Byline: Packaged Stimulus

Buford Youthward

Twisting nozzles or restringing guitars. It's all the same thing. Baking clams with cramped hands is no fun either way.

Every knucklehead knows that getting human gets in the way of craft and creativity, reason, emotion and desire.

Knowledge and understanding are mutually exclusive. No matter how much world wide webbing turns language into machine or how thick with meaning your links are or think they are.

The shape of sense is changing. Meaning, understanding, and knowledge mean little when sinister whispers sound off in stereo looking for somewhere to go.

Any degenerate and all good guitarists know patterns are universal, fingerings personal. Just as graff strives to be explicit, no musicologist goes it alone in the lonely night.

Pitting the how-why-what against the who-when-where is senseless. Taking a more relaxed, thoughtful approach to phenomenon and just trying to be good or be gone is better said than read. Better yet if actually acted out but every wrong idea, false hope, suspect point of data gets applied and no misfit in America can claim otherwise. You can control your narrative about as much as you can control the seasons.

In the midst of spring all things go by better. Soft carpets of sound spring forth. Listening to musicians play in that same end-of-the-world style, displaying all edge and no soul, faking menace and charm. Arbitrary lovers make language, linguists get lewd. Parsing out foolish speech spoken by kangaroo court jesters is no different than getting people to hear music and not just the effects.

The stock index for general disgust is off the charts while general motors, general electric and all the other general purpose players stroke on their stimulus packages.

I make sure all my package goods are consumed before their due date and do my best to leave most retail relationships in a state of smoldering intensity. Sometimes that's all you can do to stay stimulated.

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