it’s the sound behind the sound
it’s as if there’s some kind of grill frying burgers on planet macro356b-megaA221 and the sound of it is being broadcast here, to this room over the radio and it’s being played as background-background while wkcr is playing louis armstrong music, it being his sort-of one hundred-ninth birthday.
if you wonder where macro356b-megaA221 is, just go to “the eighth-electro-plasma-ocean of the ninth dimension” and bear right, slightly and head straight about 230 million light-years.
you can’t miss it.
today that’s what i believe.
maybe this is where i issue my disclaimer – all and everything i say and think is subject to change at any time, night or day.
just like bank and credit card companies.
it’s wonderful to live life with such a carefree sense of whimsy.
“a carefree sense of whimsy” – i googled that phrase and came up with one result, and that was a review for the linked album, something that was (oddly enough) carly was playing in my store yesterday afternoon. when i walked into the store and heard paul simon’s words and music, i said someting like “one of the greatest american songwriters, ever,” or some other bloated, know-it-all-statement, something that i might occasionally guilty of blurting out when it’s safe to.
“that gershwin fella did nice work” – there’s another one.
granted, my “carefree sense of whimsy” may have been born of sarcasm, as i was talking about a corrupt cabal of greedhound sonsabitches who are fighting tooth and nail to maintain the thumbscrews they’ve been able affix to the consumer these past twenty or so years and because money talks, they’ll be drafting new inroads to achieve the same goals.
the american banking system might need reform, but they read that as “having to work a new hustle,” and with lining enough pockets, that’s just what’ll happen. ditto the insurance and health industry. what happened eight months ago may as well happened eight years ago.
dear america, you don’t have a chance.
and that is why, like it or not, the flushing mechanism on the planetary crapper is poised and ready.
the saving grace about humanity’s arrogance and the celestial clock’s earthly cycle of renewal, is that they’re completely independent of each other. in the end, it’s barely cause and effect. tilting the scale a solar degree here or a millenium there doesn’t mean a lot in the big picture.
don’t get me wrong.
i love everything associated with being part of this doozy of an existence here on this cosmic goofball.
things that happen here you can’t make up.
this place is magnificent.
but it’s just a place, as opposed to the place.
recently, i watched clint eastwood’s last western “unforgiven.”
taking a scene out of the film’s context and putting it into earth’s economic, environmental and global situation, i looked at will munny (eastwood) as earth and gene hackman as humanity.
if you were to scroll along 6:20 into the film clip below, you’ll see what i’m talking about.
bear in mind, i’m not talking about revenge or justice.
the opening line you’ll hear is gene hackman’s character “little bill” saying;
“I don’t deserve this,…to die like this. I was building a house.” and goes on from there for about a minute.
eastwood’s reply, to me, is as spiritual a statement as in any
book of wisdom or from any sage who sat or stood anywhere, anytime in the short history of this world.
the “house” and the dream of being a homeowner.
this was the promise sold by the bankers who bundled the scams and gave dreams cash value and everyone fell in line, but we’ve gone all over that. we don’t need to go over that again. last week another half-million jobs were flushed and the experts were surprised.
i’m not an expert and i’m not surprised.
who wants to look at an avalanche, especially if it’s heading in your direction?
i sure don’t.
we were all going to build a house here in america.
we were all going to have a tent by the river.
we were all going to have a room with a view.
we were all going to have breakfast in the morning
and none of us were ever going to go to bed hungry.
hello world. hello tomorrow.
back to that hissing sound i was talking about.
some guys in the late fifties or early sixties were awarded the nobel prize for discovering the sound behind the sound of anything transmitted in the universe as that being background radiation, the sound of the ever-expanding universe still reverberating from the birth, second one, of the big bang.
i like to believe that.
i love the universe because it is made up of the broadest strokes on an immeasurable canvas using a medium that has me a part of it. every now and then in my life i have been part of that sound.
if you google “the sound of the big bang” you’ll find loads of sound files, and in every one you hear, you’ll hear a universe’s sound and the sound of the universe.
i’ve heard this sound only a few times in my life and it generally has something to do with hearing the sound of another seeking the same thing. these sounds occur in and around moments of birth and death. they waft into the room at moments of extreme stress or intense introspection. the squealing sound of fear and chaos that cuts through the brain, levels out if you sit through those innerscreams and the sound of all things funnel into that hisss, that sound before sound.
the thing that tells me that i’m still here and the difference between the two is either you hear the sound or you are the sound.
i believe i was the sound a couple of times. i believe the grifting lizards from mars envy me for just that reason.
i believe certain moments in my life afforded me gifts to the place of old electrons and eternal love. i live these moments every day.
when they cut loose the old analogue broadcasting signal a few weeks back, i was worried that the greatest show on earth, “TV snow” would be gone forever.
i switched on my 1978 presidential sony trinitron in the store that i found on electron day last year and there it was -
it looked sort of like that.
in there i see some of the oldest electrons from the dawn of the universe.
in there i see my brother and mother, hunter s thompson and ginger rogers and on and on…. and every date i’ve made, then and now, for a rendezvous on the eighth-electro-plasma-ocean of the ninth dimension.