Conversations With Jimi Hendrix
By Theresa C. Newbill


I noticed you’re sleeping deeper,
more peacefully now, but I miss
you, man. My energy is just a bit
low today, so I’m practicing on
an old guitar tonight. Yeah, many
don’t even know I own one but
I got me a nice blue guitar at Sam
Ash that I named Jimi awhile back.

Focus, my friend, hope you’re
catching up with me. We always
have nice, quiet enjoyable times
together, don’t we? So I got this
natural swing in me, a gift from
Tequila and Meukow Cognac. But
there’s this one bottle of Cognac,
the one labeled Benedictine
Marques Deposees, too perfect to
open, know what I mean?

I’m feeling fine about having my
own space; like a rolling stone,
man, it gives me more freedom. I
was pleased to hear, changes ain’t
nothing to be concerned about, crazy
days move along to keep score. So I
guess you don’t know the latest
gossip, Jon and Kate got divorced.
Yeah, too bad huh? But hey, Lennon
had the same emotional release before
his beautiful relationship with Yoko.

I didn’t sleep at all last night, you
know how hard it is to maintain this
feeling of equal balance between the
two levels of my life now. Sometimes
the personal and the creative mesh and
that’s always cool. Hey Jimi! You
listening to me, Chief? The moon is
casting some strange light on the
windowpane. It’s always a good omen
when that happens. I guess it verifies
this music and me connect.

Hey Jimi, you think there will ever be
a time when the various facets of my life
will no longer be connected and balanced?
No? Me, either. So here I go, Jimi, you
still with me? Cool. Where are the words
in the shadow of deeds and hard work? In
initial dreams there is the sweetest of
songs. I sing along; in my head is truth
and a bar, and a tenement house, my brick
building on the back-drop of a purple haze,

this psychedelic paper representation,
imperfectly made, travels the wind in the
blindness of naïve skin that still
preaches, peace and love. I survey the
continual fall of man, the way people hate,
judge. I think it’s due to angry consciences
that sever happiness into fractions of
obligations and duties, some religious, some
political.But I pray that someday, someway,
they’ll tear their four walls down, and think
about the metaphor they've become.

Hey Jimi, how are you doing? I hope you know
you still shine with overflowing light, yeah,
it’s called fate. No man, it ain’t no curse.
You hold the key to grace divine, definitive;
you’re my black pearl of pride. How does it
feel? To be ripe and renown. I still mourn for
you, Jimi, and for the few who never saw the
flowing wonder of your ways and the beauty of
days. I could have been one of them if it
weren’t for you. And yeah man, I know you’re
all done with that sh*t; with the rising and
the falling.


- - -
Theresa C. Newbill is a is a self described free spirit and former elementary school teacher turned writer. Her work has been widely published in various print and online magazines and she has received numerous awards for her writing.