(Bokeh Versions, 2017)
Mere apparitions in the mirrored windows of the Tokyo high rise billionaire builds. A relative descendant to the dub wise, street level fallen archangel archetype. Too high to ascend upwards from their own perched clouds of Earth’s irie bliss. It’s better this way for us dwelling at ground level.
Dubwise noise crackles from speakers as it dopplers throughout alleyways and side streets. Slow and slowly permeating the thick city bustle of Tokyo. It may not be Durban, but it sounds at home just as well if not troubled the same. Any other cutthroat town or cityscape unfamiliar to stagnate constancy knows it just as well.
It is the sound of vapor being turned to steam over sewer holes in the morning’s rising sun. An underbelly of life living on the junk and the junkfood scramble for cover. Raw obtainables and those dressed in the finest garbled outskirts peek out from doorways and begin to descend. The best deep pockets can afford to rise up buildings for the hell of it in this mega town.
Least until the vulture suits catch wind and begin the war dance. Descending carrion will be next season’s high garde fashionable death. Dives in desperation not beginning quite just yet. Soon though. Burial from the tongs of the real sky soaring scrapers eventually will circle. Overhead as they begin to fall in feasting swoops. Get yours fast before they are plucked away like field mice unaware. Tiny morsels from abroad. Laid out neat before the concrete tabernacles set to hold vintage scenes of the downbeat set. Devoured and bones licked clean.
The needle never skips the plate once without purpose.
(Bless This Dub Called Gqom)