Listening to Stax

When I get very low I listen to Stax Records, and allow myself to go into the raw soul.

My life was so raw, so Stax suits me. I remember times the music gave me some reason to live. Some kind of beauty when I was blindness by the horror of my existence.

As a child, I disappeared into Aretha and “Green Onions”. I would forget my stepdad.

I screamed along with Sam and Dave, and would not noticed the pain in my cunt.

I found I was crying to Otis and “B-A-B-Y”, and would not think it could be grief or anger.

As a child, I used music to distance myself from feelings. Feelings were too terrifying.

When I was in the world of prostitution, I nearly lost all interest in music. It reach too deep into my deadness.

But Stax would not abandoned me.

I heard it in cars, I heard in pubs, I heard on the radio, some johns played it to hide the noise.

Stax was always there reminding I still had emotions, buried under piles of toughness and fear, buried into the pain I was knowing. Stax was inside my skin.

Stax reminded that I human, even when that was a dangerous thing to know.

Even then “Try a Little Tenderness” was able to find that I had a heart.

Now, I can let myself love Stax Records. Now I watched concerts, see documentaries, read about the times and lives of the artists, especially the Memphis Horns and Brooker T & the MG’s.  Now I can be a Stax bore, for my life is safe enough to do that.

For in some ways Stax save my life.

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