Beethoven’s beginning was Mozart’s last stand

[the following is an excerpt from: ‘Beethoven’s Revenge’…read & think of rappin’ over a rhythm of a blues beat, you know, like one you make with your feet]

…it started with the record. then broken was the record and fucked was the recording and the same old shit played out on repeat.

now, how it all went down was cuz Mozart, see he was an old fart when Beethoven was branded ‘the piano man’. and despite his dreams Life it seems was against him and so Death befriended him. upset and depressed due to Love repressed what genius was then suppressed in that wretchedly oppressed environment so richly impoverished. loyal-ties abandoned him and company maddened him still in his deaf unrest he wrote that sweetly saddened melody dressed in a luxury of in-tune blue notes so as to confuse the senses into believing that what they were seeing was so full of meaning and the rest is, well it hasn’t yet gone down in writing except to say that Beethoven, my friend, you will have your revenge. as it was in the beginning, so shall it be in the end.

May the Mystery illuminate what’s been covered up by design and buried deep in lies…

Glory Be the Eternal Recording.

…it all started with a spark.  

a thought—like a light in the mind of life….and then it went out and we were all in the dark.

wait—then a shout—from some speck of ground—stuck somewhere downtown—it was said:

‘people make sound, alright? when they move around—its where the art got its start and your heart it makes a beat all the time. and when it ceases means your soul releases to another side. and the beat—well it feeds on rhythm—everybody agree? seems reasonable, right? then if everybody makes sound, does everybody make light?

‘tight’, he said ‘tight’. ‘everybody making light. imagine then the gradient if everyone looked radiant…either comically or criminally or socio-economically…cuz life succeeds when it breads diversity. then it frees you to be you and me to be me. and everyone who gets that has got to agree.’

‘…and as far as everybody making sound,’ said she, ‘can we please all do so a little more rhythmically?’

then—light struck and sound awoke—no joke.

and the Oracle spoke. 

but the answer was a question and the question was rhetorical.

that ages-old repository of obsessive observation was listening—and then sounded, voice glistening. praising the historical yet shaming the deplorable.

the oracle spoke—but the answer was a question and the question was rhetorical:

‘the time is right. it's time we open our minds and notice all these subtle little changes and how everything rearranges, eventually.

and we could all be living so goddamn beautifully…yeah, sad, but before you take it too badly here’s a thought that might somehow offer a way to make it alright: all ye children dressed to kill in your rags of ash & dust and strapped to the hilt at the expense of the remnants of some unholy bastard’s thrill—now between sound & light, is there really anywhere a fight?…i mean, do they really have to disagree?

now how ‘bout we have us some peace…’

and sank back into the night, just as it had awoke

when once the Oracle spoke.

—from the beautiful mind of Rebeka Lyn