This is Our Bomb
We love our ska. We love our jazz .Every bodega with a reggae radio. Every store clerk and janitor with a broomstick dance partner. The alleyway echos with our heart beat. From the roof tops we listen as we lay on our backs looking down at outer space. We ask ourselves “where do we fit in to all of this?”…and every fucking city that I go to, I’m looking for a place that I belong. …and I always seem to find a group of washouts that I misfit right in to. Every dingy basement on every dingy street. Every dragging hand clap over every dragging beat there exists a tale to be told. In a smokey little room there sits a group of lovers. In love with the loveless. Voices for the voiceless. They ponder up wishful solutions for all of the worlds problems and scream them over top of each other. Microphones chirp and squeal. Amps overload and fill the walls with the smell of resentment. The engine room pounds out a beat so deep you can feel it in your blood. The words are spoken. We shudder at the meaning. At the very worth. We resist and resist the hand cuffs of humanity, the pig of the hour, the politician. Fuck them! We see what others miss. An old African blues vet taps his foot and hums a song at the corner of the city block. He cares not who hears him but only wants to keep his mind off of things. No one notices him but we do. We hum his song for the rest of the day. ..and at night, when the street lights buzz and the sirens blare. Our little room is pulsing with the tears of every old man on every street stoop. The windows shake while the bass decays. Distortion feeds our lungs and somehow our snarl and ache… our crummy voices somehow sound like miracles. Our very souls are on the loose and nothing can stop that. We were not born with gifts. We are no spectacle! but our hearts are on fire and our passion will come forth and no energy on earth can stop it. Cant fight against the youth... Come on boys! FUCKING SCREAM!
-SA Zari
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