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Date Posted: 19:24:24 11/01/04 Mon
Author: Gregor Ian
Author Host/IP:
Subject: my preference
In reply to: Gregor Samsa 's message, "Hang Wit me on dis" on 22:43:24 10/31/04 Sun

is not to hang with you because you are a fuckwitted idiot.

>You woke up to discover you were a roach.
>>Your wits are fucked.
>>>I never liked the asshole. He was a mic-hog sweat
>>>drag kyke and besides, he never even bothered to read
>>>me and it made me ill. Drama queen. That's what he
>>>was. A fucking drama queen with a penchant for
>>>coffee-house poseurs, then recently, I started
>>>browsing a couple of Kerouax chit and low and behold
>>>godblessem throatpierced sound in a lonely American
>>>night right before a lips ona mouthpiece soft ragtime
>>>>I haven't read any Kerouac for a long time. Somehow
>>>>came to be fixed in my head that he was just the
>>>>rated idol of two-bit coffee house poseurs. Then,
>>>>recently, I starting browsing a couple of Kerouac's
>>>>novels and i remembered why I once spent so much
>>>>on his novels and poetry ...
>>>>"Once there was Louis Armstrong blowing his
>>>>top in the muds of New Orleans; before him the mad
>>>>musicians who had paraded on official days and broke
>>>>up their Sousa marches into ragtime. Then there was
>>>>swing, and Roy Eldridge, vigorous and virile,
>>>>the horn for everything it had in waves of power and
>>>>logic and subtlety--leaning to it with glittering
>>>>and a lovely smile and sending it out broadcast to
>>>>rock the jazz world. Then had come Charlie Parker, a
>>>>kid in his mother's woodshed in Kansas City, blowing
>>>>his taped-up alto among the logs, practicing on
>>>>days, coming out to watch the old swinging Basie and
>>>>Benny Moten band that had Hot Lips Page and the
>>>>rest--Charlie Parker leaving home and coming to
>>>>Harlem, and meeting mad Thelonius Monk and madder
>>>>Gillespie--Charlie Parker in his early days when he
>>>>was flipped and walked around in a circle while
>>>>playing. Somewhat younger than Lester Young, also
>>>>KC, that gloomy, saintly goof in whom the history of
>>>>jazz was wrapped; for when he held his horn high and
>>>>horizontal from his mouth he blew the greatest; and
>>>>his hair grew longer and he got lazier and
>>>>stretched-out, his horn came down halfway; till it
>>>>finally fell all the way and today as he wears his
>>>>thick-soled shoes so that he can't feel the
>>>>of life his horn is held weakly against his chest,
>>>>he blows cool and easy getout phrases. Here were the
>>>>children of the American bop night.
>>>>Stranger flowers yet--for as the Negro alto mused
>>>>everyone's head with dignity, the young, tall,
>>>>slender, blond kid from Curtis Street, Denver, jeans
>>>>and studded belt, sucked on his mouthpiece while
>>>>waiting for the others to finish; and when they did
>>>>started, and you had to look around to see where the
>>>>solo was coming from, for it came from angelical
>>>>smiling lips upon the mouthpiece and it was a soft,
>>>>sweet, fairy-tale solo on an alto. Lonely as
>>>>a throatpierced sound in the night."
>>>>God bless 'em

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