Junk for Code

winter sunshine

As for me I'm sitting in an almost bare room in a city apartment; a room full of winter sunlight. It is comforting and soothing. It is such a difference from the night before, when I wandered the streets looking for some material on Smile. I could find nothing. But that's Adelaide. It's a funny place to live a nomadic existence.

This is my memory of last night:

E.Hopper, Nighthawks, 1942

I do believe I heard Eric Clapton playing as a car drove slowly past. It was a bunch of young guys on the prowl for a woman alone.

The city is a place of desolation where one feels out of place amidst the shadows, betrayals and chaos. That is the world of Robert Johnson. His is a world without redemption.

This is this morning:

E. Hopper, Early Sunday Morning

Today, in the winter sun, I've been listening to Robert Johnson play the blues whilst reading Heidegger on death:

I went to the crossroad
Fell down on my knees
I went to the crossroad
Fell down on my knees
Asked the Lord above "Have mercy now,
Save poor Bob, if you please"

"Crossroad Blues" - ROBERT JOHNSON

In rural folklore the intersection of two roads was an evil place, the site of black magic or voodoo. Voodoo was mixed with Christianity. The myth says that Johnson went down to the crossroads and made a pact with Satan. The devil promised to fulfill his dreams. Johnson traded his soul for his musical talent. The devil wouldn't allow him to enjoy his success and Johnson lost his life. He died young.

Forget the myth about RJ selling his soul at the crossroads. Johnson is tough without the myths. In the darkness at the rural cross roads Johnson confronted the possibility of death.

Today we confront death in the crossroads of the city. It is what makes us feel at home in a desolate Australia that has lost its dreams and forgotten its promises.

Posted by Gary Sauer-Thompson at July 4, 2004 09:16 PM | TrackBack