Life is the center of our thoughts.

Creativity is a tree we love with tenderness,

Playing music is a way to sense the pulse of our own.

I live, maybe I live

I play, maybe I play the notes from the musical ancestors,

the sorrow song from the inverted tower.

We live when the bow strikes.

We struggle when there is no poetry.

May we live like words can speak, flowers can gaze,

Wind can sweep away all the unfunny jazz tunes.

When I create, souls come to me.

Jazz is like a poem

Poem with love, notes with a purpose.

Writing is a way to gather emotion with souls from the past.

Hampton Hawes’ sweet tone,

Roy Eldridge’s swing trumpet,

Mingus, Monk, and Mary Lou

Make me do what I do.

Rise the syncopated spirits,

Harmonize my life with Duke’s voicing and

Strayhorn’s chanting progression.

Cecil McBee’s philosophy:

Play from the opposite.

When you play, don’t think of me

Be who you are, be the art of your soul.

If you can paint music,

What sound would it be?

If you can paint your emotion

What color is your bebop line?

Eeeeemotions

Can’t create revolution.

How free can Ornette be?

How much can we sacrifice?

Will music love you back?

Notes will become memories,

The intuition from the past.

Creativity becomes eternity,

Heritage becomes creativity.

When I believe in notes

Frequency can talk like poetry

Composition becomes my discovery.