My playlist is not a list of songs to just play
It’s a memoir
The drumbeats and the many different voices
Of the singers are not mine
But they lend themselves to me
I bind my different moments to each song as it plays by:
My blue funk moment I may bind to a piece of metallic rock
My beatific mo to fuji; my rebellious to a negro spiritual.
The songs thus become carriers of memory, of history:
Carriers of a past best embalmed in the past
Such that a song may impel me to click on the Next button
Not because I hate the song or its singer
But because I can’t bear a reenactment of the hateful moment
Attached to its 3-, 4-, 5-minute rendition.
Some other song becomes a Jesus
A past moment that I wouldn’t mind acting a Lazarus
A moment that I’d gladly relish, relive.
In all, I’m grateful that those moments ain’t lost
That with voices and sounds which I do not own
These singers help me to store my stories.