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Post  camerondeuel Thu Apr 01, 2010 10:14 pm

Old men like to see their reflection in the stammering grimace of the younger generations. I hate to say it, but the feeling is rewarding as I spat at a toddler the other day. This was motivation for him to become stronger when he grew up so he could waste pay-checks hiring detectives to find an old man and an explanation for why he doesn’t leave his bed some days.

Look. This is the harsh reality. I hate most people because they dislike me. I figure I should go hard or go home. That way I can be traced to beloved football players and heroes of that nature. Understand that. I don’t care if you like me or want to buy me a coffee. Some days you look at me and I don’t understand why you choose to think the things you think. Neither do you, even.

There was a man named Johann Sebastian Bach and he is a dead man. His music is played today as though he were conducting it and supposedly people enjoy it because they feel civilized. Bach is missing the whole celebration and these people pay good money to see music they could easily find for free. So why even bother knowing his name? Just recognize the music by it’s title. If Bach were to come back today he would probably be astonished by his own longevity. He would be critical of the conductors touching his delicate, intimate notes and scores. They were widowed! He died and left them alone! What were they to do? Forget what I even said before, you owe me a coffee. Those songs were never meant to be heard by our generation.

Bach would then leave the laboratory he was recreated in only to find that cars speed much faster than horse-drawn carriages or whatever he was accustomed to and he would be taken out by some drunk kid with a backwards hat on. On that fateful night, J.S. Bach, one of the greatest composers of all time, would become a victim of drunk driving. And I know this because you know this too.

camerondeuel

Posts : 3
Join date : 2010-03-08
Age : 33

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