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It was the day after Paula's going home party. Helium worn away, one lone white balloon now shrunken and flightless, sits on a hedge looking like the bleached skull of a sacrifice from some pagan ritual.
Even in my better moments there was a certain degree of fatalism, a lament for the finite.
How many more kisses, late nights spent wandering the back streets behind the Pantheon. A march ending in predawn eggs cooked to a Zoot Sims record.
Older and wiser I no longer wish for peace but now aspire to think only of what I have, not how long I will have it.
I love jazz because anything is possible; it has few rules and the best jazz breaks those ones. I prefer free improv because it doesn't really have any rules at all.
I was first exposed to jazz in my teens (in the late sixties).
The first jazz record I bought was Filles de Kilimanjaro by Miles Davis, shortly followed by Extrapolation by John McLaughlin.
My advice to new listeners is to listen as widely as possible and not to make snap judgments--stick with it.