Let Your Mind Go Back

Put Your Hands Up

SOUTHERN SOUL DIP MASTER 2013

Blues for Life (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)

Who You With

“THE FULL COURSE EXPERIENCE”
A Studio Album by (kELLEYJ)

Environment
Quiet, elegant spaces with refined décor. Lighting is soft, and tables are widely spaced for privacy. Service is formal, attentive, and synchronized.

Service Flow
A full-course meal usually follows this order:
1. Amuse-bouche – A complimentary bite to stimulate the palate.
2. Appetizer – Light dishes such as tartare, soup, or seafood.
3. Fish Course – Delicate white fish or shellfish.
4. Main Course – Meat, poultry, or vegetarian centerpiece with complex sauces.
5. Cheese Course – Often before dessert in European settings.
6. Dessert – Pastry, mousse, or fruit-based plate.
7. Mignardises or Petit Fours – Small sweets with coffee or tea.
A choreographed musical feast in ten movements, each song representing a stage of a fine-dining experience. Every composition mirrors culinary pacing: anticipation, flavor, pause, indulgence, reflection, and closure.

Genre fusion: Neo-Soul · Smooth Jazz · Orchestral R&B ·
Intention: precision, elegance, intimacy.

6. Main Attraction
The central movement. Commanding, bold, the height of confidence.
	•	Genre: Soul-Funk with heavy brass.
	•	Instrumentation: Live horns, tight bass, layered chorus vocals.
	•	Concept: Power, charisma, control; the centerpiece of desire.

Main Attraction

We Here

The scene... is a teacup. In the teacup... a slow-motion hurricane.
I am the petri dish... where silence... learns to conjugate.

We are all... forgotten algebra... scribbled on a subway moon.
My spine... is a spiral staircase... where yesterday's ghosts... hum showtunes.
I am the echo... of a pearl... dropped down a well... in a dream you had... on a Tuesday...

I am the Neon Jellyfish... (Neon Jellyfish)
Pulsing with the gossip... of a thousand dying stars.
My venom is a lullaby... in a key they can't play... on your piano... with its missing... black keys.

I am the curator... of the Museum of Unshaken Dust.
Exhibit A: your shadow... fossilized in amber... and regret.
Exhibit B: the love song... of a dial-up modem... to a dead line.

So paint your name... on a falling leaf. Mail a confession... to the ozone layer.
I am the typographical error... in the scripture of the concrete.
The footnote... that ate the entire page.

I am the Eggman's... accountant! (Kablooey!)
Balancing the books... of chaos and lint.
I process the dreams... that pigeons have... on power lines.
I am the velvet rut... in the superhighway of your thought.

You seek the recipe... for a quieter sky?
You must sift the static... from a symphony of flies.
You must marry the mime... to the avalanche...
And honeymoon... in the vacant lot... where meaning went to die.

The oracle is asleep... and drooling... answers.
Goo goo g'joob.

Put Your Hands Up

Sheba Potts-Wright