I like this.
Me too, go on Ir! Please!
Thanks, Phoneutria and Orbie. In “Diapsalmata” Kierkegaard tells of an ancient society that roasted people inside metal bulls. The moans and groans of the tortured sounded to watchers like the sounds of the bull. Kierkegaard’s summary was that poets are asked to sing from their pain, which comes across to listeners as sweet sounds.
The old Johnny Cash sings the 9 inch nails song “Hurt”. We listen, Bob and I. We understand.
Cut my wings. Still I will sing as if I had them. The song is loss of things that can never be again. David lost his son Absalom. Bob and I have lost parents, siblings, lovers. The saddest words of tongue or pen are not it might have been. They are it will never be again. “Nevermore” says the raven that picks at the entrails of Prometheus. But the song endures.
And it sounds sweet in the ears of fellow sufferers.
In vino veritas. Latin proverb–“in wine there is truth”.
Music soothes the pain.
Music is a longing, a despair, a melancholy. The despair sounds beautiful to our ears. The greatest poetry is written at a time of sadness. Edgar Allen Poe was demented. Mindless Gonzo was demented. The Joker was demented.
People enjoy hearing the laments of the damned. Heaven and dreams are the purified essence of suffering souls. Anode to cathode. Father to son.
See the above on Kierkegaard. It states the same sentiment.
Baptized in beer, Bob and I sing.
Ir, i sing along with You, just follow the dots.
Can I also have a beer, please?
Ya, wohl, licht oder dark, bitte?
Hell oder dunkel, Orbie? Dunkel, bitte.
Ja, danke!
No, but I’d like that.
The Bob who sings is my step nephew. He’s a tormented country soul to the bone.
David’s pain songs were a mix of praise to god and lament. So are Bob’s and mine.
I see the dots, but then I’m inebriated. Our song is praise and complaint—all too human. The essence of pain songs is why me?
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Probably. In any case: Music is without hate.
Yes!!! It’s the only universal language.
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