ON ELECTRONIC MUSIC
In these moments of lyrical reflection, I find that electronic music – atmospheric techno or hard-house, depending on my mood – really helps to get the creative juices flowing. I was pounding the keys madly, churning out rhyming couplet after rhyming couplet. I broke into a heavy sweat, which tends to happen when I am stroking my inner bard and pumped full of cocaine. I completed the poem. I had fractured it at the caesuras, an instinct really, not my initial intention, but the overall effect was haunting and disjointed. I sat back in my chair. I closed my eyes and bopped my head to the sinuous electronic grooves. I ran my hands over my nude torso as if caressing a lover’s body.
“Master… I hadn’t been expecting you…" “…So you decided to tickle your nips like a schoolgirl? And what is this crappy muzak you’re listening to?” I straightened up. I felt the need to cover myself, but my oriental robe was across the room. I would have to face him in the nude. “It is the latest release by DJ Sticky Fingers, my Master.” Satan listened for a moment. Distaste was clearly etched on his face, even at low-resolution. “What instrument does he play? A Sega Genesis?” “It is electronic music, Master. It is created using computers.” Satan listened again. “Are you only allowed to dance like a robot?” "What? No." I must remind you that while Satan is all-knowing and all-seeing, his knowledge of popular culture is a bit behind the times. If it were up to him, we would still be listening to the chants of evil monks, and really, how much evil monk chanting can one person take? “Let me burn you a CD, Master. I think if you listened to it a couple of times, I think you’d really get it.” He was exasperated. “No, I already get it. And it sucks.” His eyes shifted to my naked body. “You know what? Don’t ever listen to this music again. As a matter of fact, until further notice, ALL OF MY FOLLOWERS ARE TO LISTEN TO NOTHING BUT SABBATH, 1970-1975!” He said the last in his booming “Satanic Decree” voice. And then, he was gone. It is totally unfair that Satan would deprive me of my poetic lubrication simply on a whim. I cursed him, I spat his name, and I realized; this is what makes him the man. |
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