The Houn sits beside a roaring fireplace made of stone (in the shape of a lion's mouth, naturally). He rests in a burgundy leather armchair, staring oh-so-deeply into the audience.
"Hello, and good evening. It has been my sincerest pleasure to share with you the joys of my intellect. But, just as all tired clichés must be repeated, all good things must come to an end. Each evening, the Sun must die at the edge of the horizon. Every novel has a final chapter. Every assignment as mandatory requirement that must be fulfilled.
Amidst the Roar, you have witnessed the truth in its raw form. It has likely been painful. But alas, it was for the best. Into the night you take with you the knowledge I have afforded you. Consider yourself well equipped.
Beyond tomorrow lies a world in shambles. I admit this is a bleak outlook, but it is necessary. Each man is given the pages of history. These pages slowly degrade over millennia and there is nothing you can do to stop it. You cannot make a difference.
Every issue I have spoken my peace upon contained a course of right action that ought be followed. I am normative by my very nature. But not all can hear me, and even if they did, all would not listen. In a way, I have doomed you to walk the earth alienated by the knowledge you contain.
But wait! You are not alone. I am with you always, as a pale apparition of truth. Beneath my ashen face lies the beating heart of ghostly patriotism. And, as long as you carry me, I shall carry you.
Farewell, and Goodnight"
And he leapt into the fire.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Music: Godless Rubbish
There came a point in recent memory when I came to the following conclusion: I am the last entity walking he earth actually listening. It seems every layman I see has resigned themselves to their own world. This world is composed of whatever the individual should choose to filled their ears with. It is constructed between two "buds"- technological atrocities that serve only one purpose: enslave you.
The deft reader will have already understood my complaint through the above (admittedly vague) introduction. Allow me to slow it down. This generation, the so-called "millennials", is constantly filling their ears with noise that distracts them from the world around. As always, I shall attack the root of the problem, leaving generational ineptitude for another dance. This problem, of course, is music itself.
I have stated previously that as Americans, we enjoy absolute freedom. Indeed, all have the opportunity to destroy their minds with wretched "melodies". But I shall hope that my argument proves convincing enough to cure the reader.
First and foremost, music is always incorrect. It is personal. It is about whatever appeals to the listeners' ears. Whatever appeals is "good". Yet, every human has differing musical taste. They cannot all be "good". They cannot all be right. Still, the nature of music presupposes this. Therefore, to listen to music is to acknowledge to validity of Post-modernism....
My apologies, I just punched a hole in my wall. If ye subscribe to the doctrine of the Post-modernists, you are already gone. Stop reading.
Moreover, music distracts us not only from our immediate environment but also from the world as a whole. The sounds made in music are unnatural. You will find them in neither the wilderness nor the assembly line. So what good is music? It teaches us nothing about the world around. If anything, it compels us to ignore reality. Have you met a "musician"? They live in the place the occasional listener only visits. They are ghosts upon this earth. As Americans we have a responsibility to become the best possible humans we can be. We are in competition with the world. Totalitarian regimes are ahead of us in their restriction of this frivolity.
Now to ye naysayers. You who are addicted to the sounds of failure. I will offer up my own remedy. It is the philosophy that I walk with. My music is this earth. My melodies are the speeding cars pouring carbon into the atmosphere. The charge of tank battalions are my crescendos. I am a virtuoso in the sound of being right. My hands are my instruments. My ears are my record player. With them I hear the beautiful music of the American experiment. And to it, I offer my own solo.
Follow in my wake,
Calhoun out.
The deft reader will have already understood my complaint through the above (admittedly vague) introduction. Allow me to slow it down. This generation, the so-called "millennials", is constantly filling their ears with noise that distracts them from the world around. As always, I shall attack the root of the problem, leaving generational ineptitude for another dance. This problem, of course, is music itself.
I have stated previously that as Americans, we enjoy absolute freedom. Indeed, all have the opportunity to destroy their minds with wretched "melodies". But I shall hope that my argument proves convincing enough to cure the reader.
First and foremost, music is always incorrect. It is personal. It is about whatever appeals to the listeners' ears. Whatever appeals is "good". Yet, every human has differing musical taste. They cannot all be "good". They cannot all be right. Still, the nature of music presupposes this. Therefore, to listen to music is to acknowledge to validity of Post-modernism....
My apologies, I just punched a hole in my wall. If ye subscribe to the doctrine of the Post-modernists, you are already gone. Stop reading.
Moreover, music distracts us not only from our immediate environment but also from the world as a whole. The sounds made in music are unnatural. You will find them in neither the wilderness nor the assembly line. So what good is music? It teaches us nothing about the world around. If anything, it compels us to ignore reality. Have you met a "musician"? They live in the place the occasional listener only visits. They are ghosts upon this earth. As Americans we have a responsibility to become the best possible humans we can be. We are in competition with the world. Totalitarian regimes are ahead of us in their restriction of this frivolity.
Now to ye naysayers. You who are addicted to the sounds of failure. I will offer up my own remedy. It is the philosophy that I walk with. My music is this earth. My melodies are the speeding cars pouring carbon into the atmosphere. The charge of tank battalions are my crescendos. I am a virtuoso in the sound of being right. My hands are my instruments. My ears are my record player. With them I hear the beautiful music of the American experiment. And to it, I offer my own solo.
Follow in my wake,
Calhoun out.
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