Forget the rain and earth. Forget the flinted limestoned rocks these hills are made of. Forget the homes in folds and rifts the riffs of music calling from a thousand cricket voices. Forget and forgive the Kansan winds

that blow the dance and roll of stars across the sky each night a velvet ocean. Forget the stories myth and legends belched from throats of frogs in spring the floods the wind the ghosts of rodeos the prairie fires.

Forget all this and that the chat of neighbours. Forget the jazz on Vine its rocking blues the sweat on faces hewn from earth sweet Kansan dirt across the crossroads rail roads dustblown backroads the Mid West is rolling.

And if and when you forget all this — you remember
you’ve forgotten yourself.

~ Geraldine Green

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this jazz is good. hard-driving, exploding, lusting life like the searing embrace that heals all of our pain. this music, on a day with one mitzvot unfolding after another – pretty, forbidden passion, haven beyond Halakah. this song, this coffee, the food and the atmosphere place us here with our diametrically opposed views, places us on the same cruise, on the starship sailing on the breath of the god with no name, who spins and falls disoriented in a heap along with the drums and hums, spits through split, bleeding lip, coughs up Earth’s possible future in black, tar-like chunks, frees her, eats her karma, loves her far more than any one of us could find it in our pocketbooks to care

~ marc mannheimer

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