Matt Black & Jonathan More
Please Mr. Nichols, come back inside the window. I can’t promise you anything, but I trust that there is far greater reason to live. I know you’ve become disheartened and disillusioned by the current state of affairs. Your stocks are falling, your investments have failed you, the man from whom you took orders has been ordered to jail by his and your subordinates. You question what is this world coming to, what is the profit margin when you’re forced to pander to the marginalized…Where’s the glory you dreamt of as a child, dressed as a cowboy, your play-gun pointed at real targets, your mother holding her tongue as your father consoles her with the words “It’s just boy stuff”..?
Well, you joined his fraternity, you grew into his old suits, you acquired his beliefs, you embodied his dreams, and with them his oversights. How long did you think it would last? It’s just a matter of time; the world is far from over. Look, your mother outlives your father, your sister outlives your brother, and if you jump from this window today, she’ll also outlive you. Look at her, sitting in her Midwestern home, tuned into Oprah once again; today, she learns to meditate on a second-hand couch. Meanwhile, you stand outside this window, twelve stories above the ground, one story remaining untold…
You contemplate the setting sun, unaware of your disorientation: dis-orient, turned away from the East. The shifting current seems to conspire against you. Mr. Nichols, you fail to see that you’ve always stood outside of this window, perched on the threshold of oblivion, countless man-made stories above the truth. For so long you’ve stood facing the setting sun, mistaking the complimentary unified duality of nature as being Right or Wrong, Good or Evil, God or Devil…Mr. Nichols, instead of stepping from this ledge into the downfall of your uprise, why not just turn around, lessen the intensity of your Western glare and face the rising sun? Note the energy swirling from its center, how it illumines us all and only the birds fly first class.
There is your inheritance: the warmth of a kiss. Invest your tongue into the mouth of mystery, allow her breath to seep into your lungs, and surrender to her touch and guidance. There’s no other way. Your dreams of dominance will only help you forsake yourself, while your family continues its search for understanding, and your daughters outlive your sons…
See also: Coldcut (Ninja Tune)