i'm happy to conclude a revived jazz binge...
i lost patience when having listened to
john coltraine's a love supreme -
when walking - i had to find a rhythm outside
of a music genre that has it -
but feels to be without it...
yes... i had to learn to enjoy feeling -
not in this ivory tower of thought -
that the first moral lesson is: (th)ought i?
i'm done with jazz - as much as i'd love
to stick around and listen to mundell lowe's
guitar moods...or harry edison's mr. swing...
the images popping into my head are all wrong...
all i see it cigarette smoke...
shady blues bars and all this... cosmopolitan
humbug... commotion or any other synonym...
i'm tired of the city music...
i need to find the roots again...
i would gladly eat a thumb's length of raw
root horseradish or ginger than have
these needles these jazz horns ringing in my ear...
i once felt this sensation when landing
in Kenya - thinking about it would do very little
for me: it needs to be destined for the domain of
lolz and feelz... and thinking is all too precious
and is not recycled? every thought is a birth of
a genius? geniuses - unlike angels and demons...
men: not gods... give birth to these creatures...
oh sure... they exist...
"exist": always looking for an exit... that is...
but if the gods gave birth to angels and demons...
that's why i will never call any man
a genius - i'll call him: the man who gave birth
to a genius...
again... i'm still teasing the present-at-hand future
of listening to a mundell lowe record...
as much as i would to a kenny burrell e.p. -
because a guitar in jazz is...
like a horn in blues - a true oddity -
esp. on the part of solo -
i can't help to think that the guitar tames all the instruments...
hell... in the case of mundell lowe:
you might just fear a flute instead of a sax or horn...
but i'm done with this cosmopolitan choke-hold...
i could have sunk real low and become
crab feed for all i know...
i need to go back to byzantine orthodox chants,
to german folk songs, to scandinavian music...
mogwai? let's not go that far... although:
who knows? if you said: sigur rós...
well... björk: that's really stretching it...
more on the lines of garmarna...
or... finnish: hedningarna... the scandinavian gnome
sing-along... no vikings up there...
just gnomes and lake people...
or so i heard... "heard"...
back into the feelz... jazz made me think to much...
not that this "thinking" was about anything
related to things and extensions of things -
(res cogitans / res extensa)...
more like... res vanus and the inversion of things
(empty thing)...
how would it feel like...
to be impregnated by that sly ***** that hide
behind this body in **** -
that became an ego - each time i'm impregnated
by thought i had to somehow sort it...
oh the daydream fabric is too much sometimes -
talk about the need to find a heart
and feel something more sincere, concrete...
immediate... even the negative emotions fair better
than all that nonsense that bogus custard
thickening the already bulging cranium soap
opera of: things not followed through...
the etc. basket of a car-boot sale...
after all - what's wrong with feeling -
what's wrong when you don't give your feelings
a tongue - but instead sacrifice / bind them
to the ears and the heart itself:
to feel... a stone at the centre - and a molten fire
surround it... that sensation of a pang:
a pecking beak inside a cage without a song...
beside this cipher - as any good cipher -
the eyes and itchy fingertips are invoked...
- thinking can be over-rated when it is shown a vanity
mirror - not all thinking becomes translated into
a wheel - at best: a good array of punctuation marks...
that's what thinking is: if it isn't a well established
narrative bordering on solipsism -
what is solipsism? a thought experiment that teases
the real world phenomenon of autism...
or i'm just juggling words like a thesaurus
maniac...
- one can only become democratic... pass... stop awhile...
move on...
i know what being un-democratic looks like...
i almost became a william burroughs fanatic
reader... it's fun when it lasts...
but then again: at some point the oeuvre does
dry-up...
and there's only an old queen shooting paint
can with a rifle subscribed to scientology and
u.f.o. magazines...
the jazz binge had to dry up...
corvus corax had to made a return...
away from all that commotion -
back among the fields, the shadow, the forest...
the breath and a silence of the mind...
back toward the heart:
the sinking stone in a turbulent body of the sea -
back into tongues no longer spoken...
and symbols no longer in use...
for the dead to see using braille...
adam...
⠁⠙ ⠁⠍
i see... ᚨ ᛞ ᚨ ᛗ
i see... Ⰰ Ⰴ Ⰰ Ⰿ...
conrad...
⠉ ⠕ ⠝ ⠗ ⠁⠙
i see... ᚴ ᛟ ᚾ ᚱ ᚨ ᛞ
i see... Ⰽ Ⱁ Ⱀ Ⱃ Ⰰ Ⰴ...
away with the byzantine *****: цyrylliцa!
no can do... i will retain the latin script...
it's not like the romans venture as far as the baltic
sea or the vistulla river!
i'm a new-comer to a history as ancient
as these british isles -
but i won't be speaking any 18th century
english: no'er doth o'er what knot...
back into the mystery of language...
away from the loud, excessively loud commotion
of modernity of which jazz is a part of...
back into the forest: for me...
back to shaking hands with my shadow...
i'd ask the semite from jerusalem though...
what it your lament - your lamed -
your L (ל) doing in braille... disguised as N (⠝)?
- and why wouldn't i have a fixation
on the hebrews - the german yids -
when there's talk about the hebrews of:
the tzabar... and the yekke...
look it up...
http://www.scriptdelivery.net/source/resources/screenplays/munich.pdf...
there's the tzabar and the... yekke...
jews born inside of the ***** of isreal...
and jews born on the wing of judah's hope for resurgence...
even the jews have slang terms for the sort
of jews that aren't: the new the old... yishuvs...
but yes... i have a fastination
with the hebrews... and the german yids...
i too would: but it's a vain hope...
for some of us to return to pre-roman or pre-greek
epochs of time...
better show the dead through braille
a postcard of modernity...
what names have survived?
i am dignified with the names i was given...
oh wait... yekke putzes...
i always thought that the yids
called the skin of a circumcision a schmuck...
i must be onto something...
yews or yids... their internal politics is like
a godsend!
or something better than any english
soap opera - or mexican, for that matter...
that this letters still remain, intact...
and this latin... it's hardly an alphabet where
letters have names...
the greeks certainly have names
for their letters: o(micron)...
a(lpha)... e(psilon)...
among the northern "barbarians"...
Ⰴ(obro) - good...
ᛗ("annaz") - man...
what names are there... for the latin letters?
A is aH... M is Em... R is Ar...
the atomised man... B is bE...
what would a roman name a letter with?
a syllable?
he would behave like a hebrew?
he would hide the vowels...
i.e. SoMa... better lowercase them or push them
into the "niqab" of a diacritical status?
SM... this tongue these eyes...
and no totality distinct from the unconscious bargaining
man's luck for mortal exposure -
this body a vessel: not exactly chaining -
on a whim... gone! come death's eager scythe...
on a whim... in a blink of an eye...
there's no soul... no totality transcendent of me
not minding my heart - beating -
my stomach and intestines - digesting...
my liver and kidneys filtering poison...
if there is no soul - then i should really..,
mind thinking about my heart doing what's
expected of it... i should exhaust all the freedoms
of thought to motivate the heart to become:
prone to outlive flesh and become a monstrous
mountain: upon which an interlude of someone
being hoisted on a cross, dangling...
should be met!
the romans didn't have names for their letters...
the greeks, evidently did...
no wonder so many of their letters became
scientific constants...
even μ₀ - the vacuum permeability -
is a name... a bit like Li Po - in the forbidden city...
the romans didn't have names for their letters...
but they did construct a colliseum
using IV / XL fractions and measurements...
not an easy feat...
in all honesty -
a bit like reading braille...
⠼⠉ and ⠉ - remember... no colon allowed...
stick to itallics (colon substitute)...
or just the uppercase...
3c... ⠼⠊ and ⠊... 9i...
otherwise C = 3... and c = c... I = 9 and i = i...
unless... we're talking roman numerals...
why would you need... oh right...
you don't actually have uppercase or lowercase
in braille... unless you're trying to differentiate
between ⠃⠊ ⠛ and... ⠼ ⠃⠊ ⠛ (397)...
am i... somehow... "now"? supposed to
feel... "think", content, when translating
some 'orace?
i... don't think so...
little good looking back on the roman empire
and being the ancient world's afghanistan
did for the brits... in the past history...
in the past... not esp. now...
clinging to the latin text like it was
deus verbatim...
the french invoked a signature with their
cedilla C to sound snake...
even the germans with their umlauts!
the english ne'er nearer 17th 18th century *******
language...
call them the consonant or vowel eaters...
but not spotted out of spite...
repose...
a chance to stop listening to jazz
and return to the couldron of continental folk...
oh sure... if we were still having a fetish
for 1990s pop music...
i'm a ***** i'm a mother... with my one hand in my pocket...
c'est la vie!
c'est la mort...
c'est l'amour...
i agree... the etymology becomes mutated... grossly...
Ⱍ / ч - cherv... worm... glizda...
i do have: чerwieц -
the prefix - чerw-
which helps me... this much: | |
given that чerwieц means: the month of June...
how "we" came about knowing
the runic ᚾ (n) and turned it into ł (łagodzić) -
to soothe -
well... there was king Cnut and
the north sea empire...
and where do you think haggis or
black pudding comes from?
we have the same "dish": czarna kiszka...
black intestine...
which is literally what it is...
it's not disguised as haggis or black pudding...
it's literally a black intestine...
чarna kiшka...
since if vikings founded the city Kiev...
they couldn't have founded Kiev...
without passing via the Vistulla river...
before me this old continent...
to look toward h'america and her myths...
before me this altar of time -
before me all things left intact...
undistrubed... with museums of other
people's tongues and craniums...
and gangrene hearts readied for extraction
and re-awakening by the toll of fire...
as some might add: his "heritage"...
heritage of an anglo-slav?
well... less local to be welsh or anglo-saxon...
if the girls of Rotherham won't give it up
unless it's some ****- (oops... prefix...
the suffix is pending -stani)...
then at least i'll have a carousel when it comes
to what sort of idiots think in this language...
including me - the anchor...
and ahoy! the sinking ship!
well... this is hardly written out of
ignorance... perhaps... when malice puts on a poker
face and wants to do a harlequin dance
of countering pride & prejudice: inbreeding...
and hierarchal breeding and...
pomp & circumstance dance-off...
if everyone is so attired...
why don't i put on my true guise?!
i don't see the point of merely arriving
in a coffin to mind the matters at hand!
feed: mille anni passi sunt.
or... la i mbealtaine...
what's angry beetroot in welsh?
dicllon betys! well... because what prime
colour... would be better to describe
my current, jolly, disposition?
burgundy? plums done sly to a saute methodology?
dicllon betys! angry beetroot! yn ddig... iawn yn ddig:
betys... serch hynny...
(i guess that's serх and not serч hynny)...
no better cardinal or bishop doing each other
in holy matrimony of: anals of ****: first!
spawn of the constipated *******!
hiroshima, ivanhoe!
