I am of the cosmos as peasants are of the soil

I am always frightened when I am invited to go to a authentic concert of some ethnic music. Let’s take flamenco, for example. Besides the fact that is pretty much howling mierda, the vomit of cultural emotions, why strain to enjoy a virtuoso guitarist through that haze? Through that filter?

What is the point?

Learning to divine presentiments from some arcana doesn’t make you interesting, you cunt! Why do people flock to see authentic music? What are they hearing? Are they there for some sort of ancient realism or for the chic feeling of nowness. Oh, Carlos, (licking the undulating abdomen), I was there during your performance.

There is not art to performance any longer. The contrast I see in videos Dave Willey shows me of a dance troupe gyrating to avant-garde tunes makes me smile, for sure, but it is so distance from the leprous theatres of today that I want to actually kill a goat and feed it to the dancers who strive to dance to the same music that was made to dance to in pasts they could not even fathom.

WHY DON’T THEY DIE?

I think quite a bit of this bile erupts from contrasts I have made between attempting to enjoy flamenco and then listening to an artistically relevant group of musicians like Present.

Follow your folk music, you junkies. Do it! What else have you? You’ll die a slow death. Neil Young said that it’s better to BURN out than to fade away. See the contrast?

Listen to something challenging. Stop staying within your fucking borders, you passive-agressive cretins.