Concertizing. The crowd within this marbled mausoleum bubbles above silence humming before anticipation. The new entries work hard to avoid eye contact. The young lean against the walls, eyes searching eyes evaluating the nature of the older society in its hive-like incomprehensible melody. An exceptional artifact replaces the usual house grand piano. All in keeping with the upcoming flavor of old European Baroque. The that restlessly mills about searching from a safe protracted distance for anyone notable that might be useful to bump egos with! The monthly animal odor of young females arrives in near proximity. Who tips the balance of polite society here? A default Jewish society influenced superficiality by the trend popular with the current apprehension of the times. Faggot elegant self-satisfaction masquerading as acceptable gentiles politeness as one is appreciated, all others fielding a health distance. The high tone nasal lisp of authority put into place. The current iterations placing a bite in veiled acrimony. The performers are ushered onto the stage by applause. A funeral black that is customary with a paucity of breasts in evidence. The music commence. String based counterpoint of cello and viola, the violin singing improvisationally higher above. A munchkin’s tiny voice slightly interruptive until the mother drags the source of same out of range past the oblong colonnade. Late comer’s arriving assessing the seating, and then making their move.
A certain erasability come of impatience. Passions beyond the occasional, expended a very long time ago. Inside all fellow audience members, the theoretically resting a soul of individual qualities, yet sublimated by a group dynamic that is lorded over by the conventions formally imposed by the manner of performance. Absolute quiet, no talking or restless stirring about! Applause only at the proper break in selections. A certain improvisation aire between the ensemble’s tuning and the rigor of its musically scored selections. The soundtrack of courtly manners passed forward to the present. The best recollection of a fictionally posed sense of traditional civility accessible to this ‘here and now’! That point in the performance when one’s own frailties are addressed. Stiffness and soreness borne over the decades relegated by the synchrony of sonorous string melodies sighing forth. Their volumes slowly rising forth and then gradually sinking like mighty ocean waves. The drama unseen by some but detectable by its uncharacteristic slowness. Silence, a missing, but very potent instrument key to the play of these compositions. A notable absence of disorganized repetitive chaos of sound absent. This disparity the source of a degree of charm. The mongoose charms the snake! Let the mind fall away into fancies of the past long ago laid to rest. A final repose.
Status signified by costume and task. The imposture of a pipe organ in compliment. Its central focus being the source complimenting the static restless suppressed exultation of regular human behavior. One riff organized over the borrowed motifs of other composers more recognized. A note changed here or there’s to simulate more improvisation posing as the same then bringing a response. The surface of the sea, the vessel as a whole incapable of a swift wind. The synthesis of efforts making the incongruities so physically apparent and challenging an errant dog within to bark. I recall segments from my childhood within which I found myself seeking out hidden portions of a domicile. Fantastic places where I could travel to long abandoned spaces and climb down passageways into dark corridors. All long forgotten by regular society by those in positions of ownership. The beat of one’s heart quickens just to imagine such places. In some ways like a rope tugging one back and forth between the risk of being lost in the oblivion of a macabre spirit world or retreating before I am invested not quite that far along. Just the thought of progressing forwards down into the darkness providing an almost perverse sense of sexual pleasure. Odd how fear can be so unpredictable as to cause one to call upon unlikely emotions to dilute its effect.
Ahoy! Two self-solipsistic land whales! One palavering away non-stop in the guise of the world’s greatest expert on all topics. Mundane, and mundane! Close by an electronically attached Queeg Queeg plays the role of the modern whale hunter. Gesticulating motions around their horn as he eventually makes his departure. Back in the coffee shop. Scrivener’s corner of this meeting place. The count being three. Two old male fossils and one smart phone connected female chronicler. The solipsistic universe of those in fatal discontent ringing out nothing but vitriol. Publicly venting frustrations. An errant stoic silent sentinel at the periphery with his attentions slowly swiveling from time to time like a gun emplacement. The young servers experience in this line of work determined by the shape and status of their physical form. A lithe sense of youth in shapely loins and active brisket suggesting the state in the circumstances being merely temporary. Maybe the attire, or lack of form suggested by the same, being a policy statement as well? Most of the women electing to take a table, some being overweight and ungainly, while a few are willowy and winsome creatures on temporary parole from their upcoming college class.
General humanity at bay! Some nice, some not! I am the newly designated ogre of this forced Global society. Young women 0f my own breed turn away when they encounter me. Just walking down a street passing opposite, how odd? Society really does not cotton to exceptionalism. That is all over with! Mundane and mediocre seems to with the greatest accolades. The confident act of some boldly performing young men is not diminished by this for a moment. They strut along self-confident with the audience of a skinny nerdy sidekick. Traveling safely in pairs, their corollaries in music branded and distributed as art. So little by little, the world I am accustomed to dies before me with no suitable replacement in view. This current world is a puzzle that demands endless solutions in terms of the proper words to open the right conversations with the right people. A smile today so quickly becomes a frown. Or worse, a blank stare of indifference. Whether in waking, or caught in a dream, a demoralizing start! Neil Diamond dirty dog dung blues cast in its theatrical Broadway versed commemorative avalanches of implied commercial discontent. The paper cup world has taken over! So bad that it must be said time and time again that external conquest of an empire comes from internal rot within. The deed enacted by born perpetrators from parasitic cultures that latch onto the mainstream and use every means at hand to disarm and dissemble it into complete helplessness.
Healthy young men in uniforms future that belie a future of dwelling within it for good. Something that will eventually deform them into twisted creatures possessing only an inner emptiness. Price versus quality will out being the mantra of this value diminished society. No hope of some imminent savior landing tomorrow in a flying saucer robed in sheepskins placing everyone on the installment plan to defer the continuing Hell of ever inflating prices! An earthly plan well executed by those who would invite over their thousands to eat everyone else on the planet out of house and home while making another attempt to ingratiate themselves further with Beelzebub by making another sale. What a rare privilege it is to instruct others with meaningless advice! Being able to say, “Before your time!“, to mean spirited little female nerds irradiating the very path they walk on making it poison. Comrade Stalin recounting that, “While one might consider executing the lyricist by firing squad with impunity, the composer must always be given a second chance!” I currently being at the conclusion that no matter how much one believes to the contrary, this is sound advice! Words will never be read, reread or heeded as the mortal being of the lyricist or author may hope to expect!
Then if I am to be universally considered a wrathful God prone as a matter of course to enacting heinous acts of routine violent destruction, then let me share the same level of lasting respect with the more venerable Chronos! Old Gods may fade in time and the stony images be wall-papered over with new posters featuring upstarts and pretenders, but this new covering eventually peels away to reveal that older baser original firmament. I travel amidst a changed world of arbitrary shake and bake corporate symbolism’s and tattoo significations that are supposed mean something universal. Icons and social badges that fuels the engines of ego bound motivated commerce to enhance pyramidal power. All at the expense of one’s soul traded for the latest kapok coat selling consensus over comfort. Better to run with the youthful herd that to be exorcised from it! How many young women strutting about too ready to ride that merry go round? How many old well-fixed balding males with paunches and spare duck tails buying the rides? How many young Wonder women too ready to play the youthful cavalier? And traveling about the periphery like zombies are so many once extraordinary vigorous now humbled with age? Caught in ignoble stages of inevitable rot turned into pathetic creatures trying every day to find the energy to limp on to find an accurate calendar properly predicting the final expected conclusion. Old birds enraptured in romantic disgust gripping yellowing pages of digest sized literary porn engaged in recycling snippets of their own previous emotional artifices of old into tailor made pretenses of the definition of real love. All pumped out industrially by female hacks so as to speed yet another morning load upon the throne of the porcelain goddess with a another few pages! My own rose colored glasses so obviously broken now and beyond any repair to see this world as being anything otherwise! I twitch my best along with them in this paisley clad gorilla happy jungle. A flounder now dying taken permanently from his watery element and laid upon the dry ground. In near proximity the intended gallop of cantering Lippizzan stallions and mares haltered in tight restraint trying to break free of the master’s uncompromising rhythm. Ersatz melodies from generations past smelling up the place like burnt chicory made of corn. Perhaps, ‘mission accomplished’, but not in a very creative way.