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Quote by John H. Sibley

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Being and Homelessness: Notes from an Underground Artist

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John H. Sibley

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“If your life could be transcribed into a song, the rights and wrongs, the ups and downs, the good and the bad, and the periods of turmoil and challenges, as much as the moments in which you felt high in the clouds, in love, in awe for all the good things happening to you, mesmerized with disbelief for the joys you were experiencing, all those things would be just and only sounds, perfectly arranged to formulate your own song, the song of your life. In the same way, you must see your friends, and enemies, and loved ones and strangers. For everything is made of frequencies, and everything comes to you in precise moments, to match other frequencies. Everything that happens to you is in a perfect arrangement of vibrations and coincidences. And the maestro of this song is you. You are creating all of that with your mind.”

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“The guitar screamed like an angel who had just discovered why it was on the wrong side. Sparks glittered on the strings (...) And still the music flooded out. It made you want to kick down walls and ascend the sky on steps of fire. It made you want to pull all the switches and throw all the levers and stick your fingers in the electric socket of the Universe to see what happened ext. It made you want to paint your bedroom wall black and cover it with posters (...) Live music...music with rocks in it, running wild”

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“I remember when we went into Kezar Stadium on the march (April 15, 1967, San Francisco) playing that song—I felt like I was part of some surrealistic dream. We were riding along in this truck. The band was playing. It was like a misty kind of rain. It was early in the morning. The streets were lined with people hanging out of windows and everything. And we were going up the street. I was just stoned out of my head on LSD, everything kind of like vibrating and I was looking around and you could see soldiers and people sneering and you see pictures of napalmed children and signs saying “End the War” and we were playing this joyous incredible music and people were dancing all around the truck just dancing and throwing flowers up in the air and everything and we were singing, “Whoopee, we’re all gonna die!” And it was like we were sort of heading off to these beautiful pastoral gas chambers, we were all going to parade ourselves into these gas chambers and then they were going to wipe us out… I mean, if you gotta go, you might as well go out dancing and singing.”

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“I will move on someday, but I will never forget how much you made me cry, not because I am still stuck on you, but because those tears taught me who you truly were. You showed me how love can feel worse than hatred, how silence can hurt more than words, and how care can turn into control. One day, my heart will stop aching, but the memory of how you treated me will always stay. And that’s not bitterness, that’s awareness because you were a lesson, not a loss.”

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“He would tell you that music is truly a universal language, and that we the listeners will always impose our own fears and biases, our own hopes and hungers on whatever we hear. He would tell you that the rhythm that spurred on Tchaikovsky is the same rhythm that a kid in a redneck North Carolina town would beat with a stick against a fallen tree. It is a rhythm in all of us. Music is about communication, a way of touching your fellow man, beyond and above and below language. It is a language all its own.”

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“There are many forms of music, and only the most common kind enters through your ears. In the right light, some music gets absorbed by your eyes, like when you watch a duck splash in water without having to worry if it’s got to VOTE to keep enjoying its FREEDOM.”

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