- PAST IS THE SEARCH OF COHERENCE OF PRESENT. FUTURE IS THE TEMPORARY LINE OF THIS ACTION.

-TECHNOLOGY IS FOR THE HUMAN RACE AS THE SPIRITUAL EVOLUTION IS FOR THE INDIVIDUAL.


- INTUITION IS THE ANALOG SIDE OF INTELLIGENCE.


- FALLING IN LOVE IS A FUNCTION OF MELANCHOLY.

- EVERYTHING WE DO WE DO IT TO DIE.


- THE LAMENT IS A WAY OF DROUGHT.


- THE POPULAR "LUCK RITUALS" ARE AN IGNORANT GESTURE OF THE AN OLD WISE CAUSE.

- METAPHOR IS THE DAUGHTER OF THE LIE.

- BETRAYAL'S MOTHER IS THE COWARDICE.


- TENDERNESS IS THE SPIRITUALIZATION OF EMBARRASSING ELSE’S FEELING.

- ELEGANCE IS BASED ON THE ARTICULATION OF ETHICS AND BRAVERY.

- OFTEN, AN ECCENTRIC REALITY IS MANAGED BY AN AUTHENTIC SOLITUDE.

THE MUSIC HAS DIED

Today just remains the inseparable memory's breath of the melody that we have used to be.
The music has died. The Spirit has withdrawn.
Always there will be musicians and we will continue playing some chords but everything will be just a re-activation. Just a wake of it that from the beginning has escorted us, our auto-preservation mandate.

THE MUSIC HAS DIED.
THE MUSICIAN IS THE EXECUTIONER.

Why is the music used to standardize, instead to open new ways?
Why the music is no longer a sign of revelation/rebellion but only a sign of the system where it born immersed?
Why does the music give in its own concept to the technical sound's reign?

When that being with pulse appeared (timidly but with plenty determination) from the shadows of the humanity's dawn he began the manifestation of his own pulse, even before of being self-aware.
Each and every living being has an implicit mandate to preserves itself in its essence; hence, the survival. That mandate of permanence is what the human beings transformed sublimating it into Culture.
Culture is the way to read ourselves historically and become aware of our existence as indivisible beings. Conceiving our race as an entire in its kind is the function of doing Culture.
Long before the survival became the culture, the rhythm had encouraged us giving a pulse to our incipient consciousness.
That consciousness wouldn't be itself until discovering the dimension of the Lie. The same Lie that soon would have engendered to the metaphor.
The consciousness would have discovered itself in its own wake (the thought) giving a rise, even up to our time, to an uncontainable event.

As postmodernism's children, we synthesized and humanized everything on our path reaching the radial way in which we live today. Today we are already out of the historical linearity. We have produced the end of the story. We have invented the Net and we have supplanted to God. In this virtuality, the human being no longer constructs or destroys anymore. He only makes updates.
This is the Age of 'the end of the Line and the beginning of the Radius.'
Therefore, we live "by and for" the Net. We are lonely human beings but without being to able to "exist alone," that is the concept of the Net.

A branch, a stone, a stick were to our ancestors the same thing that for us is a machine to play music, in our virtuality today.
Music that, in beforehand, we already know.
Nowadays, music even comes to do without the musician himself, putting the concept (the production) in the main place.
Now, we scratch, rub and beat with finger-sensitivity to play sounds that one day it has been born from the amazement.

Has the Music concluded its passage through our world? Has the Music left our musical creativity orphan?

We will try to answer all the questions, one by one, in this essay that I have called,

THE MUSIC HAS DIED.