Charlie Parker... forgive me

Charlie Parker died fifty years ago last week.

Jack Kerouac died in October, 1969. That was thirty-five years ago.

If you don't know how these men related to each other, even though they never really met, and if you don't know how they relate to you, you live a hollow life.

If you don't even know who these two men were, please hit BACK on your browser. You are too stooopid to be reading this website.

Jazz did not start with Pat Metheny.

American literature did not end when Walt Whitman died.

Go look it up. Make space on your iPod, because both Charlie and Jack will weave jazz into your life and consciousness.

If they don't... you are too stupid to be reading this page. Please exit your browser and bury your PC and your social sense in the yard. If you can't feel the joy of "Scrapple From The Apple" or "Yardbird Suite," or if reading On The Road doesn't make you want to take your Hudson (or Hyundai) out on US 6 beyond Corry, Pennsylvania...

Well, fuck you. Maybe there's some good reality program on Fox tonight. Eat the corn out of my shit.

Charlie Parker, forgive me. Forgive me for not meeting your eyes.

But still, all is well.

This is what Charlie Parker said when he played: "All is well."

Jack Kerouac said it in 1955. I echo it.

Charlie... I miss you. I miss Burroughs. Ginsburg. Kesey. Miles. Trane. Lennie. Lenny. Cass. Bobby Short. Basie. Duke. Desmond. Dolphy. Neal. Janis. Jim. Jimi. Otis. John. Harry.

Forgive me.