every friday i get a chance to plug into
a gramaphone, ditch the headphones
blasting into my ears
at high volume...
pulverising me to a finite submission
in an infinite space...
crack open a bottle of henry westons'
like some archimedes revisionist
with a cigarette lighter...
the footie in playing on mute in
the background,
and i put on a "cliché" vinyl...
well... it's only "cliché" if you haven't
found something deeper in it,
or maybe: it's actually this **** good
that you need to imagine it
as an onion,
you peeled so many
layers off the record already,
you even encountered scratches
on your 80s disco glitz compact...
it's still only the "first commandment"
the first pillar of modern music,
miles davis' kind of blue...
hey, hey!
i wasn't born in the 30s to "figure-out"
this 1959 release...
what i have figured out, though,
well, jazz just sounds pristine on
vinyl...
the whole experience,
the physicality, the intimacy with the music...
it's not some hidden c.d.,
it's not some quickie-bypass
of an mp3 file...
it's there, rotating,
much more than a t.v. does in imitating
the promethean fireplace...
well **** me: zeus oopsie dropped
a thunderbolt
to earth and that became
the new point of congregation: t.v.,
don't get me wrong,
the current climate of crafting
meaningful dramas
outside the english soap opera marathon...
it's nice...
but putting on a vinyl,
and allowing music to fill the room,
while you're drinking a 8.2% bottle
of cider, not smoking...
that's like glancing at Jupiter
really close to it...
the experience of music
without the headphones: that's truly
something else,
and by now i can attest:
jazz on vinyl is what vinyl was meant
to be, sure, it's a simpler technology...
but this carousel "ride"...
admiring the subtle grooves
and indentations of some obscure
microscopic tendency to follow
the indentations of a canyon...
round and round and round it goes...
but then comes the appreciation
of jazz...
i give it "you" were exposed
to classical music as a child,
i know i was...
apparently it's called the i.q.
booster "food"...
well... i sort of had to move away
from the rigid concessions of
classical music...
the very aspect of a strict
methodological form of its expression,
it dies after a while,
for a very long while...
jazz has to naturally replace
it...
to start off with classical,
let it devolve,
and then to appreciate all this wonderful
modern bonanza of genres...
must be a "black privilege", "thing",
well without a few africans being
shipped off to the h'americas...
no blues, no jazz...
a thorn in my backside
listening to the the nexus vox
surrounding the rehabilitated
future generations of
the post-colonial present...
******: no german or russian
every dished out reperations for
what my great-grandmother suffered...
why should you?!
oh yeah... we received
russian reperations: communism!
why is jazz superior to classical music?
it, breaks, rules...
it's akin to some sort
of japanese art of painting...
it's intuitive, spontaneous...
like this: a complete improv.,
hence the naughty "n" word
in this text...
there are times when i can
stand the *******,
and there are times when...
i just... ha ha... can't...
like last night...
having succumbed to one
of the two higher impulses...
what are the two higher impulses?
crying...
and laughter...
i can't remember the time i giggled
so much into the breaking dawn,
over the whole: well the Zulus didn't
take **** from Michael Cain's brigade...
and if all these slavs (e e e e)
where shipped off... who remained?
the people who profitted from the trade,
shady agreement...
oh i'm pretty ******* sure
no man would go so easily,
unless...
their tribal leaders,
persuaded them to go,
sold them the h'american dream...
well... then Idi Amin Dada never happened,
nope, nope, neeeeeever happened...
only that Saudi Arabia gave him
asylum and a comfy "retirement" from
all the work surround skull pyramids...
black people could never be evil
to other black people,
like white people...
if i have some Israeli shmuck
tell me that the polacks collaborated with
the nazis: perhaps... forced with a gun
pointing at their head when building all
the concentration camps:
build them - or die...
nice, that's a, ha ha, nice ultimatum...
come on,
there was no collusion between
the slave traders and the african leaders
at the time?
no one talks about that...
like that ****** joke about having a great
distate for rap music...
'you actually think, it's that easy
to hunt down some of an n.b.a. posture?'
well either i'm dumb,
the history's dumb...
or we're living on another planet...
guns... ????
slave trade...
so... there was a tradeoff...
the african chieftan got something
in return -
otherwise why would it be a trade
and not a slave hunt?
me?
i'm good thanks,
i just have to live a few germanic retards
who derived a false etymology for
a whole ethnic group of people,
namely the Slavs...
hmm... last time i checked...
the word for slave in latin was
servus... not slavus platypus origami
servus...
o.k. o.k. i'm dealing with
intellectual retards...
i get over it...
słowo (swovo) - meaning word,
no, really, in western slavic that's
what it means...
i really hope we can
find a commonality...
one side attacked for their skin,
another for their understanding of
languages...
i don't even know who to attack,
i've heard the retards etymological
"research" and "know-how"...
extension - słowianin -
commonly associated with being a wordsmith...
maybe that's the reason for all
those great russian novelists,
and so few... being...
ahem... of germ- origin.
double edged sword, isn't it?