a blog post by Oppong Clifford Benjamin
If a blind man sings so well that your skin reacts to the demons in the music by growing reflex erections like small-small pimples on the surface of your skin, don't allow an English man to put a name to your feelings by calling them goosebumps, no don't. Language has not even heard the right to describe your emotions because what you have become you don't even know yourself neither do Andrea Bocelli.
You can transform yourself into something very sacred by just closing your eyes and allowing yourself to flow from your eyes onto your cheeks, flow past your lips and down on to the floor. Bless the land on which you stand. You've become something you only see in the nothingness of elevations.
And the second thing you can do is to think about the feelings of the blind man who, once in very long years, could see the colours of his suits, could see the faces of his musical instruments, could see the faces of his audience. And now, he just relies on sounds of footsteps to identify which of his friends is approaching, the sound of applause to measure the excitement in his audience's bodies. Just imagine the feelings he had when he wrote those great songs and ask you questions like does he see God when he writes? Is he ever a saint?
Go to youtube and search for Colosseo di Roma, Andrea Bocelli show. And transform into anything you want, a god, a devil, a pyramid, a sword, a fine light beaming through crystals. Anything, please.
And collapse. And die, if you want. And go to Heaven, if you want. Or hell, if you want. Afterall, world peace means choosing freely your life and your death.
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