Loren Schoenberg

In terms of focusing on the writing and not the subject.... I'm going to tell you about the subject so that you have perspective about my opinion.

Jazz & blues are often grouped together but I often find them to be almost directly opposed. Blues is very much a primordial animal-- Muddy Waters emerges from the swamp after the rain covered with frogs, a sight which would make the average jazz musician run, and not stop running till he got all the way back to New York. But jazz is far more constructed, despite being less encyclopedic: than classical, I mean. Jazz I think largely takes classical and tries to get it adjusted, but it is largely about building a different house with the same bricks.

Now, I like it, somewhat-- better than jazz, on average, although I find the blues to really tower over both-- although a symphony, especially without sincerity, can be a feeble thing. I mean, it's not, always, alienated: there is a classical form of dance, you know, sometimes it can be glittery: Ah. Look how it sparkles. I like it. Let's collect them. Like squirrels! Not alienated at all. You know, Clementi is actually quite smooth, even smoother than jazz, although he missed out on being a commander in the pseudo-hierarchy, so you're not allowed to like him. Like a rich lawyer who's not so interested in maintaining his wife's wardrobe, Vienna often gets good at something, only to toss it away in indifference.... Basically, it becomes feeble.

Can it be adjusted? After all, this is New York....

You know.... Yes and no.

I mean, maybe my account sounds biased-- jazz is balanced; it's the whole cosmos.... (that has a degree).... I mean, that's one of those trademarks of jazz things: unless you're being interviewed on live TV, it's hard to define. (You know, like "bebop". Like, it sounds cool, right: "bebop". "Let's discover the science and analysis of, "bebop". "Do you even know what that is." "Not a clue.... I mean, it's a kind of jazz, bebop is.")Especially vocal and non-vocal jazz are hard to reconcile, even, even though they're linked, technically. And then, jazz and blues: I mean, sometimes jazz isolates certain limited, isolated and by themselves vague aspects of blues, and then sorta scoops out the blues and pours jazz in: you know, this 13-hand chord that gives you this vague feeling that you don't understand.... jazz. Even jazz songs, sung, and blues songs are pretty different: blues songs are stuffed with feeling, like a poor guy's suitcase, he couldn't afford another another-- it's a rich kind of poverty-- and jazz songs are more like a wry joke. I mean, if people made little amusements about behavior, instead of playing 'define igneous rock', solely in order to embarrass the other person, sure.... I don't know. Things, these things, differ a lot.

But somehow, it's more of a sound lab experiment, than a sentimental journey, (with Ringo! No! Not Ringo! Too popular!). I mean, even before Dave Brubeck shows up for the class trip, to apply an additional layer of college.... I mean, I like Paul Desmond, and Brubeck had talent, of course.... But I don't know. It happens pretty quick. Not Miles Davis-- he's actually very intense, especially for jazz. Jazz is like, smooth: if we're college music, or something, then it makes sense to be smooth-- we're not arm-wrestling.... Like Sting-- rock, I know, but you know, city/college-- had a song: I can't arm-wrestle for her love, and I'm not even sure I can get out of bed. You know, I exaggerate when I compare Miles Davis to a (comparative) boxer-- you know.... Fake you out, you won't see it. But Miles Davis is not feeble. It doesn't have to be feeble. It can bring back this smoothness from, I forget where, by this subterranean avenue, via this, procedure. I mean, jazz can have this subtle rhythm, especially under somebody like Miles Davis, even Paul Desmond: it can disperse the feebleness. But even when you get to John Coltrane-- I mean, Coltrane is great, he's vast-- but at that point you're already starting to get to this point where John Coltrane and the Byrds have to track down Ravi Shankar for a Symbol of the Cosmos photo. And none of these people are stupid people, but when you try too hard to transcend existence, you exceed in your procedure until you're feeble and rather non-existent. And then Muddy Waters emerges from the swamp with his frogs and you don't have a girlfriend anymore. (He just sorta walks past her and she follows him: he's that effective.... like Paul the Barbarian: he got to be good-looking, because he's so hard to see....)

But it's okay, because Dave Brubeck just pulled up in his bus for the class trip, right.... Just apply another level of college, eventually.... You'll be feeble. (Yes! I want an anti-fascist army in Europe in another year, is that so hard to ask! Yes! The western part, even! No! Not ten years! One! One year!.... Yeah, well why do you have to be so feeble! Feeble Westerners! I'm hanging up right now! Molotov! I need another beer, man! Feeble Westerners.... But yeah, have that trumpet player guy do one of those weird modern things that Prokofiev writes. I find it strangely comforting.... Actually, for a conservatory type guy, he can be quite intense....) I mean, chronology is shakey, because a lot of ye olde jazz from 1919 sounds very old and feeble, and when Miles Davis launched the New, whatever, in 1959, it was very intense.... Intense! Not feeble!.... You know, until you get to the part with some guy who thinks he's John Coltrane and he's not. Then it's feeble.

I mean, I often find that it's not troublesome.... or much else.

That is.... Like, say there's a bluesman up performing. And then the Four Freshmen want in: you know, music is a strange thing-- even if the bluesman is Stevie Ray Vaughan, does putting the Four Freshmen in his place represent a "neutral" move between two equivalent or whatever African-derived pop traditions, or whatever I'm supposed to say? No. No. I mean, the Four Freshmen would wait their turn.... I mean, I don't think that Europeans are necessarily villains in this cartoony way.... except for the cowardly murderer Eric von Manstein that the feeble West German authorities had buried with full military honors in 1974 when the cancerous old fool died of old age and feebleness.... But I digress.... but they can treat other people in a very controlling, and enfeebling way, while calling themselves liberal. You know, it's Africa Day, and you're the head of the African Team, so go up and give a speech, right: here, I filled in the grammar for you, just pick the right vocab word from the list, okay. ".... Courage.... Honor.... Freedom!" Good job. Here. Have a cookie. Courtesy of NPR.

I mean, sure, that's a bit of a caricature, exaggerated for emphasis or whatever, but.... "One time I heard a curious yet ultimately meaningless aphorism," says Wynton Marsalis, "and now I'm repeating it." I mean, jazz is all cosmic.... It's vast-- the cosmos, so grand!....

I mean, taking the college music professor, who just flew in from Germany, ("we've long since admitted.... that we're the Wisest At All Things, and that people should worship our Microsoft Excel-like country! Ger-man-y! Ger-man-y!.... Office workers, yeah! Industrial parks: the best kind! So yeah, get me those death, ah, ah, life-- health! Health statistics!.... Document the feebleness quotient! Document it! Make a graph! Quote Kant! Work Wagner in there, see if anyone's paying attention, or if they just assume that we're enlightened because we're so white that we haven't seen the sun for our entire lives! I have so much respect for my grandfather, for going outside, getting exercise, so healthy.... Damn those Americans! They pollute the air!.... I mean, we get that attitude or person here, actually sometimes I think that America is some sort of weird German colony via their weird quisling paddies in England, who incidentally did very little before the blues, and after, yeah.... [insert the reference of Superlative here: I don't know how to get you to, take it serious, yeah.... Hey George! You mean all that shit about love? My life? Yeah, I meant it....] But yeah, you know, my servant, he didn't drive the golf cart right, (safety!), didn't polish the piano right, (culture!), we shouldn't let people, the servants, you know, trim my hedge that looks like Beethoven, until they study medieval German illness thought.... (social concern!).... My investigations suggest that it can only be worse over there, in terms of German illness thought, but Science instructs me to roll down the windows when I go near the landfill: perhaps it will be a sort of feeble success....), and adjusting him-- Captain Kraut, you don't have to live the way you do-- is still this secondary procedure, but the primary procedure has somehow become to prep Wynton Marsalis for the National Creepy Orchestra (NCO) of Germany in preparation for Beethoven Day, and the ensuing photo shoots and feebleness. I condescend to distribute my feebleness, my illness! I'm your savior! Somehow, I feel like it should have been the other way around.... ("Can't arm-wrestle for her love," says Sting. "Can't even get out of bed.".... "Know I done wrong, left your heart torn: is that what devils do?.... I, need to know now, know now! Can you love me again?".... Which one succeeded in the procedure, do you think?....) I mean, I'm not sure I know what being perfectly-balanced in an ethereally perfect way would look like: I'm sorry if that frightens, makes you anxious.... But are there people with no priorities, in terms of having perfectly equal priorities.... "perfectly balanced"? What does that mean? Well, you can't define jazz.... But even vague things can eventually be given a sort of operational definition, of one sort or another.... Ready?

The scene: Muddy Waters at the edge of a lake, complete with frogs on him.
"Jazz." Say it all funny. "Jazz."
Muddy Waters, wordlessly, turns around, and goes right back into the lake, re-submerges.
"But wait! I have someone sickly and feeble to introduce you to! First he Shakespeares, then he Chopins! First he sings, then he sobs! Are you ready for that?"
A poor kind of wealth.
Random Coldplay Guy: Did somebody say jazz? I don't know what that is, but I love to bullshit.... ("Let's bullshit about jazz, yeah, all that New York jazz.").... You know, today is WWI Day, so cool, so cool, you know, an awful catastrophe against my principles: so cool, so cool: I remembered the factoids. Donovan did not. So cool.... People are like: yeah, the German Emperor being okay with millions of people dying, Wagner poisoning the minds of his countrymen-- so cool, so cool. Your sister going to the mall: I hate it! I'm cool; I'm cool. I'm like: Expert textpert, choking smokers-- don't you know the joker laughs at you?.... People don't even process that you're criticizing them; they're so arrogant. I'm saying, It pisses me off, that in Mozart operas, rape is like this casual thing.... and some bitch-- a female, a vaguely feminist-y, quasi Wagnerian girl, is all Downton Abbey on me: Oh, you must be making a joke! How droll. Fancy a dollop of Beethoven with the rape.... ["Fancy a good Quaffle with the medieval privilege, Harry?" "I shall play the Quaffle game for our class privilege!" "Miles Davis wants to sell you a Bitches Brew, Harry. But he says it's intense, and he's not sure if you can handle it." "That little foreign shit! Doesn't he know we're British!" But then Harry Potter-- poor little privileged kid-- tries to abscond himself into jazz, like a Trotskyite infiltrator: don't try to figure it out analytically, like it makes sense, just describe it because it happens.... Harry Potter, the feeble, cowardly infiltrator, stabs the mighty hero, our great captain, Miles Davis, and his loud, lionly cry of pain echoes through the American cavern.] Oh, and remember to tell your sister to stay away from malls and the devil's music-- so cool, so cool.... You know, you have to be a feeble rapist from a Mozart opera, and a feminist: SO cool.... You know, you go down to the swamp, you ask the spirit of the bluesman: Should I abuse my sister, or let her go to the mall? The bluesy spirit: I've got a right to love my baby, because she treats me so nice and kind. You ask the same question of a jazzman. "So cool, so cool." So white.
I guess Coldplay on a bad day, and jazz on a bad day, are essentially the same thing. I guess if they were having a good day, you'd notice differences.
I mean, I hope that the blues never die: because I know we'll always have jazz. Perhaps ever more soupy, ever more feeble, ever more municipal....
Until Miles Davis shows up to beat you over the head with his trumpet, I guess.... Oh, and that's why Miles Davis is a "jazz boxer" in my mind. The trumpet is originally a military instrument.... as though he were a (black) Teuton barbarian, and not a Roman/German.... even Coltrane is a little bit more of a Greek.

I give you my opinion about jazz so you have perspective on my opinion of the jazz book. ("Quite a feeble artist, in terms of procedure.... very feeble, in terms of procedure...." I really start to evolve these words, yeah, I should really get a presidential medal, like a jazz player, just for explaining how I use words.... Is it intense, or feeble? (A bifurcation of classification arrows.) Feeble.... it's jazz. Intense: it could be doo-wop, soul rock, or perhaps bebop. What's the next question. In terms of procedure, how do you define analysis? Yeah, that doesn't mean anything, it's just words: in terms of procedure.... in terms of procedure.... in terms of procedure.... and also analysis! Science!) Certainly there's plenty of generic, encyclopedic information about various topics and sub-topics, but of course there's plenty of that online: print is supposed to be more individualized, higher-quality commentary than whatever is found on, I don't know, jazzdictionary, the web site.... And his information is always tilted in the sense that it must be has affected as possible: jazz began in 1840, when Adolf Crown invented the saxophone-- although the influence of blacks was critical, in that they had to change as little as humanely possible.... I mean, he literally compares Abraham Lincoln to Louis Armstrong-- you know, Captain Irrelevant as deployed by NPR.... yeah, I mean, I guess Louis Armstrong had a job carrying Lincoln's suitcase and reading passages of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" to him, before going on to invent jazz in 1870-- yeah, Louis Armstrong, yeah.... Miles Davis probably isn't important, because I'm the Amazing White Liberal, and I need respect.... Now you're calling me a racist, I'm the Uncle Tom of white people, blah blah blah-- I mean, that's how the guys at NPR talk, our grand masters have come to purify us: you know, the budget. But yeah, you're fired too, Louis Armstrong, go smile somewhere else: it's time for the big boys to play bridge, and we don't want you around anymore.... Liberalism is demanding: you must be insincere, yet feeble.... Morally feeble, the feeble people.... But yeah, I'm a racist, oooh, I must be! I must not think that Polish people can do jazz! No, Polish people can do jazz. But did the Czar invent it? Does the Czar have the answers to life? And, I'm sorry, but most white Americans are not, are not like people from Russia or Poland: they're like people from Germany or Scotland or something-- steel-chewing, yet feeble.... but yeah, go ahead and call me a racist, I dare you.... Because if I were the king of the jazz festival, I think I'd have like, two black groups, and a Polish group, off an airplane-- you know, really crush the feeble people, refuse to honor them.... I mean, I respect Buddy Holly.... But man I respect him. They must have tortured him, the feeble people.... I don't know how to explain it.... But yeah, the Czar, right: he invented jazz, I think. He murdered Peter Tchaikovsky in 1893, but only because he wanted to invent jazz in 1894.... Sadly, I think that there are many NPR types who are so reactionary, yet liberal, that if you tried to reconcile their beliefs, it would add up to something like that. Anyway.... I mean, culture peaked in the 1940s? Even for jazz, that's, wow. Frank Sinatra: A Swingin' Affair, 1957: Ooh. Too late! Missed the bus already!.... Before people had heard of Elvis, even, but when he bought his first guitar: conductors and so on, they spontaneously exploded, you know.... science.... Miles Davis, Kind of.... Kind of, too late! Too late to have little sycophants like Louis Armstrong: they must be decadent!.... And why not? You're feeble; you must know all about decadence, in terms of being a pampered little white office worker. But yeah.... WWII was the end of culture: that's good, you know, I mean. For a racist.

Uncle Tom it now, for Old Man Liberal-- Old Man Whig, I don't know.... (the slaves start to sing a proto-blues song) No! No! More feeble! Feeble! "Sorry, massah. We'll try to scoop out the blues, make it...." I mean, some idiot around here has the actual book Uncle Tom's Cabin, you know in terms of a book not about somebody named Abraham, sorta. I mean, it's very: "He take fine care of my farm, Uncle Tom does. He's a fine Negro.... You wait till you're dead, Uncle Tom: you'll get your freedom. Matter of fact, I may take it that I'll buy you a trumpet, have myself my own personal Louis Armstrong.... A fine Negro, Uncle Tom." I mean, he's a mind-slave: a sock puppet. And since he's a sock puppet, and I must be a feeble, cowardly master, in terms of my location-- that must be what I want, right.... "You people.... feeble! Jesus Christ!" "My lord and savior." "My pale and white, yeah, Juno's mercy, Miss Feeble, Juno's mercy: may Odin turn into a raven and pluck his eyes out.... Call it, Operation Uranus.... I just looked it up to confirm the name: the part where Stalingrad turned to shit for the Germans. It's amazing, today, 5/29/15, there are no Soviet guys pictured, although there are five (5) pictures of of Axis personnel, although one of them is a Romanian: that must be Uncle Tom! Ironically, it was Uncle Tom who doomed Hitler, in the sense that he was too feeble to hold his part of the line.... It's amazing, though, somehow the turning point of Stalingrad is.... indecisive. Like, if the Allies had lost, and you were very bitter and very technical: when the Battle of France officially ended one day in June 1940, it was indecisive. The French had to spend days choosing between suicide and surrender. Yeah, in Stalingrad it was some time after: they were half-starved because staying in the conquered city meant more to them than getting back to their own lines where there was food.... I mean, when you're fighting human-shaped bugs like the Nazis were, pride is involved! I mean, it's the standard stereotypical-liberal website that everyone knows, that ignores and/or enfeebles all sex-related topics in accordance with feminism and the Man Code of Topic Importance Procedure, which it's a front for. It's not technically Wagnerian, the stereotypical amateur intellectual liberal reference.... I mean, one time, on the page for the war crimes of the Wehrmacht, Hitler's army, but you can't say it, it's been denied-- the Germans could deny the existence of the moon; they probably do-- there was this vague, feeble, white phrase about how we can never be sure, you know, and the reference was this source which unambiguously stated: the punishment for murder in Hitler's army was, no punishment. (I'm guessing that the punishment for misquoting an Illness Thought Author was death, like in Saudi Arabia.) I edited accordingly, and within ten seconds somebody reverted the Nazi trick version of the article, along with a "Fuck you, shit" type message. You know, some Royal Navy Expert Guy: Uncle Kraut. So yeah, in terms of liberals loving Hitler because of the Science Land: white people are so wise, right.... But yeah. (in a heavy, foreign/non-Russian accent) "But come on, guys, I love the snow myself! We are a northern country! Don't feel bad anymore, right: we're fighting Nazis.... Like how you guys did it against Sweden in 1721-- the Great Northern War. Show me your, Great Northern Rage, guys; it's okay-- I need that intensity, to land these crushing blows on the feebleness, right.... Molotov, do you have anything to add?" "Yeah, comrades who wants tickets to the free Cinderella ballet should--" "Shut up, Molotov. Nobody likes you. You're just my comedic sidekick.... But anyway, come on guys: like old times.... like ye olde jazz.... Jazz rage, guys, jazz rage!".... My own personal Louis Armstrong sock puppet.... I mean, I don't really believe in crossing strings myself, but that actually originated with raped slaves. But I certainly don't need a black sock puppet, I'm not like some intense(ly feeble) Nazi liberal, the Amazing White Liberal, Captain McNazi. Uncle Tom agrees. He always does. He'll tell you himself. "Uncle Tom, is the Czar a nice man? Don't lie to your sister, now." "Sister, he so right fine, the Czar, he actually British." "Uncle Tom, you such a fine Negro I don't even like calling you one." "It's on account of that fine Stowe woman. She take them privileged white girl named Bronte and make them look right excellent, almost normal. See some girl, she repeat every conservative thing she ever hear, like Charlotte Lucas, and other time, every damn liberal thing, like Lady Catherine. But you just want a fine Uncle Tom, it don't matter much, 'cause you don't expect much, but aping Shakespeare. Some folk, that's all they want, is sight unseen, to buy: Factum Ante Servitudum Finitus, or FAST-- that means 'bondage wise', in terms of Pope speak. And that I believe myself, because I'm Olaf the the Melting Snowman, and I love me the summer." "You such a fine Negro, Uncle Tom, you almost white. You good enough for white folks-- white folks that hate us-- You Louis Armstrong, Uncle Tom.... Jewish blessings, Uncle Tom! White man's blessings!" Note to self: use white actors, pale them up first. Oh, me? I agree. The sock puppet thought of it himself, though.... (Miles Davis starts beating me with his trumpet) No, Miles, no! It's just lines for Mr Collins, like I were George Austen, or something.... Miles Davis stops, says: You mean, not me to you, you to her? You to your girl?.... Miles Davis starts this epic laugh, eventually dropping his trumpet, in his intensity, and hugging me in his laughter.... Somewhere, for some reason, Cilla Black starts playing: "You've lost that, loving feeling, woh oh, that loving feeling...." Miles recovers, and with a smile says: "All right:.... Turn that shit off. You know I don't like your girl...." I myself can't always give good analysis.... What are we talking about-- procedure? Or analysis.... We're talking about the Most Famous Jazz Vocalist, Jazz Vocalist Chick, yeah.... Oh, you mean Cilla Black? I could talk about Cilla Black all the day.... The time Cilla and I went to Pemberley.... The time Cilla and I went to Netherfield.... I have pictures; you probably want to see them, right? We got intense.... You know, sometimes people are talking about analysis, but other times, it's procedure. Really you need both.... Coltrane! Coltrane!.... Coltrane!!! It's time to stop playing scales, buddy; we're in Studio 3. Oh, yeah, Miles. I'm cool. I'm cool. Yeah. You're cool. You're ready. Get in Studio 3.... You know, Ellington or somebody, giving you a paper smile, like you're the Sultan and he's the duke of janissaries, not like.... Evans. You're worse than Coltrane, and I can't even be mean to you, even though you're both writing your memoirs ahead of time instead of doing music! Studio 3, Evans! You got it, Miles. Wynton, brother, I'm sorry. I need this guy. He's good. You're the guy, Miles; I'm happy just to be hanging out. I know it ain't like before-- you ain't no Tom, and I'm a grown man.... but yeah, somebody should have gotten Uncle Tom to read Stalin's "Marxism and the National Question", "Socialism and the National Question", there were like five of them, all about minorities, and then "Concerning Disagreements in the Party", which was, basically, all about how white people amuse themselves with meaningless academic disputes, which enfeeble the government, for no reason, other than that that's the disposition of white people.... You know, you read Lenin, it's like, it gets convoluted and feeble, Russo-German, you know.... You read Stalin, it's like.... "I notice that basically all of our senior generals are quasi-czarist, fascist-sympathizing louts, but that none of the younger officers are like that. So here's my plan...." It's like, he doesn't ask anyone to Tom, you know, for obvious reasons, it would be like, I mean.... 'Molotov, how do you say this word? Let me write it for you? You say it like that?.... Mostly? Okay, thanks, I guess mostly will have to be good enough....' It's not like feeble people jazz, pre-Beach Boys California lawyer white people squabbles, Studio 9 vs. Studio 7.... It's like-- Shut. Up. Shut up! Ah, you're being so feeble in your analysis.... You have to stop listening to Shostakovitch; I'm sorry-- he's on toilet cleaning duty, indefinitely.... Come on, somebody do it like, Well I've got a tank, hey, that's something: at least it's a start; it's better than nothing.... C'mon guys!.... Georgia music!.... Patriotism!....

So yeah, Mr Collins on jazz, right: (If Lady Catherine had ever actually learnt the piano, instead of merely bullshitting about it in this feeble, aristocratic-affectation, privileged white girl way, then, she would have made a fine addition to your quartet. (winces to hear him say the word, "quartet") Okay, ah.... Go away?....)....the earlier date, the stuffier phrasing-- it's a common tale, but true.... But yeah, I mean, if you've never heard a jazz player-- in the entire course of your life-- who's ill with affectation, then you probably won't find this prose writing affected, either.... I mean, I'm not an eye-witness, courtroom witness, but alot of well-to-do, NPR liberals seem pretty feeble in their analysis of black culture. Like, it's "African-American" if he wants you to agree. Maybe Beethoven is.... I mean, you're not allowed to disagree! And he has to agree with you! And you have to be feeble! So yeah! Let me just scoop out your innards.... Won't hurt a bit. Saw them do it on "Downton Abbey", once.... You know, I'm sorry, but PBS people like that aren't good for anything: one minute America is being mind-colonized by some Tory that's Germany's quisling paddy, the next moment a Black Panther is running off with the daughter and the IRA is blowing up the mansion. If you add it all up, it's idle Labour.... It's a label, you know: deceptive labeling.... man, there should be regulations, right-- really, ironic, regulations.... Hmm. A dubious procedure.

I mean, even if he says something where, on technical grounds I might say something similar, I don't trust his mind. Like, he has to do rage against the fusion, and kinda, with an annoying aristocratic lilt, mentions "a dollop of funk": so her Majesty's GF Handel Symphony Brass Band, you know, should play funk: but fusion is terrible! ["Yeah, sure, whatever, immigrants, bugs, I don't care, I'm on the phone: No, you may Not use one less JS Bach piece at the festival.... *Downfall parody: people in the hallway can hear it* I need culture, damn it! You're fucking it up with jazz! Fucking jazz! Culture has to remain strict, like a fortress! *starts banging the table or something, and carrying on*.... Nazi liberal.] I mean, it's usually because the guys are being showy, stupid, and arrogant. So.... Yeah.... Sometimes Clapton, in the course of doing bluesy (rock) stuff, makes it jazzy-- "Blind Faith", "Slowhand", even, which sounds and is weird, but it works for him. I'm a novice with Davis in terms of catalog knowledge, but I can tell you his procedure was not to say: "I'll ask Wynton Marsalis to contact a spirit medium who can hook me up with Beethoven...." Yeah, fuck Beethoven. And fuck white people.

Wait, what? What about the Golf Cart Driving Procedure Training? (Safety!) The Piano Cleaning Employment Opportunities? (Culture!) The German illness thought classes, for a mere $150,000? (Social Concern!).... Yeah, fuck Beethoven. And fuck white people.... Wait, what happened? I said, Fuck Beethoven. And fuck white people. Oh.... okay.

You know, like if it were some stupid video game, there would be some cinematic, whatever you'd call it, where there would be somewhat decent graphics, the text box on the bottom, and next to that, the still photo which would flick to indicate who was speaking.
Prophet Man: Fuck Beethoven. And fuck white people.
Surfer Bro: Wait, what happened?
Prophet Man: I said. Fuck Beethoven. And fuck white people.
[Like in the blues: just repeat it, so that they have time to process.]
Surfer Bro: Oh, okay. I feel you bro. Like, Beethoven, for example: he's a creepy dude; you can't like, turn your back, or whatever. From him I get all the creepy vibes, the bad vibrations, yeah. It gets intense, actually.
Prophet Man: Intensely feeble.
And then you would leave the cinematic screen, and there would be a bell that would go, ding ding, and you'd see....
Mission Objectives:
--Fuck Beethoven
--Fuck white people
And when you win, the Beatles (ft. George Harrison) would do "Roll Over Beethoven"....
But be aware: video games, Will, make you feeble, if you contact them. It's like, you destroy, until you get feeble....
In some intense jam session in 1969, somebody whispered, "Love makes you whole": but you cannot detect this procedure, on vinyl, only CD. (C.f., your parents.) Vinyl is feeble: white people invented it.
I mean, someone like Steve Jobs, you know, white.... I mean, sure, white....
Steve Jobs: I would surely give at least one mansion to Socrates in exchange for dicking around all day.
*David Gates walks past, does, tuh, walks faster, starts humming "Everything I Own", to defend himself from the feebleness: a subtle defense, that you don't even notice it. It's like jazz....*
But, yeah, that would be like....
Steve Jobs: Socrates, since you dickered around with me for all afternoon, you are hereby entitled to one California mansion, and, *drops keys in his hands, adopts game show host voice* One New Car!
And then Socrates would have to decide, right, whether or not having a real life is more important than making dickish cavils about the people around you. He might have to confer with David Crosby, the whitest, I mean, the wisest of men.
But in 1949, yeah....
White Man: *raises arms* Procedure.... *jazz hands* Science.... *fist pump* Analysis.
He would be too ill, really, to identify.
Jack Kerouac would be all: I know that there must be a place where there are no white people. I'm going to take a car, actually, and literally find that place, because I'm young: crazy. Intense. *he would make a fist, to remind himself that he was still alive, intense*
Being prophet man is not really about being the itinerant dickish caviller.... You know, we're all.... Dickish little cavils like Socrates made.... Jesus, even.... Segregate yourself from women, okay, guys, ah, me.... Buddha, even.... Leave wife and small child to follow itinerant dickish cavil guy: check.... Alot of bad came out of the Greek philosophical tradition: it proved very feeble and vulnerable to, bullshit, basically. Neither white Middle Easterner, from a weird mind-illusion tradition.... Or tan Eastern Mediterranean, from a weird mind-illusion tradition.... You know, the whole world, right!.... Questions? Yes? You, in the back. That exaggerated 70s-afro black guy. Yeah. Your question. What about jazz? Jazz?.... No!..... No!..... No!..... No. No.
But yeah, very feeble, the genocide: maybe it's not even counter-intuitive: stop blocking both your mind and your heart, right.... First, I'm wordier than you are-- I use every word, and at the end, I've described absolutely nothing.... Therefore, I'm wiser, (whiter), than you.... Then, I'm superior. And then, one fine day, I decide to shoot you in the head. And all because I never listened attentively to the song, "Hey Jude".
Video games, right, feeble genocide.... Rumble McSkirmish, you know. Captain McNazi, basically. I invented that term with a couple different essentially-the-same categories in mind: feeble people are so small, that you can fit alot of them into one archetype.... But that's one valid application of the idea, sure.
I mean, I guess you lie to yourself first, that's how you get insincere.... I mean, I lie to myself about stupid things-- I'm going to pick up the socks: even though there's no girl around; I'm capable.... I can do it.... And Nazis lie about not being ill, you know.... Say, liberals, they lie about not being pro-repression, basically. Those Victorians! I daresay they put a dollop of repression in the tea, they did. [Paul McCartney: Have to put something in the tea.... Something in the tea.... Drugs! Drugs in the tea. Yes....! Yes. Must find drugs. For the tea. *scurries off*] Wouldn't you say, Man Friday? (I had to wipe his ass a bit at first, but now he behaves.) Man Friday. Bring me a scone. Very good. Good boy. Very good..... You know, like the character "Darwin" in the 2012 movie "The Pirates!". Great movie. Anyway.... You know, your own personal Louis Armstrong/Man Friday.... But yeah, those Victorians! Ah! A dollop of repression in the education: the devil's music, they say! ("Don't you know that you're toxic?") Terrible what they did back then, don't you think, Uncle Tom?.... But yeah, until they meet a real-life (People in the past must have been like me! After all, I live in the past myself!) example of pop music, rhythm music.... yeah. Yeah, you're not repressed and alienated from nature: I'm pretty sure I hate you. (Like Beria! "I caught you harassing racial minorities because you're a racist dick.... You don't work for me anymore. And I'm pretty sure you're going to Siberia." And, yet, somehow....) Yeah.... And, I don't know, they assume that if they sent Miles Davis to get you from the party, that he'd drag you out and bring you to church. I mean, if there would no rhythm, purely because they were having a good whine, yeah, he wouldn't care where he had to take you, but he'd get you out: like that stereotypical movie soldier who lifts the other soldier onto his back, like a box.... But, yeah, if they were In The Zone.... Yeah, I mean, the Victorians would find it quite outrageous, but Miles David might want to meld into the ether energy.... That's kinda the cool thing, liberals, I don't know, they're cavemen giving you advice about what your car needs, in terms of its procedure, to avoid an equipment failure, yeah.... But I mean, sometimes someone lives on the other side of an ocean, a parallel sea, you don't ever met them in face-to-face life, in terms of, intensity, private, you know.... Intensity. You can email like they were anywhere, you know. You can talk to anyone about something if it's feeble. The apples: the price went down two cents, because of the rain? Apples, rain.... Is it being random and stupid, or is it a metaphor? Is it analysis? No, he's just.... feeble. Other things are intense.... (breathy voice) It got intense last night.... Like, so intense.... You know, in terms of location, you know.... But then, in terms of procedure, in terms of the ether, you know, the music.... You come across, you know, spirits, who facilitated the procedure. I mean, sometime people are feeble: Louis Armstrong will be singing "The Wizard of Oz In Oxford Ruled" as this, cosmic, thing, right, and I'm like.... Nobody's here. It's a wedding. You what you like.... But I mean, there you have it: Miles Davis delivers you an intensity through the ether-- it facilitates the procedure, even though your location is so vacant right, the blankness, so vast, in terms of decorations.... [I mean, liberals are so: But if we intimidate people, So Much, eventually it will be process! Progress! Analysis! I mean, pretty soon, Asian people are going to be white, didn't anyone perform informing on that, in relation to you? Informing, in relation to.... Naziism, colonialism?....] But, yeah, in the ether: oh, yeah, there's Miles Davis. He facilitated the procedure.... Then, you know, it was ethereal.... It's as if he says, you know: I wasn't here. Not even in terms of analysis.... [Maroon 5 Music Video "Sugar", Expert Consultant: Commonly, elite opinion holds that in terms of "sugar", specialization in terms of analysis is bad, bad, bad ["and he's bad, bad Leroy Brown.... those diamond rings, under everybody's nose!"] thing, so if you want to perform analysis, you have to analyze the entire world: the cosmos. But we need sugar, guys. We need it. Don't fail me now.... We need it. "Okay.... Let's perform analysis!"] Don't tell Coltrane; don't tell Evans. Do not tell Brubeck. Don't tell, any, of those guys: I didn't know about it. I wasn't it. Yeah, well, yeah, dude: I mean, we had to keep it a secret. I mean, it's like vaguely illegal.... The liberals.... Don't you know that we're toxic? [Byrd: I am, in fact. *Younger than Yesterday....* Toxic.... Surfer Bro: Dude, you think you're toxic. I'm much more toxic than you are bro. I'm like Chernobyl. I live in a different world.]
It's like a movie about magic: you have to go back with Brubeck for some stupid ass reason, some experiment, and there's nothing there: it's like, there wasn't even a building; it was demolished ten years ago. The whole thing.
Brubeck is like, all patronizing. You see, Miles. Science is the answer. Patronizing tap on the shoulder. Get some sleep, buddy. You deserve it.
For the final frame of the movie: close in on Miles Davis's face, as he goes like, Yeah, like a sigh.
And then, roll credits, the song, totally, like, "When The Credits Roll" by George Strait.

But yeah, you know, the whole thing: Science, Man Friday, the liberals, Naziism, the Hitler opera village, (in enlightened Germany, of course: Germany-- where white people, are wise!.... Cut! Hermes, you're still doing it so, sarcastic, really put, Tom in it, you know.... Don't be like, Black Tom Cruise, be like, Uncle Tom, I don't know.... I'm sorry guys; it's just so feeble. Can I have a snack though? The god-union says I get a juice box break every ten minutes.... Louis Armstrong/Uncle Tom jazz.... Theocracy cavils.... The whole thing. I don't have any criticisms.

You know, Louis Armstrong invented jazz, like a lightbulb.... Or was it the Czar? ("You are a good serf, Uncle Tom. Not like Stalin. He's a bad serf. He doesn't have the knack for it....") Maybe the Czar, languishing in feeble palace decadence, invented jazz....

[I mean, if I were a girl, right: I mean, girls are girls, but I mean, as a comparison. Britney Spears, I am not. Britney Spears is automatically, just automatically a party girl, unless you repress her or chase her around, throwing copies of the Bible, Das Kapital, Tolstoy novels, other large books, you know.... Like, you bring a frog to the water-- Frog's like, water. Neat. Something like that, you know. You bring Britney Spears to the party: party. Neat.... I'm not Britney Spears; I'm Taylor Swift, except, you know. (I'm like James Taylor, except I'm all 1989-birth-cohort like.) Taylor Swift doesn't do as many James Taylor, I don't know, history songs: Slavery, right, such a bad idea, ah! Get a clue, white people! Ah!.... That's James Taylor, like, once an album, give or take. Taylor Swift is more, autobiographical, or something, when she peers into Odin's pool. (The pool of wisdom! But beware, white person! Odin does like feebleness....) But, yeah, only Tolstoy can do things like that.... wicked child. *turns into a demon like in a B-rated sci-fi movie, and an improbably battle ensues.... Wave the stick and say something in Latin, Harry! Brittanicus magnus, chauvinisticissimus!).... Leo Tolstoy, or Andre Agassi. Buy "Open", well, no, don't do that. Buy an album. But if you flip to a random page of "Open"-- or some random book; it almost doesn't matter which one: every book is written by either Mr Collins or Mary Bennet, or Kitty or Lydia.... Kitty and Lydia tend to whine: the other two, God preserve you, right.... God preserve you. But yeah, random page: "I hate tennis. I hate my life. I hate my life." [ABB, hmm.... maybe if it, were, reversed.... In terms of procedure....] I hate your life, too, okay; we agree.... But yeah, either I've adjusted to her style more over time, or she's gotten better, or both.

But yeah, Taylor Swift's like.... She has to think about it, like: If I were a snob like all the others, I would suffer so greatly.... I would be left with nothing but regrets. The answer is to loosen up. I must discover the science and practice of this procedure.... You know. Steve Carell movies.

Anyway.]

And, you know, people are like: I'm a historian; I need Louis Armstrong: intimidated musicians are a part of the past.... Fuck you, Mozart! I'm booting your ass out of this town! Although in a generation I'll have to revise the murder laws, to exempt Beethoven, and other white people.... We need to collect it.... You know, "California Girls" was a great song, but I don't think it was literally suggesting that you get married as a social experiment, pick a girl as an anthropological exercise.... Try to draw limits. Miles Davis made, like 50 jazz albums? You pick five guys you like, from the 50s on: Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Paul Desmond, Thelonius Monk, maybe Bill Evans instead of Dave Brubeck, whatever: that's maybe, what, 250 jazz albums? Do you need 250 jazz albums?.... If you do, you need a girlfriend.

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