Throw It Into Reverse, Not Finished!

     I found another Jimi Hendrix movie/documentary on Netflix. Yes that is right, I have gone crazy about my Jimi, research continues.
     Jimi Hendrix-My Train a Commin-and our boy plays himself! This is a true story, very much like the fiction one I watched earlier in the week, but this one had music, lots of music. Its all original footage, and its wicked good.
    When you go back and look at this, you are transported in time. Then at the end when this 27 year old genius has died, you have to take pause. Mother of Jesus, 27 is young, but he lived seventy years in those few. I think he was done, I have to believe this. What he left behind, is still amazing.
   One man, a yes man, who worked for Rolling Stone said, " When Jimi Hendrix came to be, the stars were aligned. Where were those stars on that day in 1970, when he did not wake up?"

                             "The Wind Cries Mary"
                         After all the Jacks are in their boxes,
                         and the clowns have all gone to bed,
               you can hear happiness staggering on down the street,
                         footprints dress in red.

                         And the wind whispers Mary.

                         A broom is drearily sweeping
               up broken pieces of yesterday's life.
                          Somewhere a Queen is weeping,
                          somewhere a King has no wife.

                        And the wind it cries Mary.

               The traffic lights they turn blue tomorrow
               and shine their emptiness down on my bed,
                      The tiny island sags downstream
                      'Cos the life that they lived is dead.

                      And the wind screams Mary.

                      Will the wind remember
               The names it has blown in the past,
               And with this crutch, its old age and its wisdom
               It whispers, " No, this will be the last."

                      And The Wind Cries Mary.

He was a sexual toothpick of a boy, oozing magic. A poet and a charmer, who touched the guitar and it sang.
He sang to thousands and to one.
The one, being me.