“Manifesto V” 3.27.19
Digging into the characteristically haphazard fifth bulletin for “SUNDAYS” FOREVER LIVE to illuminate the spirit, as esoteric and ever-evolving as it may be…
There is a very real, very self-evident ethos of the night we call “SUNDAYS” FOREVER LIVE. Though, like most of life’s wondrous, gooey-eyed mysteries, it is wildly close to being inarticulate-able. And that…is by design. This is perhaps “Sundays” most salient attribute.
It is its very own organism. Fluid and evolving on its own accord. And just when you think you’ve put your finger on what it is you’re experiencing, it reveals itself yet again.
The night were never meant to be defined. Only displayed. And all of the work (play) we do on stage is mere translation. Translation of all that we can’t define.
We’re mingling with the spirits who’ve come before us. You can’t see them, but they are there…alive, well and dancing an incredible dance.
With “Sundays,” where words fail, sensory intercourse must prevail. And with the right constituents, that is precisely what happens. Without fail.
Make no mistake, we are exercising telepathy. And it’s likely semantical if you were to posit that you weren’t almost always doing the same thing.
I implore you to consider that perhaps there are certain things we all know…that we don’t know. And it’s not entirely clear how we know these things with such certainty.
At a distance, perhaps “Sundays” is mere spectacle. However, if you allow yourself to surrender the map, you will find the ethos. You will find…a guiding spirit. Now…this spirit may take you the long way round, but only in attempt to reveal. Turn off your frontal lobe, divorce yourself from expectation and see that on the path back home, a rose is a rose is a multidimensional pickup truck full of lucky bamboo, symmetrical clover, all the lost lighters and lovers of the world…
You’ll be steered through the shadowy crevices of your mind, down the dark corridor and through the dark wood. And you will do so with grace and a new pair of spectacles. All the while marvelling at how you got there. But that becomes less important, when you find the thing you never lost.
Imagine looking for the proverbial “remote control under your couch” and finding a nicer television airing pure consciousness. You lean in to the static and find that you’ve been steering this ship the whole time…the night, your life, this hypothetical walk home. You look for the guide, but you know damn well they are— and you say “hello” to yourself once again.
The “path” towards “home” was never meant to be pure utility. The destination…isn’t that at all. You look around.
You may not know where you are, but you’ve made it. Welcome home.
