I tire of blogging about dead gods.
Today’s news of Mitch Mitchell’s death finds me in a weird place. As I put it on Facebook:
Still, today isn’t about remorse for history. It’s these things that make me wistful not for the past, but for the future. I can’t help but think about who’s next. Who’s waiting in the wings to replace Mitch Mitchell and all of the Jimi Hendrix Experience
I know you’re out there. This is a challenge and a call, the war isn’t going well and replacements are hard to find. Who will step forward to lead us into the next musical and literary age?
On this (pardon the pun) note, one of my favorite Walt Whitman
by Walt Whitman
POETS to come! orators, singers, musicians to come!
Not to-day is to justify me, and answer what I am for;
But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than before known,
Arouse! Arouse—for you must justify me—you must answer.
I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future,
I but advance a moment, only to wheel and hurry back in the darkness.
I am a man who, sauntering along, without fully stopping, turns a casual look upon you,
and
then
averts his face,
Leaving it to you to prove and define it,
Expecting the main things from you.