29 September 2015

Riffing?

You wake up, you feel something’s wrong. You fly to the crime scene, you rescue the cat from the tree. But once you’ve saved one cat, you need to save another. You’ve got to remain relevant.

Human births occur every second of the day: these infants will grow up and become the new work force of Antarctica, and they will never know that you were once famous for making things right.

So our galaxy’s president enacts a block of legislation that solves all problems; but, within a century, the system is in shambles again. Take rap music, for instance: it started out good and ended up bad. Why? Because things decay: it’s their prerogative.

That’s why it’s best to involve yourself with obstacles that you enjoy resolving—for, once any situation is solved, it is only a matter of time before it necessitates solving again. Do you like to fly? Would you rather be navigating tree branches than walking on the beach? Then keep rescuing cats. I assure you that the cats will uphold their part of the bargain: they just love to cause mischief.

Even if electronic dance music took the baton from rap, don’t fret about the longevity of that genre: somewhere, someone who pos­sesses real human ingenuity is finding a way to make it all awful again.

Even the old rock groups will pass away. You can perform live shows with your band until its final member drops; but, unless you appoint completely new people to fill your shoes after you vanish, you’ll have to count on a secular history book to preserve your group’s identity.

On this date, a good show was played by [band name withheld].

Schoolkids will be forced to read that sentence above. A few of them will remember it so well that they will offer a half-passable answer in the blank on their exam.

If you stage a puppet show, you’ll be allotted no more than one life­time to wow some followers. Gain exactly a dozen sincere disciples, and you will then be allowed to suffer execution. Bestow the puppets upon your successors. The core audience that you’ve acquired will surely keep up with the performances given in your name. It’ll take even your truest fans an amount of time to realize that all of the passion has been sucked out of your act.

Luckily, critics are on your side. Check the local newspaper: your show got a decent review. As it turns out, the church associated with your legacy bankrolled the publication and handpicked its staff. So the press has saved you, by way of a conflict of interest.

Every day, we see fresh young faces enter showbiz. These souls need encouragement. So the LORD looks down from wherever it is that he lives: he sees the social networks, the buzzing of trends—the LORD uses miracles to boost the popularity of his chosen ones.

At long last, the moment is perfect. All good things are poised on the brink of rejuvenation, and all bad things are just now barely starting to wilt. There’s an endless oscillation to existence, like twin sine­waves superimposed so that their peaks cancel out.

Have you heard the sound of the vendors? In the market, the din of merchants barking their wares? It’s not pretty, in the opinion of this prisoner. But if you adjust the intonation of the chanting of these marketplace merchants, and turn the pitch higher, it soon grows indistinguishable from birdcalls.

These sweet, repetitive chirps and songs that fill the morning air are avian adverts. For birds also bark their wares: “I want a mate!”; “I built a nest!”; “I found a food source!”; “Don’t miss out on this great deal!” —That’s what they’re saying. It’s as ugly as the internet.

The birds, however, discovered a way to beautify their inborn, selfish obsessions: they simply shrunk themselves, by means of devolution: thus, now they are small; which renders their warbling adorable.

This is what I wish we humans of the modern age would do: become tiny and cute. Pitch-up our sales call. Attempt to harmonize a little.

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