Riffs rolling round and around broadcasting interstellar signals, beaming faster than light through the blackness of night. Fluid spiralling sound cycles weave invisible transient spaceship-like structures carrying listening ears into territories known as Unknown. A path through matter, a path through space.
Jazzman jazzing life to the stars and the firmament and all that lies between. Please fasten your seat belts; we may encounter unexpected turbulence. Jazzman Leo Bloom escapes from his novel complaining that it's always the same day and lands in a jazzclub on the Lower East Side.
Jazzing men constructing Sun Ra-like interstices of sound and mood to carry you through the cold darkness of a long, hard night. Tone scientists, men of Jazz bloom brightly telling ancient tales and future sight. The stars come out at night, thousands of millions of suns each one the center of the Universe. Jazz connects it all. Hot jazz, cool jazz, jazz sandwiches, jazz in the bathtub, jazz on the record player. Jazz saved my life.
Jazz saved my death from a life of unharmonic inconsequence.
Those jazzmen tell secrets of eternity. What church do you pray in, you who blooms in the night? The Church of What's Playing Now. Punch up your CD-player, fire up the speakers and jump out of time. Only the ticking of the clock matters but that will go away. The speakers aren't speaking, the melodies are giving it all away. Blowing nightly every day the jasmine Jazzmen are here to stay.