Forum Overview :: Rants :: Would you humanize me, Ray, your lurker, your lover, anonymous among friends?

[quote name="Mr. Palomar"]The strategy is to wrap myself up in an impenetrable vortex of name dropping, oblique intrusions, and received opinion, powered by a genuinely considerable basis of knowledge to cover my tracks, yet knowledge I’ll never be liable to defend or explicate thanks to non-committable aloofness and evasion tactics. I can escape your indictment even now by getting extra self-referential. Still, between Barborito, INC, and now mother fucking Cyrris, would you rather see, say, stuff like this . . . (?) "This morning I woke. Oh why. Why must we wake. The latter sounds like a good title, or lyric. I shall keep it. Breakfast. My mother, as usual, advanced to me, unwittingly on her part, the theory of Freuerbach (namely that one is what one consumes). I point out, wittily, that then only the anthrophagaii can be truly human (note to self : investigate further). Being not of sound mind she throws me out. She is an ignorant mother, but a Mater none-the-less. Walked through the streets with my guitar expectant for the melodies of those souls I walk among. Reached Patricia’s flat. I walk in and announce to her that incest is the new virginity, she looks bemused, poor thing. Being pleasant to look at I return a stare, and in that stare tell her all. I have been trying to get her pregnant recently, but have failed. Not to become a father, but to have her abort it, it would bring her politics closer to mine. Poor Patricia, not all her ideas are sound. When we first met (in a Japenese bar off Sarell Street) she introduced me to her brother, a dour looking thing. He said little, but I noticed why incest would not appeal to her. Perhaps it is that which has corrupted her politics. Why, oh why must we be harnassed to a carriage, when its occupants are headed to the grave? (Investigate further). Left Patricia with her vegetarian luncheon. My declarations impact her little. For me meat is an expression, a metaphor if you will, of our carnal requirements. She has many faults, but this one most irks me. Met Peter for a coffee. We discussed life’s limitations and came to the conclusion that god was either a cruel beadle or a workhouse idiot. Must we be his pawns? Not knowing the game of chess, this confused Peter somewhat. Returned home, like a dove to its nest, or a pauper to his Palace (good paradox, write song about it). I put on the latest recording of Thomas Cantebury (‘The Eyptian Hypothesis’). It does not make much sense, but the critics, and margins, agree with it. Must persevere and understand it, otherwise the barbarians will capture the hill fort, and how will I osticize? The Melodious Journal has said of it – it has depoliticised the internal structure of the mendicant realists, another victory for the post-music scene. I think I agree. Night comes. I fear it, fear its whisperings, its lulling chants, the music it implies rather than states. Does night only come to fool us all into a new birth? Why, oh why must the curtain be draped so only the stagehands see all, is it not the spectators who pay the entrance? I miss Patricia, and wish her beside me, does she think of me? Poor thing, I know one day I will leave her for the Peruvian Mountains, and she will be eaten by the streets. Yes the streets, they must dine too." [/quote]