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Quote by Hazrat Inayat Khan

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The Heart of Sufism: Essential Writings of Hazrat Inayat Khan

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Hazrat Inayat Khan

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“The pieces of Cholly's life could become coherent only in the head of a musician. Only those who talk their talk through the gold of curved metal, or in the touch of black-and-white rectangles and taut skins and strings echoing from wooden corridors, could give true form to his life. Only they would know how to connect the heart of a red watermelon to the asafetida bag to the muscadine to the flashlight on his behind to the fists of money to the lemonade in a Mason jar to a man called Blue and come up with what all of that meant in joy, in pain, in anger, in love, and give it its final and pervading ache of freedom. Only a musician would sense, know, without even knowing that he knew that Cholly was free. Dangerously free. Free to feel whatever he felt--fear, guilt, shame, love, grief, pity. Free to be tender or violent, to whistle or weep.”

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Book:The Bluest Eye
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“The Dead Rock Star's Bar by Stewart Stafford I went for a drink in The Dead Rock Star's Bar, Phil Lynott was drinking whiskey in the jar, Jimi Hendrix was rocking the place, Elvis Presley was stuffing his face, Sid Vicious was grumpy and gruff, Freddie Mercury strutted his stuff, Marvin Gaye had plenty of soul, Lennon and Cobain compared bullet holes, Jim Morrison declared he was The Lizard King Buddy Holly sported an aeroplane wing, Such an array of talent leaves one's mouth agape, But they're all still alive on CD and tape, Wherever you live, you don't have to travel far, To have a damn good time at The Dead Rock Star's Bar. © Stewart Stafford, 1996. All rights reserved.”

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Author:Stewart Stafford
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“Words touch him in ways, this air, this water, this earth haven't been able to. They touch him in ways only something like love or heartache can do. Something miniscule in the air erupts into something too large for his vision to comprehend. On the surface of his skin, goosebumps sprout, while he watches them rising in wonder. Unable to bear the lightness with which that music carries dense spirits of something as intangible as time, he glides away from the rock and flees from the song.”

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Book:Litost: Sliced Stories
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