I am a rather small man.
There is a new urban music artist that everyone seems to be clamoring over. People are telling their friends they like him by way of his music. His gregorian chant-like nonmetric hooks drive ladies gaga, for a lack of a more clever term.
I hate Drake.
I don't hate him because he "sucks", though I believe he does, I hate him because I am petty.
Ok, I admit, begrudgingly and through my teeth, that there are some songs that I enjoy that Drake might have created. So you can see now that it is not an issue of creativity or of music, but of a perceived slight.
For someone who gives off the scent of a bitch boy douchefuck, he has a shit ton of money. I resent that with a fierce and irrational emmotion chemically created between my bowels of hate and my jealous mind.
A man who played a cripple on the idiot box's 6th layer of hell (with only Vh1, E! and MTV burning in Dante's 7th) and has the mulatto's worst of both worlds complex, he has all the fame and money I feel is entitled to me.
I know in my heart of hearts that resentment should not lie to the one who manipulates a flawed system to their benefit, which Drake has by aligning his torn ACL with Baby and Wayne, and that I should not cry to the heavens of injustice, but in this case it is just too hard.
I hate the player who is winning in my favorite game. Harrumph.
Maybe I need to get to work. Yes, I think I will do just that.
I'm not as small a man as I once was...
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
NOLA 5:00 AM Death March
I almost exited this world, Friday July 9th. It was a very scary situation, let me try and recreate it for you, my would-be mourners (or so I would hope).
It was 5am and the wet New Orleans sky hung around us with a brighter hue than a typical Texas late night. I lead a tattered group of friends back from Bourbon Street with the end destination being the hotel so that we could rest our weary feet, minds and hearts. We had already walked Cohn home and successfully retired him to his bed so that he could recollect his consciousness and motor skills, both of which had escaped him earlier in the night.
So, there I am, stumbling about with the casual air of an idiot who has just made his regular idiot’s deposit at the craps table of my local branch casino, flanked on both sides with CJ the affable Asian and an umbrella yielding Pig Face who has the curious habit of walking on his tip toes with his head angled, resembling a Mexican Oswald Cobblepot. Bringing up the rear is ADHD personified; the aloof Shitty (that is his pledge name), drunk and doing honor to his name.
Now to the Action.
As I crossed the metal barriers on the median that intersected Canal St, I saw an economy sized car swerve and speed up next to us in a hazardous manner! The car door is thrown open, as if blown outward by an air cannon, and a black man with a disproportionate body (his arms were twice the size of the rest of his make up) pounces from his seat and ambles toward us, audible grunts and spittle reverberating in his nostrils, like a gorilla in the NOLA mist.
“Who threw that shit at me, was it you?” he yells, pointing a curved human-like finger at me.
“Uh what?”- I reply, confused and reactive more than heroic, at this juncture.
“One of y’all in the blue shirt. Which one was it?” he demands.
At this point the predator had honed in his threats on two people, me and Shitty. I take a quick look around and it is then I see why; Shitty and I are both wearing a blue shirt.
So, I resume being confused and, because I was emboldened, both with 190 Everclear slushies and reinforcement, by way of my three friends, I become a mouthy, insolent visitor.
After a bit of back-and-forth laced with confusion, annoyance, and disgust, the teased animal retreats back to his Nissan, rifling through the dirty laundry housed in his seat.
“Y’all from out of town. (how did he know?) This is the Murder Capital of the World, you better recognize where y’all at!”
“This ain’t the Fight capital. This ain’t the Talk shit capital. MURRRRRDAAAAA Capital.” [emphasis his]
At this taunting, it is only then that I realize the degree of seriousness and danger. Me and my ilk have made the grave mistake of wandering past the railing and intruded on a wild animal’s environment. We, while outnumbering by a ratio of 4:1, were undeniably the prey in danger as strangers in a strange land. At this revelation I change my tone and I began to gush apologies as death seems like the odds on favorites result. The apologies seemed to appease him so, his pride and manhood affirmed, he beats his chest and speeds away into the New Orleans night/morning.
Walking back to the hotel in the quiet shock of almost being mowed down in a random event that nobody knew anything about, our heavy silence is finally broken a minute or so later as Shitty begins to laugh.
“Oh my god, that was crazy. Did y’all see that? I threw that napkin right at his window and it stuck hahahahaha”.
“Um. Wut!?! You fucking idiot, why didn’t you say anything/take responsibility/you’re a bitch/etc” or some streaming response like that was all I could muster.
Shitty owes me a near death experience. Any thoughts on how I can collect?
It was 5am and the wet New Orleans sky hung around us with a brighter hue than a typical Texas late night. I lead a tattered group of friends back from Bourbon Street with the end destination being the hotel so that we could rest our weary feet, minds and hearts. We had already walked Cohn home and successfully retired him to his bed so that he could recollect his consciousness and motor skills, both of which had escaped him earlier in the night.
So, there I am, stumbling about with the casual air of an idiot who has just made his regular idiot’s deposit at the craps table of my local branch casino, flanked on both sides with CJ the affable Asian and an umbrella yielding Pig Face who has the curious habit of walking on his tip toes with his head angled, resembling a Mexican Oswald Cobblepot. Bringing up the rear is ADHD personified; the aloof Shitty (that is his pledge name), drunk and doing honor to his name.
Now to the Action.
As I crossed the metal barriers on the median that intersected Canal St, I saw an economy sized car swerve and speed up next to us in a hazardous manner! The car door is thrown open, as if blown outward by an air cannon, and a black man with a disproportionate body (his arms were twice the size of the rest of his make up) pounces from his seat and ambles toward us, audible grunts and spittle reverberating in his nostrils, like a gorilla in the NOLA mist.
“Who threw that shit at me, was it you?” he yells, pointing a curved human-like finger at me.
“Uh what?”- I reply, confused and reactive more than heroic, at this juncture.
“One of y’all in the blue shirt. Which one was it?” he demands.
At this point the predator had honed in his threats on two people, me and Shitty. I take a quick look around and it is then I see why; Shitty and I are both wearing a blue shirt.
So, I resume being confused and, because I was emboldened, both with 190 Everclear slushies and reinforcement, by way of my three friends, I become a mouthy, insolent visitor.
After a bit of back-and-forth laced with confusion, annoyance, and disgust, the teased animal retreats back to his Nissan, rifling through the dirty laundry housed in his seat.
“Y’all from out of town. (how did he know?) This is the Murder Capital of the World, you better recognize where y’all at!”
“This ain’t the Fight capital. This ain’t the Talk shit capital. MURRRRRDAAAAA Capital.” [emphasis his]
At this taunting, it is only then that I realize the degree of seriousness and danger. Me and my ilk have made the grave mistake of wandering past the railing and intruded on a wild animal’s environment. We, while outnumbering by a ratio of 4:1, were undeniably the prey in danger as strangers in a strange land. At this revelation I change my tone and I began to gush apologies as death seems like the odds on favorites result. The apologies seemed to appease him so, his pride and manhood affirmed, he beats his chest and speeds away into the New Orleans night/morning.
Walking back to the hotel in the quiet shock of almost being mowed down in a random event that nobody knew anything about, our heavy silence is finally broken a minute or so later as Shitty begins to laugh.
“Oh my god, that was crazy. Did y’all see that? I threw that napkin right at his window and it stuck hahahahaha”.
“Um. Wut!?! You fucking idiot, why didn’t you say anything/take responsibility/you’re a bitch/etc” or some streaming response like that was all I could muster.
Shitty owes me a near death experience. Any thoughts on how I can collect?
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
187
To hear the opinons and conversations of ridiculous middle-aged, mindle-minded police men of the state is to realize empirically, as a law abiding citizen, what is theorized by the average groundling crook. Idiots in the private sector become demigods with a badge. For Christ.
The beefy, bull headed Minotaur-in-uniform clanked his fork against the diner plate, infuriating me. His enormous calloused paws spiraling the bent fork into my flesh.
Though undoubtedly a dimwit, what transformed him from a man into a trudging elephant worthy of contempt, were his ridiculous blue shorts. The shorts left no crural room on the sides between the polyester and his trunks, an unintended effect of coffee, donuts, and a misinterpretation of who is allowed to be smug.
He turned and walked to me, as if alerted by an instinct born in the wild. His slow, heavy movements kicked off the powdered dander of his ashy knees, like a pachyderm kicking up dust as it walks. Clumsily swinging his heavy trunk-like arms, I think to myself, now and always, ‘If only he would use that gun to rinse himself off one time…”
The beefy, bull headed Minotaur-in-uniform clanked his fork against the diner plate, infuriating me. His enormous calloused paws spiraling the bent fork into my flesh.
Though undoubtedly a dimwit, what transformed him from a man into a trudging elephant worthy of contempt, were his ridiculous blue shorts. The shorts left no crural room on the sides between the polyester and his trunks, an unintended effect of coffee, donuts, and a misinterpretation of who is allowed to be smug.
He turned and walked to me, as if alerted by an instinct born in the wild. His slow, heavy movements kicked off the powdered dander of his ashy knees, like a pachyderm kicking up dust as it walks. Clumsily swinging his heavy trunk-like arms, I think to myself, now and always, ‘If only he would use that gun to rinse himself off one time…”
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Summum Bonum
The Premise
The intrinsic value of humans and the path we follow is directly tied to the value you provide based on your particular life stance.
The Arguement
I try and create value to my family and friends through the challenge, and hopefully, procurement of ideals, that ultimately create goals for myself. It is through Me. It is through my pains, sufferings, follies, wins, successes, and glory that I will bestow those awards.
The Execution
No man is an island? That is still yet to be determined, but undoubtedly, to me, the prudent man would be wise to take on a Florida-like peninsular position; Enough of the first colonies to ground you in support combined with enough of the Pacific to allow, seemingly, unending freedom to create and envision.
The intrinsic value of humans and the path we follow is directly tied to the value you provide based on your particular life stance.
The Arguement
I try and create value to my family and friends through the challenge, and hopefully, procurement of ideals, that ultimately create goals for myself. It is through Me. It is through my pains, sufferings, follies, wins, successes, and glory that I will bestow those awards.
The Execution
No man is an island? That is still yet to be determined, but undoubtedly, to me, the prudent man would be wise to take on a Florida-like peninsular position; Enough of the first colonies to ground you in support combined with enough of the Pacific to allow, seemingly, unending freedom to create and envision.
2009: A Comparison Piece
Exhibit A
Happy holidays and happy (almost) 2010!
This has been a year of many changes. The short version: I graduated law school, celebrated my fifth year college reunion, and moved to Washington DC to clerk for Douglas Ginsburg, a judge on the Federal Court of Appeals for the DC Circuit. I'm having a great year, but I'm also looking forward to coming back to NY next fall. The long version is below if you're interested.
Big change #1: No more school. The biggest change for me is that I will never go back to school (unless it's as a professor). I graduated from HLS in June (my graduation speech is just a bit less than halfway through this recording: http://www.law.harvard.edu/media/2009/06/03/dos.mov), and I miss it already. I'm one of those (very few?) people who genuinely loved law school. What I do not miss (and will not miss) is taking tests, and I likely took my last test, in the form of the bar exam, in July. At this point I also associate Cambridge with school, and I miss many things about Cambridge (including the chips at the Border Cafe). I feel no nostalgia, however, for the days when it seemed both to rain and reach ten degrees below zero. Sorry, Cambridge, you're not perfect.
Big change #2: New job. As I mentioned, I'm now working as a law clerk on the DC Circuit. Clerking is somewhat like being a research assistant for a professor. I read briefs filed by various parties and research the legal issues involved. Judge Ginsburg is an active academic writer and lecturer as well, so it's nice to be able to help out with those projects also. I'm not learning that much content while clerking -- the subject matter of the cases is varied and random -- but I'm slowly learning how to be a better legal writer and a better crafter of legal arguments. I'm itching to start crafting arguments of my own. In the end, it's nice to get paid to sit around and think about thorny problems all day.
Big change #3: New city. Life in DC outside of work is also going well. On the other hand, DC lacks NY's energy, there are fewer different kinds of things going on, and my family and most of my closest friends are back in NY. But I'm having a lot of fun. At a more abstract level, I'm also starting to adjust to the idea that I am neither a student nor a semi-student any longer. When I worked at McKinsey after college I never felt quite out of the world of the student because I knew I was going back for law school. Now the rhythms and routines I develop could (should?) be those that stick with me far into the future -- there will be no more disruptions in the form of a return to school. That's a bit scary, but it's also exciting.
Well that's it. Three big changes in one year, one long email chronicling them.
I look forward to hearing what you're up to, and if you're in DC (or passing through), then I'd love to catch up in person.
Best,
XXXXX
Exhibit B
Happy Holidays and 2010
This has been a year of many changes for me as well, XXXXX. The XXXXX’s Penis version: I went to jail, regressed intellectually, and spent half of my Net Pay on Booze and cigarettes. I’m having a necessary year that resembles and parallels, if my worn down memory serves, being a pubescent and petulant teenager. The long version is below if you’re a masochist.
No real change #1: “Holy shit, I’m the mixture of a stereotypical coned dunce and Ronald Reagan!”. That is what I think when I struggle to remember random shit as I jab 2 dirty fingers to my unshorn throat muff and anxiously search for a pulse, to verify that I am, in fact, still alive. I'm one of those (very few?) people who genuinely live like a true fatalist. What I do miss is evolving as a person and the greediness that used to drive me to hoard new knowledge and skill sets. At this point I associate the drive to progress with the weak excuses, as I am want to have, of a drunken hobo and with an apocalyptic perception of the reality I have created. (Fortunately, at least, this does include the tacos of Fuel City). Sorry, Jonathan, you're self awareness is finally perfect.
Big change #2: Madea goes to Jail. As I mentioned, I recently spent some time with Irving’s finest via a State imposed vacation. Oh, how we love our impromptu “Destination Unknowns”. Jail is very cold and bright. It is so bright that everything is amplified and colors are magnified to a loud, audible din. I laid on my wooden bench defiled by various parties and watched the Cowboys lose through a small window with a black man. Judge Assholeburg, who must be an abject failure in his chosen profession, to find himself in front of a deadbeats on a Sunday morning, is a county magistrate who made me pay $25,000 to get out of jail, so it's nice to be able to help out with his project also. I'm itching to not be a felon.
Big Change, My Ass #3: Spending most of my money on Booze, night life, travels, and traveling while boozed. On one hand, it’s my most favorite thing to do. On the other hand, being consistently hungover has really started to limit my ability to live in a world that every year seems to demand a bit more from me. But I'm having a lot of fun. I think. At a more abstract level, I'm also starting to adjust to the idea that I need to grow up and not black out every weekend. The rumor is that at some point, a 24 year old cute crazy drunk guy turns into a 27 year old bearded alcoholic.
Well that's it. Three big changes in one year, one long email chronicling them. I look forward to hearing what you're up to, and if you find yourself going through hell, keep walking!
Best,
JG
Happy holidays and happy (almost) 2010!
This has been a year of many changes. The short version: I graduated law school, celebrated my fifth year college reunion, and moved to Washington DC to clerk for Douglas Ginsburg, a judge on the Federal Court of Appeals for the DC Circuit. I'm having a great year, but I'm also looking forward to coming back to NY next fall. The long version is below if you're interested.
Big change #1: No more school. The biggest change for me is that I will never go back to school (unless it's as a professor). I graduated from HLS in June (my graduation speech is just a bit less than halfway through this recording: http://www.law.harvard.edu/media/2009/06/03/dos.mov), and I miss it already. I'm one of those (very few?) people who genuinely loved law school. What I do not miss (and will not miss) is taking tests, and I likely took my last test, in the form of the bar exam, in July. At this point I also associate Cambridge with school, and I miss many things about Cambridge (including the chips at the Border Cafe). I feel no nostalgia, however, for the days when it seemed both to rain and reach ten degrees below zero. Sorry, Cambridge, you're not perfect.
Big change #2: New job. As I mentioned, I'm now working as a law clerk on the DC Circuit. Clerking is somewhat like being a research assistant for a professor. I read briefs filed by various parties and research the legal issues involved. Judge Ginsburg is an active academic writer and lecturer as well, so it's nice to be able to help out with those projects also. I'm not learning that much content while clerking -- the subject matter of the cases is varied and random -- but I'm slowly learning how to be a better legal writer and a better crafter of legal arguments. I'm itching to start crafting arguments of my own. In the end, it's nice to get paid to sit around and think about thorny problems all day.
Big change #3: New city. Life in DC outside of work is also going well. On the other hand, DC lacks NY's energy, there are fewer different kinds of things going on, and my family and most of my closest friends are back in NY. But I'm having a lot of fun. At a more abstract level, I'm also starting to adjust to the idea that I am neither a student nor a semi-student any longer. When I worked at McKinsey after college I never felt quite out of the world of the student because I knew I was going back for law school. Now the rhythms and routines I develop could (should?) be those that stick with me far into the future -- there will be no more disruptions in the form of a return to school. That's a bit scary, but it's also exciting.
Well that's it. Three big changes in one year, one long email chronicling them.
I look forward to hearing what you're up to, and if you're in DC (or passing through), then I'd love to catch up in person.
Best,
XXXXX
Exhibit B
Happy Holidays and 2010
This has been a year of many changes for me as well, XXXXX. The XXXXX’s Penis version: I went to jail, regressed intellectually, and spent half of my Net Pay on Booze and cigarettes. I’m having a necessary year that resembles and parallels, if my worn down memory serves, being a pubescent and petulant teenager. The long version is below if you’re a masochist.
No real change #1: “Holy shit, I’m the mixture of a stereotypical coned dunce and Ronald Reagan!”. That is what I think when I struggle to remember random shit as I jab 2 dirty fingers to my unshorn throat muff and anxiously search for a pulse, to verify that I am, in fact, still alive. I'm one of those (very few?) people who genuinely live like a true fatalist. What I do miss is evolving as a person and the greediness that used to drive me to hoard new knowledge and skill sets. At this point I associate the drive to progress with the weak excuses, as I am want to have, of a drunken hobo and with an apocalyptic perception of the reality I have created. (Fortunately, at least, this does include the tacos of Fuel City). Sorry, Jonathan, you're self awareness is finally perfect.
Big change #2: Madea goes to Jail. As I mentioned, I recently spent some time with Irving’s finest via a State imposed vacation. Oh, how we love our impromptu “Destination Unknowns”. Jail is very cold and bright. It is so bright that everything is amplified and colors are magnified to a loud, audible din. I laid on my wooden bench defiled by various parties and watched the Cowboys lose through a small window with a black man. Judge Assholeburg, who must be an abject failure in his chosen profession, to find himself in front of a deadbeats on a Sunday morning, is a county magistrate who made me pay $25,000 to get out of jail, so it's nice to be able to help out with his project also. I'm itching to not be a felon.
Big Change, My Ass #3: Spending most of my money on Booze, night life, travels, and traveling while boozed. On one hand, it’s my most favorite thing to do. On the other hand, being consistently hungover has really started to limit my ability to live in a world that every year seems to demand a bit more from me. But I'm having a lot of fun. I think. At a more abstract level, I'm also starting to adjust to the idea that I need to grow up and not black out every weekend. The rumor is that at some point, a 24 year old cute crazy drunk guy turns into a 27 year old bearded alcoholic.
Well that's it. Three big changes in one year, one long email chronicling them. I look forward to hearing what you're up to, and if you find yourself going through hell, keep walking!
Best,
JG
Monday, December 7, 2009
Thinking of Fat Women
As I sit slumped back in my cheap plastic chair that stinks from its owners, at times, questionable hygiene full from the workmanlike holiday feast, I thought to myself, “I need to pull it together.”
Between deep breaths that resemble sighs and the deliberate contracting and contrasting that is the clinching of my ass as I dictate which silent farts I want to let out and which to keep in, like the membranes of microcosms, I feel a bigger part the disaster that is the American populace.
Beaten and torn down by food and drink, tired and annoyed, I think back to something that happened this very morning, something that has convinced me that, now, not only is life worth living now, but it never was.
This morning as I was getting ready for work, I stumble out of bed after a listless sleep in a warped and sweat heavy bed that has the squeaks. Now, let me clarify, not those harmonious and pure little noises caused by happy lovers, but the din of a picked cotton mattress beaten into submission to perform its owners hard work, like a pillow top slave.
I stumble out of this bed and, though I stumbled about like a lame man with clubbed feet, I was quick to forego the shower. I hurriedly strap on some clothes I deemed suitable for work and try and manipulate slept in hair. For those of you who have not had the unique pleasure of fixing slept in hair, I would equate it pissing down your pant leg, trying to clean it in a public bathroom, and then walking back to your groups table and pretend you were just a bit to gamey in washing your hands or kneecap. Nobody buys it when you come to work with half dried and half clumped by product hair, like a duck in an oil spill.
I take a load off by sitting in a chair that my roomate consistently made love with until the gyrations of his hips tore a hole in the seat and left angelic white baby Jew stains on the front, thus making it fit to be donated to me, apparently.
In my disgust, I go to my favorites and see videoxx.nx. I’m prompted by my hateful mind to click on the link and give a passing glance to those thumbnails.
In an effort to get to the point, I will spare the sordid and vulgar details of just what exactly was going through my mind, but I admit now before my friends and their god: I ended the morning with a rapid clean up as I was, now, running late as I simultaneously tried to close out: my BBW streaming video and the impure thoughts of the fattest girl I've known(seriously 275 lbs), that completed my self-loathing.
Between deep breaths that resemble sighs and the deliberate contracting and contrasting that is the clinching of my ass as I dictate which silent farts I want to let out and which to keep in, like the membranes of microcosms, I feel a bigger part the disaster that is the American populace.
Beaten and torn down by food and drink, tired and annoyed, I think back to something that happened this very morning, something that has convinced me that, now, not only is life worth living now, but it never was.
This morning as I was getting ready for work, I stumble out of bed after a listless sleep in a warped and sweat heavy bed that has the squeaks. Now, let me clarify, not those harmonious and pure little noises caused by happy lovers, but the din of a picked cotton mattress beaten into submission to perform its owners hard work, like a pillow top slave.
I stumble out of this bed and, though I stumbled about like a lame man with clubbed feet, I was quick to forego the shower. I hurriedly strap on some clothes I deemed suitable for work and try and manipulate slept in hair. For those of you who have not had the unique pleasure of fixing slept in hair, I would equate it pissing down your pant leg, trying to clean it in a public bathroom, and then walking back to your groups table and pretend you were just a bit to gamey in washing your hands or kneecap. Nobody buys it when you come to work with half dried and half clumped by product hair, like a duck in an oil spill.
I take a load off by sitting in a chair that my roomate consistently made love with until the gyrations of his hips tore a hole in the seat and left angelic white baby Jew stains on the front, thus making it fit to be donated to me, apparently.
In my disgust, I go to my favorites and see videoxx.nx. I’m prompted by my hateful mind to click on the link and give a passing glance to those thumbnails.
In an effort to get to the point, I will spare the sordid and vulgar details of just what exactly was going through my mind, but I admit now before my friends and their god: I ended the morning with a rapid clean up as I was, now, running late as I simultaneously tried to close out: my BBW streaming video and the impure thoughts of the fattest girl I've known(seriously 275 lbs), that completed my self-loathing.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Classical? Baroque? Who gives a shit.
On Mozart:
When one thinks of prodigious behavior, personal transcendent and indelible laws that govern an individual positioned on the outer lying realm of all the possibility and daring of human consciousness, one usually thinks in civilian or, for the lack of better descriptors, fucking bland terms. For example, The grace of the violinist. The focus and discipline of an athlete. The inherent nobility of a leader of nations.
Well, everyone knows Geniuses live in an otherworldly design. What my conclusion of one in particular presupposes is…maybe he didn’t.
Mozart was the epitome of the duality that plagues the grand delusionists, also known as me and my friends, of our time. He was by all historic accounts one of the greatest and most influential musical composers of all human antiquity, past and present. He was also a consistently broke asshole that enjoyed inappropriate humor and sexual harassment, heroic characteristics, past and present (and, dare I say, future?).
A frail man, he lacked the brawn of the noble savage and the stature of the royalty for which he played. His small, weak demeanor belied the strength and influence of his hands, which were usually one of two places, creating brilliant works as miniature pistons pounding the organs keys or creating pleasure, his and hers, second-knuckle deep in a powdered 18th century snatch. In fact, one could argue that he was the first musician to conquer a woman of superior physical prowess because of something other than his looks: The first Musician/Groupie relationship.
But to me Mozart was much more than that. Besides, through voluminous sex and scat fetishes, being a beaconing blaze of woman’s lib, a flawless writer of compositions, and a man after your authors own heart (read: blackout drunk asshole), he was an underrated and, and in his day, an unappreciated economist and monetary theorist.
Despite selling out venues to aristocrats, nobles, and royalty, Mozart was consistently broke and disheveled, remaining that way until his next performance or completion of a composition; a classical junkie whose demons lied in those Ivory Keys (White Ki's. I hate that I don't trust my reader to understand that subtlety.ugh). He pioneered the oft-imitated since financial theory of living affectionately called “Paycheck-to-Paycheck.” Piano Hand to Mouth with great hair (1), the only way to live.
The Hand, The Bitches, The Composition.(2) One word: Genius.(3)
1. Louthan, M., via text message, 2009
2. Derived: Leal, Babs & Olivarez, Esther, via text message, 2009
3. Leal, Babs & Olivarez, Esther, via text message, 2009
When one thinks of prodigious behavior, personal transcendent and indelible laws that govern an individual positioned on the outer lying realm of all the possibility and daring of human consciousness, one usually thinks in civilian or, for the lack of better descriptors, fucking bland terms. For example, The grace of the violinist. The focus and discipline of an athlete. The inherent nobility of a leader of nations.
Well, everyone knows Geniuses live in an otherworldly design. What my conclusion of one in particular presupposes is…maybe he didn’t.
Mozart was the epitome of the duality that plagues the grand delusionists, also known as me and my friends, of our time. He was by all historic accounts one of the greatest and most influential musical composers of all human antiquity, past and present. He was also a consistently broke asshole that enjoyed inappropriate humor and sexual harassment, heroic characteristics, past and present (and, dare I say, future?).
A frail man, he lacked the brawn of the noble savage and the stature of the royalty for which he played. His small, weak demeanor belied the strength and influence of his hands, which were usually one of two places, creating brilliant works as miniature pistons pounding the organs keys or creating pleasure, his and hers, second-knuckle deep in a powdered 18th century snatch. In fact, one could argue that he was the first musician to conquer a woman of superior physical prowess because of something other than his looks: The first Musician/Groupie relationship.
But to me Mozart was much more than that. Besides, through voluminous sex and scat fetishes, being a beaconing blaze of woman’s lib, a flawless writer of compositions, and a man after your authors own heart (read: blackout drunk asshole), he was an underrated and, and in his day, an unappreciated economist and monetary theorist.
Despite selling out venues to aristocrats, nobles, and royalty, Mozart was consistently broke and disheveled, remaining that way until his next performance or completion of a composition; a classical junkie whose demons lied in those Ivory Keys (White Ki's. I hate that I don't trust my reader to understand that subtlety.ugh). He pioneered the oft-imitated since financial theory of living affectionately called “Paycheck-to-Paycheck.” Piano Hand to Mouth with great hair (1), the only way to live.
The Hand, The Bitches, The Composition.(2) One word: Genius.(3)
1. Louthan, M., via text message, 2009
2. Derived: Leal, Babs & Olivarez, Esther, via text message, 2009
3. Leal, Babs & Olivarez, Esther, via text message, 2009
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