"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed." - Albert Einstein
Father, mother, sister, brother, uncle, auntie, everyone at the party, the horse, the pig, the judge with his wig, the fox and the rabbit and the nun in her habbit. My mate Bill Gates, the president of the united states, the slacker and the worker and the girl in her burqa. The general with his tank, the man at the bank, the soldier with his rocket, the mouse in my pocket, the drug-addled wreck with a needle in his neck, the drunk, the punk, the brave buddhist monk. The blind referee, the unlucky amputee, the giant killer bee landing on my knee, the cop with his breathaliser, the paddy with his fertiliser, the man in the basement that's getting a taste for it. The fucked up rastafarian, the dribbling libertarian, the sweet litle goth with the ears of cloth. The cross-over country singer, the hump-backed bell ringer, the swinger, the flinger the outraged right-winger. The man going hiking, the misunderstood viking, the man at the rodeo, the lonely old eskimo, the mild little christian, the wild Sonny Liston, the pimp and the gimp and the guy with a limp. The blind piano tuner, the Las Vegas crooner, the hooligan mooner holding a schooner. The chinese contortionist, the backyard abortionist, the poor pakistani with his lamb birriani, the hopeless defendant, the toilet attendant, the pornographer, the stenographer, the fashion photographer, the college proffesor, the vicious cross-dresser, gandma and grandpa in the back of the car. The hack at the doorstep, the midwife with her forceps, the demented young lady who is roasting her baby, the athlete with his hernia, Picasso with his Guernica, my wife with her furniture, everybody. the laughing hyena, the homesick polish cleaner, the man from the klan with a torch in his hand, the chinese herbologist, the christian apologist, the dog and the frog sitting on the log. The foxhunting toff, the horrible moth, the doomed homosexual with the persistant cough, the papist with his soul, the rapist on a roll, Jack and Jill as they roll down the hill. The clever circus flee, the sailor on the sea, the man from the Daily Mail with his dead refugee, the hymen-busting Zulu, the proad kangeroo, the koala, the echidna, the platipus too, the disgraced counrty vicar, the crazed guitar picker, the beatnik, the peacenik, the apparachick. The deranged midnight stalker, Garcia lorca, the hitman, Walt Whitman, the haliototic talker. The wine taster with his nose, the fireman with his hose, the pedestrian, the equestrian, the tap dancer with his toes. The beast in the beauty pagaent, the pimply real estate agent, the beach-comber, the roamer, the girl in a coma, the old rock 'n roller with his two seated stroller and the fan in a van with an abominable plan, the menstruating jewess, the nervous stewardess, the hijacker, the backpacker, the cunning safe cracker, the sports commentater, the old alligator, the tennis pro with his racquet, the loon in his straight jacket. The butcher with his cleaver, the mad basket weaver, the jaded boxing writer and the glass-jawed fighter. The old town cryer, the inveterate liar, the pilchard the bream and the trout in the stream, thewar correspondant, the enthused and the despondent, the electrician, the mortician, the man going fishing, The cattleman from Down under, the patriot with his plunder watching a boat of refugees sinking in to the sea, the silicone junkie, the corporate flunky, the Italian designer with his rickshaw in China. The trucker with his juggernaut, the lost astronaut, the share cropper, the bent copper, the compulsive shopper, the venniese vampire, the cowboy round his campfire, the gameshow panelist, the Jungian analyst, Warren, Blixa, the lighting guy and mixer, mick, marty, everyone at the party, the hairy arachnohobic, the scary agarophobic, the brother the mother and the decomposing lover.
"i stood for a moment on the scent, smelling this shrill and blood-raw music, sniffing the atmosphere of the hall angrily, and hankering after it a little too. One half of this music, the melody, was all pomade and sugar and sentimentality. The other half was savage, temperamental and vigorous. Yet the two went artlessly well together and made a whole. It was the music of decline. There must have been such music in Rome under the late emperors. Compared with Bach and Mozart and real music it was, naturally, a miserable affair; but so was all our art, all our thought, all our makeshift culture in comparison with real culture. And this music had a merit of great sincerity."
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