gemini://thurk.org/blog/381.gmi

I sit in a bar in Bilbao. The barman wears a beard and casually goes about his duty. This is in contrast to the previous bar, very close to the bus station, filled with backpacked women with demands for pintxos. Their drooling eyes almost matched the saliva that pooled on their thighs as they sat on metal barstools. They only wanted to get to the aeroport. It is a pity they are dead now.

But, anyway, I wrote these things to Christián, of which I shall elaborate on in turn:

> I appreçiate that the Spanish in the north is more pure and delineated.

It is much easier to understand people who speak clearly. Heh. Crudity has its cruel pleasures, however, and those exposed to *redneck* life during formative years are victims. I find the south crude. Their gypsy and moorish blood birthed abominations. These died and fertilised the land. Music arises from the ashes (or asses) of humans who do not know anything else to do with themselves. Circumcised with drink, I am sure their filth crept into stringed instruments.

> I can understand your love of the south and the rawness of Andalucia and Murcia and Extremadura. They slur their words and their brains fire on hormones dying without completion.

At times, I figure the heat is what drives people to vagrancy. Vagrancy of the mind, I tell ya. Texas held the same for me. *I wanna sit here and press my ICED TEA to my forehead until the ache the LIQUOR I swigged to forget about **YOU** gave me wanes into oblivion.* Yeah. That was Fort Stockton. There were two choices: the **DRINK** or the **CHURCH**. I suspected at times both. Fuck um.

Linguistic culture disgusts me, as it it deepens the stupidity of a land. I'd kill them all if I could, but I am a simple drunk at a bar in Bilbao at the moment.

Fleeing from cultural oppression is very similar to fleeing from heat oppression. Cold stimulates the ability to think rationally, to create sublime portents of the future. Heat lets hormones boil and excrete folk music - the music that, simply mourns loss.

Combining these things is genius. I've never heard Flamenco that did it. Other, much more *angry* forms of music do it better for me (the arbiter of **ALL** quality, errr). I want to put my throbbing, severed member into a goat right now.

I'm about to listen to a piece of music that will thwart everything I am thinking about at the moment. I'll let it pause for a moment. Fuck um.

Actually, I'm done. Perhaps more later on the **FLIGHT**.

Someone clean her brains off Christián's boot

Topics: music, progress, culture

2016-04-29