Seeing London has led me on a journey of self discovery, one i feel i must continue. Its made me realise my own neiveity, my own sheltered upbringing. When you find a place that embodies something you have been brought up all your life to reject, then you will greet it with a natural sceptisism.
But peresverence is the key to life. For the most beautiful things in the world are always misunderstood

Theres an example of this at a well known tube station. Alas i do not know his name. But in his name of intangiable liquid beauty, what good is a label?

He stands about 5”10' with that hopeless slouch, from a lifetime of being on the wrong end of everything. To look at him your first instinct is to take pity on him, the most unremarkable of bums. But no, he has a pride inside like ive never seen before. He doesnt demine himself with cheap party tricks, to make enough for extra fag. No, he stands proud.

Quite an image, set against the dull off white tiles of the dimly lit tunnel, almost unnoticeable against the busy bustle of yuppies shufling past him, walking the paces of their empty lives. Like actors, perfoming the same show, to the same crowd, over and over again, every day of their lives.

But with one exhale, this all changes. One mightly breath, as his body straightens out, and those mighty lungs blow as if their existance depended on it. He becomes an artisan, kin to sammy davis junior, stan getz, all the ones that made it where he failed. All the ones with middle class unbringings, a shiny gold sax as presant from Papa. Spending their summer, at their posh little bandcamps with all their aquantances, living out of daddys pocket.
But there not a patch on him. Because he plays with passion. As he purses those lips, it all comes back to him, dead compadres, the ones that didnt make it, lost souls hes known throughout the years, all wondering like him, searching for something.
All these memories stoke his heart, and feed his gullet. He feels the music in him, ready to run its course, ready to escape. Ready to make the air dance with such beauty, such irony, that it will never stop. It will stay on for eternity, reverbirating, for anyone that will hear it.

He sings for his supper, so he gives it his all, he transforms that old weary body, into a temple of beauty and light, entertaining passers by, who still cant hear him. But there are some..

The population is devided up into the ordinary and the extraordinary. Those who let life wash over them, let all the passion of the world go unnoticed. And there are those who embrace it, open themselves to the world, and let it enguf them, take them on a journey of discovery of beauty.

But lets not judge people too harshly, after all deep down, under all the scars, and bruises of life. We are all extraordinary, deep down we are all curious about new experiences, about life, we cannot let our pain and mistrust blind us, with the assumption that there is a bad side, that it will hurt you, when all it wants to do is comfort.

And it is deep down that everyone hears the musics. They feel the music, they feel their souls dance, the bitter irony choking in their throats. How can a man so megre in their eyes know such beauty? Is he the rick one?

All these questions trouble them, as they board the engines of their masters back to their bleak ugly conformist worlds.

But something has truly awakened in them. The music brought a glimmer of a different world into their minds. And like its vehicle, the glimmer haunts them, as they lay awake in their beds trying to define the subjective, searching for answers, to this Soul Music

He is just one of many examples if many extraordinary people, who have made me realise the need to break the shackles of conformatism,

Thats enough for now, the rest can wait for another time.