Sunday, March 04, 2012

...Psychopathic Percussions...


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You may hear the *strangest* music, but its syncopated beat will absolve you of all fearfulness. When you're fearless, you're complete.  The tunes are self-evolving and appear at no command, though remembered they are such as that as brought back from M's* land.  M's "land" has no locality, it's everywhere at once; see, everything's connected, and once "there"?  There is "free lunch."
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...Elevation's certain if one's open to this song in our universe of ...wonder... far from want or rage or wrong!  Time is its vibration and vibration is a music; too, that music is a blessing sent since all sense dances to it!
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Though... if one then listens closely for the notes to fall their way?  Discordant songs of psychopaths prove the order of the day! Know its "concert of collusion" for the chords that they will stroke... with their "self-invested orchestras" extant to play false notes!
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Their music is self-serving, duplicitous—a lie.  It's all about a "bottom line" to serve too few, is why.  It's all about a trickle up—where gulf's divide is plain—so some can live apart from us while we endure hard rain.
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See? Their music's badly written. It's not using all its notes. Songs disrespecting happiness?  Music smashing all your hopes?  Likely not the way its 'sposed to be. Better music is well known. But we're beset by psychopaths who conduct the cruelest tone.
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...Pray listen to their voices, though, for they blend in ways unplanned. A glimmer of some truth portends—it's music, understand!? Music has an inner voice, transcending any lie. Too, music leads to everything! That "math's a path" is why...
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...And, it's music that will always work, will always proffer truth; "told to be then, understood, it's then believed"—of use!  Finally, it is beautiful!  It transcends all obfuscation.  Above concerns considered?  It has the right vibration.
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So we "listen," then; who plays bad tunes? Yes, all we have—a pity—conducted by sure psychopaths who express a shadow's bidding... These conduct an "orchestra" to buttress status quos; the musicians, then, are in the tank... ...and bought.  That's on the nose.
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Let's grok alluded orchestras and parse them out real fine.  Let's analyze their music, friend, before that's made a crime!  Let's examine pitch and tone re-tuning errant strings, and make a better music than the "one percent" would sing.
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...The HORNS, then: played by News folk, though their key is flat and dull; aggrandizing solos are the "focus" they'd extol.  At best, "whores of shallow aspect," reporting not... (the bastards!). Betraying public trusts, one finds, they're serving other masters.
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They move a tune along alright, you'd almost think they care, though it comes up short of climax—denouement is never *there*.  Mythic Swinton blew the clearer note; he had to drink to do it—he knew that they had all sold out, and blew that tune!  All knew it.
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He hit the righteous high notes, then, his music sweet and clear; he should have been a front man, he sang so hard and dear. Though, we just rolled our blind eyes up, pretended a mistake ... awaited safer *music* which we lapped up for our fate.
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The STRINGS are plucked by charmless "priests" who moan their shallow dirge. They play upon the guilt produced on harps that but discourage. They whip us with their hair-shirt bows and cut us with their strings. Then, fleecing their respective flocks, become religious kings.
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Theists pluck "dour movements" from their strings composed of gut, thus provoking ardent churchster's weep and wail! That's just nuts. They whimper hopeless harmonies of meaningless dichotomies insuring only futures where we'd FAIL in bad harmony!
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They don't police their ranks at all, and do us ALL so wrong. Their songs are rank extortion built to string us all along! These songs are self-enriching and produce an easy guilt... for the many who just cash on in, eroding mental health!
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The REEDS are paid politicos who just whistle from their stumps... ...just exactly what a public wants to hear—the facile chumps! They listen to their horns and strings, then harshly hum their spin on things: a beatified corpocracy they pump.
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On gravy trains they'd rather be, they laugh at you and promise—tease! They keep their hand within your pocket, lifting cash and keys or lockets ... looting from your stuff they'll buy their music for their comfort's eye!
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Some reeds split off like missiles! "Truth at last"(!), you cheer and whistle! But these are reeds soon locked away if they refuse "their" piece to play! ...Johnny Ford was such a "reed" (I hope that, soon, he might be freed...)!
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An unpleasant cacophony, this mixture of strings—of brass or of reeds and more *curious* things. The movement is hollow; it is tuneless—discordant; it settles for short term and forgets long importance. It limps through its song like it's missing the notes. Forbidden to play them? Songs sound like a joke.
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...And who's this *Forbidder*? Who "conducts" from the shadows? Who's the arranger—this snake without glasnost? What is his end, and how is that measured. Who wins again (?); whose nest has it feathered?
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Good music it's not, but your *beat* is still good—and the notes they don't play ARE a symphony, dude! ...And that's your paid ticket! You hear what's NOT there! That music is better (...trades Rush for Astaire)!
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See? It's you who adds percussion! It's you producing heat! It's you producing rhythm... Individuals tapping feet. It's you distilling truth from fear. It's you to play and croon. It's you providing heart and soul—who keeps that beat in tune!
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...So, hear your own music! Refuse their contrived! Look for those sweet notes! Be on guard for their jive. Make new connections and wake up refreshed! Tolerate more that the MORE MAY BE BLESSED!
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Concrescence is looming, and what do we find? That their music's awful, but your music's fine!








*McKenna's Land

  • Bip.Boop.Bop - but'-ton, dada--dada!
  • Bip.Boop.Bop - but'-ton, dada--dada!
  • Bip.Boop.Bop - but'-ton, dada--dada
boom, pa-boom, pa-boom, pa-boom-ba-pish...

  • Bip.Boop.Bop - but'-ton, dada--dada!
  • Bip.Boop.Bop - but'-ton, dada--dada!
  • Bip.Boop.Bop - but'-ton, dada--dada
boom, pa-boom, pa-boom, pa-boom-ba-pash...

  • Bu-dot, but ot in dada! Tink! Tink!
  • Bu-dot, but ot in dada! Ta Tink! Tink!
  • Bu-dot, but ot in dada! Pa-tinkity! Tink! 
boom, pa-boom, pa-boom, pa-boom-ba-posh... 


  • Bip.Boop.Bap - but'-ton, bada--dada!
  • Bip.Boop.Bap - but'-ton, bada--dada!
  • Bip.Boop.Bap - but'-ton, bada--dada... 
(wait for it...)

...Taditity boom!

Restore John Ford!

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