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"So what are your talents and skills and
strengths?" she asked. "What can you do?"
"I'll worry about that later," I said. "First,
just get me some fucking work."
But she said she couldn't. Because she was committed to a higher truth. A truth that wouldn't exist if she didn't keep conscientiously lying about it. And so, instead, she just handed me the complete works of world pornography (cross-species, cross-sex, cross-nationality, cross-class) as homework, or consolation prize. Whichever came first. |
About that time, I had the good fortune to join the refugee-funk group "They Are Their Own Executioners." Though we couldn't play or sing, and our songs were inane and sophomoric, and our production outright sloppy -- we were still considered the bible of all music, ancient and modern, and every singer, song, composer, tune, and movement throughout the whole history of all world musics, was considered just a footnote to our least ditty. Ours were the most copied and recorded songs of all time -- ranked with the great classics of thought, as well as the great classics of action. These were the songs that more of the world
Book: TABLE OF CONTENTS |