I'm John. I am an engineer by day and a guitar nerd by night. This blog is mostly guitar and science stuff with a dash of anti-state politics and personal rambling.
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DMITRI SHOSTAKOVICH WRITES TO SID VICIOUS
for Op. 47, Symphony No. 5 in D minor
I have seen your type before, more times than
your lip-curl can count. You parade, petulant,
sneering. Believe the detachment in your gaze
to be of worth. Oh, you toothless snake – you
fancy yourself a dangerous thing, coiled
in gutters as if waiting to strike your prey.
Do you recognize this luxury afforded you?
Can you see how great your infernal privilege,
to willingly cast yourself as such a spectacle?
You wet your lips with poison and call it
rebellion. Lie as the dogs do in a pool of contempt
for the architects of your own house. Railing
in the streets with all your rage, yet no more harmful than
a child’s toy, as though foul temper and a forked
tongue can set ablaze the fires of revolution.
For all the safety and comfort your world affords,
you could ignite the heavens. Pull the ivory towers
down to the common room floor. You could
rise to the rank of hero, rally as a banner
which the masses would follow bravely
to the ends of the earth. Yet here you stand,
glass-eyed and drooling, content to live
in infamy as the bumbling jester in a courtroom
of decadence and waste. Let me tell you what
I have come to know: it is the man who stands
tall as a fresh nail in virgin pine who is first to feel
the crush, the swing of the hammer’s kiss. Beneath
the panopticon’s watchful eye, one can wither
or flourish. There is a terror to be felt, pure as
new snow, when the state will have you bow
to their demands – by freedom of will, or
the point of a sword, it makes no difference.
We have both felt the sting of oppression
bearing down upon our backs as a cudgel.
Fear has brought us both trembling before the lash,
but you meet the promise of dread with
joyless nihilism, sneering at the crown
only to the point of slumber, then dozing
in alleys and filthy floors like a tiger declawed.
You stagger drunkenly into dim-lit rooms,
proudly wielding your brazen lack of craft
as though it were a medal earned in time
of war; I have honed the tip of my pen
into the sharpest blade to make the most
imperceptible of cuts. Scoff, of course –
you must – but the smallest wounds can fall
even the mightiest of kings, if they remain
unnoticed until the damage has been done.
I watched a few episodes of Broad City with Dave last night and I laughed so hard I almost passed out. 11/10, would recommend, would do again, this show is fucking awesome.
HAHAHAHA SORRY/NOT SORRY DAVE
Looks like I have to watch this now.
There’s only ten episodes and they’re 22 minutes long and you think I’m cute so yeah you probably should.
Your logic is truly flawless.